MISSISSIPPI GIRL: Moonshine, Marijuana, Money, Murder and Starting Over in the Deep South

My name is Beatrice Baker. I was born and raised in the town where Elvis was born. My parents were George and Grace Baker. Daddy's mother was Margaret Beatrice Baker, and I was given her middle name. I would have rather had her first name, but I didn‘t get to choose.

I didn't particularly like my name growing up. It was fodder for the boys to tease me in elementary school.

One particular boy that I liked sat behind me in reading. I thought he liked me until one day he leaned forward and whispered, "Are you a bee—Atrice?" The other kids would snicker, and I had to sit there and take it. When recess came, I would chase after the boy, wrestled him to the ground, and make him take it back. That was the end of that romance.

I was somewhat of a tomboy, and eventually became the big sister to my four siblings. I finally grew into my name and even started to like being called B.

Life seemed hard for our family back then, but having a loving, God-fearing mother, she took my siblings and me to church every Sunday and always saw to it that we had clean clothes and food on the table. When we were young, she read us Bible stories before bedtime.

Daddy was another story. Although he had a loving mother, he wasn't always good to my mother, nor an

affectionate man to his children. I'm sure there is some good somewhere in all of us, we just have to look a little harder to find it in some people. I reckon my mother saw some in Daddy or she wouldn't have married him.

This was not an easy trip to take alone. I was retired now and wanted to come back to Tupelo to visit the cemetery where my loved ones were buried. Out of curiosity, I wanted to go by the old farmhouse where we once lived to see if anyone was living there, and see if the buttercups still grew wild in the back yard, I would ask if I could pick a bunch to take with me to the cemetery.