to be told. Jeremiah is basically a good, friendly child, but he has a quick and violent temper that at times is uncontrollable.”
“Mister Johnson, I know he has a temper, but...”
“Mrs. Wilson, please let me finish. Jeremiah is quite a bit larger than the other boys his age, and the older boys are endlessly encouraging him to fight with someone. If he’s not in a fisticuffs with the older boys, then he’s defending some other younger boy who’s being aggravated.”
“Is it wrong for my son to defend himself?” questioned Mary in an attempt to justify Jeremiah’s actions.
“It is when he fights almost daily, Mrs. Wilson. He must learn self control. He should have come to me when he had problems with the other boys. Then I could have helped him.”
“Mister Johnson, Jeremiah is large for his age and with unruly red hair that stands straight up, those boys call him names and make fun of him.”
With tears now streaming down her cheeks and in a tone of anger Mary once again defended Jeremiah, “Mister Johnson, I’ve told him to take up for himself. I’ve told him to fight and to be proud of his appearance. I’m the one who told him to fight.”
Mister Johnson, feeling the anguish and pain Mary was experiencing, gave her his handkerchief and spoke softly. “Mrs. Wilson, this isn’t pleasant for me either, but there is more.”
“How can there be more, Mister Johnson? What more?” sobbed Mary.
“Mrs. Wilson, this is the part of my job I detest, and there is no easy way to tell you,” he said.
“Go ahead and tell me. What more can there be?”
“The Board of Directors has met and Jeremiah has been expelled -I mean asked to leave the school. They feel that since he is not passing his work and is constantly causing problems, it is to the school’s best interest that he not remain a student here.”
“Do you mean he can never come back? Mister Johnson, he is only in the sixth grade. What is he to do?”
Mary slowly rose, not knowing what else to do. She placed her hands on the edge of the desk as if to hold herself upright and pleaded, “He’s only a boy, Mister Johnson. Why didn’t you call me in earlier? I could have done something. I could have tried.”
“Mrs. Wilson, I am truly sorry our board has taken this action, but they feel they must make room for other students who genuinely want to learn. You probably know I’ve only been serving as headmaster for four months, and I wish I could have helped your son more. I wish I could have known him better.”
Down deep Mary knew that Mister Johnson was right. She could recall how she had tried desperately to get Jeremiah to study over the years, but nothing worked. He loved to run, tussle, and play with the boys on the streets. He cared nothing for books. His education was her dream, not his.
But, Lott was different. Learning seemed to be stimulating and challenging for him. There was always a new book to read and knowledge to be gained.
In Lott’s spare time, he worked for Albert Haskins, who had now returned to Savannah. It was there that he met Cyrus McCorkle, a state surveyor, who was looking for a young man to help him survey property in the surrounding area. McCorkle needed someone good with keeping figures and healthy enough to carry his gear through rough country, when necessary.
McCorkle was a short slim man who walked with a slight limp caused by his being thrown from a horse when a boy. He was intelligent but at the same time fatherly. Lott had grown to respect and admire McCorkle and called him Mister Mac.
Although Lott was a somewhat younger than Mister McCorkle’s expectations, Lott impressed him with his ability in mathematics and his pleasant personality. During the following months, McCorkle depended on Lott to travel outside Savannah to survey land for the state.
Lott was immature physically for his age, but was becoming a strong, handsome young man. He stood at almost six feet tall and was slim. He had thick black hair and blue eyes that seemed to always sparkle. People who knew his father felt Lott was very much his image. In the meantime, life continued to present Mary Wilson with more hardships than she felt she could bear. Supplying the basic needs for two growing boys while sending one of them to school and worrying constantly about the future of the other, was beginning to bring moments of depression. She prayed nightly that God would send her relief.
Mary’s prayers seemed answered and life did improve for the Wilsons. Lott graduated at the top of his class and, at the same time, gained valuable experience as a surveyor’s assistant. The extra money helped to support the family.
As for Jeremiah, he continued in his rough and tumble ways and eventually found work on the docks loading and unloading cargo. In the evenings, when Mary was working at the High Step Tavern, Jeremiah worked clearing and cleaning tables. Due to his strength and size, he also often served as the establishment’s bouncer.
At fifteen, Jeremiah was already over six feet tall and weighed approximately two hundred and twenty pounds. He rapidly gained the respect of patrons because of his ability to survive a tough scrap and seldom lose a fight. When he was only fourteen, Jeremiah had a dispute with a well-known ruffian and with one punch to the chest, had sent the unfortunate character sailing across the floor, shattering the solid oak entrance door.
Because of Jeremiah’s questionable reputation and hard drinking binges, Preacher Amos, a local Methodist minister, who was a frequent visitor to the High Step and a friend of Jeremiah’s gave him the nickname Jake. When testing the spirits one night, he directed his mug of ale to Jeremiah and in a tone of religious nature toasted, “Jeremiah, you are too wicked for an Old Testament name. You drink, cuss, and fight, the same. So from henceforth, Jake will be your name, and I don’t give a damn who you blame.” The High Step erupted with laughter and cheers, and from that night on Jake was his name.
New Year’s Eve of 1826 found Mary still working in the High Step kitchen, and this evening Lott was sitting in the kitchen keeping his mother company.
“Mother, let me know when you need help. This is going to be one long and lively evenin’. They are gettin’ loud mighty early.”
Suddenly, a thunderous crashing sound caused Mary to drop a plate of food and rush to the door to see what was happening.
But, before she could reach the door, Jeremiah poked his head in and with a big smile reassured her that everything was all right. “Mamma, it’s just Mister Amos. He’s drinkin’ again and knocked over a table. Everything is going to be fine. I ain’t in no scrap.”
“No scrap. No fight. I hear it every night it seems. Lott, you have got to get your brother out of here...out of Savannah. One day he’s going to get hurt,” pleaded Mary, as she began to clean up the pieces of broken dish and food that was strewn on the floor.
Lott knelt down and began to help. “Mamma, how can I change what he’s like. I do good just to take care of myself.”
Lott paused for a moment, wondering whether or not to say what he was thinking. “It seems to me I am always taking care of him now. What more can I do?”
“I don’t know, Son, but you and I have got to come up with something. We have got to help that boy.”
The evening grew louder and louder. Around one o’clock, when things seemed to be slowing down, a loud shot rang out and a few seconds later, two more bursts of gunfire. Mary ran toward the door as she had so many times before, only to be stopped by Lott.
He pushed her back toward the stove and said, “Don’t go in there. I’ll go. It could be dangerous.”
In what seemed to be an hour, but in actuality was only a few minutes, Lott burst back into the kitchen exclaiming, “You had better come in here. Jake’s been hurt.”
Mary began to cry as she ran into the tavern searching for Jeremiah. She pushed people aside and struck others who got in her path as she worked her way through the crowd. Over and over she screamed, “Where’s my laddie? Where’s