Maeburl Tincher
Daddy had a lot of children, but his favorite was Baby Ben.
The youngest among us were Phyllis and Joe, but it was Baby Ben who ruled the roost – and he let us all know when it was time to roost.
When Baby Ben spoke, everybody listened. He was a real-life boss baby.
Daddy was especially protective of him – and he had reason to be.
Momma’s brother Wayne had 11 children of his own – and they were in and out of our home often. Our mother was their favorite aunt and our house was always open to them. But with that many young’uns coming through, it was critical that Baby Ben was kept well out of reach.
So whenever they came calling, Daddy made sure Baby Ben was tucked safely away – high up, near the ceiling – far from curious hands.
Baby Ben wasn’t just any clock. He was a small, wind-up alarm clock – about the size of a man’s hand –first made back in 1910 as the little companion to the Big Ben. By the time he came to live in our house, he had already proven himself in homes all across America: reliable, steady and built to last.
I can still see Daddy now, walking through the house in his socks at night, winding Baby Ben and getting him ready for the next day.
He always set him early – 5 a.m., most mornings. Daddy didn’t drive, so he’d walk half a mile down the creek to catch a ride to work. Getting up early wasn’t optional: it was mandatory.
March meant “spring forward” for most folks – but in our home, time was set every single night. Daddy didn’t trust chance with something that important. He would wind Baby Ben, study his face and make sure he was running true.
We knew what it meant when Daddy started winding that clock. That was the signal – the handwriting on the wall: time to get in the sack.
Come morning – when Baby Ben sounded off – there was no mistaking it: time to get out of the sack.
Clocks weren’t cheap, disposable commodities back then. They were valuable – essential to keeping a household running right. And our home did run right – like clockwork: consistent and ordered.
Between Daddy’s steady hands and momma’s generous heart, we were raised right on time.
Maeburl Tincher writes a monthly column for The Graham Star. She is a native of the Jutts Creek community.