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September 17, 1950 |
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Louis and Rosamond Lawson have a son,
born in Charleston. S.C. I'm 8 pounds, 7 ounces and 21 inches long. The day before, Louis
and Rosy attended a local football game. As you can plainly see, they must have had front
row seats. They are right next to the winner of the Jimmy Dean look-alike contest. Dad's
puffing on a Chesterfield. Mom looks like the labor pains are just kicking in. |
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| Within 24 hours, a bouncing baby boy had been added to the
household. My father, who is not really a Jr., because his dad was Louis Henry Russell
Lawson, conveys the title Louis Russell Lawson III on me. Start of a grand dynasty, I
guess, halcion heir to the Salmons/Waring line, since the Lawsons didn't have two nickels
to rub together. Big dreams for a little kid. In time, I will hate the "III"
part. The photo shows Mom and me, with my grandmother, Big Rosy, to the right, at the
entrance to St. Francis Hospital, where I was born. It's a week after I take the stage and
my mom is being discharged. Long before the "stop and drop" 24 hour deliveries
of "health care cost control." |
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At the time, my parents are living in Bedon's Alley. It's not a street,
really, just a cobblestone stretch that runs between streets, wide enough for the wagon to
get down when bringing the provisions, or to get the carriage down to the carriage house.
Charleston's alleys come from the colonial origins of the town. Many carriage houses are
now residences like ours. The quarters are tight, I'm told, and in just a few years my
parents move into the refurbished "servant's quarters" behind the
pre-Revolutionary masterpiece of Low Country construction occupied by my maternal
grandparents, the Salmons, at 39 Meeting Street. Here I am in the pram in the living room
of Bedon's Alley at the age of 3 months. |
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