The GHOST of HOMER LUSTA
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My name is Homer Lusta. Jus' call me Homer. Least thass what it usta be when I was livin' down on Earth. But I ain't there no more. When I left, God seen fit to give me a new home up on High. Blest Pete, if you ain't never been up on High, you wudn't b'lieve jus' how good a final restin' place it is. Wadn't long ago I met me this new friend. I been goin' 'round a long time, lookin' for jus' the right boy to help me. I run into a lot of people, but the first sight o' this new friend o' mine, I knowed he was the one. How I found 'im was, I was lurkin' 'bout in a little town in Georgia when I seen him settin' peaceful-like on his back porch, holdin' a little glass in his hand. He kep' sippin' outta that glass and steady lookin' at a round black ball thing settin' on top o' three skinny legs. Whole thing was 'bout three foot high. Look like he was cookin' his supper 'cause it smelt real good and smoke was pourin' out. It didn't make no sense why he was cookin' his supper outside the house. His house was right decent lookin' and I figure he oughta be 'ffordin' of a inside stove. You see, my story 'bout my war been wellin' up inside o' me for a long time and I got a hankerin' to tell it. It begin in 1861 when I wadn't but twenty-two and this country done got in a peck o' trouble. We git drawed in a real bad war. Ever'body 'round home was mad 'bout how them dad blasted Yankees was comin' down and messin' with us. Ain't that jus' like Yankees? Bunch o' boys from home begin joinin' the army to help git things set straight. So I figure I oughta join up too and help out. Well, guess you know that war never turned out too good for our side. Some things was good for me. Some things was bad. I won't talk no more 'bout that right now 'cause itta git told later. Them years after that war, I set back restin' 'mongst the joys God got salted 'way in Heaven. I begin to give a heap o' thought to what all's been wrote 'bout my Rebel boys. It ain't been real good. Then, Blest Pete, when some fine boy do speak kindly words, it don't last long 'cause busybodies git down on what he say. So I set my mind to fix it. I 'cided to find me a nice boy I could tell 'way it actual was and maybe he kin write stuff oughta be said. I begin goin' to diff'rent places 'round the South, keepin' myself a apparition, a ghost, or one o' them things plain folks can't see, and lookin' for the right boy. After all my lookin', Blest Pete, I seen this boy cookin' on his porch and I knowed he the bes' one. So, one day I turn myself visible and set on his porch, right down side of 'im in a chair. I think it scared 'im half to death, so I said real quick, "It's OK. I'm jus' Homer Lusta and I wanna be your friend." He final calm down and soon we git busy bein' friends. He say his name was Bob and he usual write his own books, all by hisself. Well, I told him what I was aimin' at and first thing he said was he ain't got a heap o' time to waste. I begin talkin' praiseworthy stuff 'bout that war and he listen more and more. Wadn't long 'fore he said it was gettin' late and he better git the food in the house or his wife gonna git raucous mad. I figure I done lost out, but then he said if I was still a mind to, come back the next day in the afternoon, so we kin talk secret. He say he don't want no neighbors thinkin' he a nut. So, the next day me and my new friend, Old Bob, thass what I call him now, right to his face, set down and jaw a whole heap. He made me 'gree to buckle hard down and tell truthful stuff. I 'gree I was gonna tell him good things and bad things, nuthin' but gospel truth, so he kin write it down. Old Bob say that was good but I gotta recollect real hard 'cause lotta people livin' now ain't certain 'bout the real truth o' that war and they might be please to learn somethin'. Old Bob say to first talk 'bout the Lustas. Main thing I told 'im, they was five of us. Max was our Pa. Ma's name was Minnie and she drop me in 1839. Lotta come two year after that. Last one out was little brother, Lack, in 1847. Pa work our little farm outside Dodgetown, Georgia. It ain't but 60 mile from Macon. We had two mules and a wagon, some plows, a grass mower, and a hayrake. One time we had use of a slave man and woman, Bub and Mamie. Wadn't our'n. They was field hands we borry from our neighbor. We put 'em up in a little shack next to our smokehouse. How we git them slaves was, after Ma drop Lotta, Pa said hitch up the mules 'cause we goin' to see Mr. Morehouse. He live 'bout two mile east and had cows far as you could see. He didn't milk none of 'em. They was growed for eatin'. Every time a few git big 'nuff, they walk 'em to the stockyard and load 'em on a train headin' to Savannah. People say Mr. Morehouse was rich. He own six slaves, but I never seen all of 'em, least at one time. Fact is, he the only man I knowed even had no slaves a'tall.
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About the Book
Confederate soldier Homer Lusta returns to Earth 150 years after the Civil War, the War Between the States, or as Homer would say, the War of Northern Aggression. He remains invisible as he searches for an author to write the "real story" of that war. Finally Homer selects "Old Bob," materializes himself, and convinces Bob to write the story according to his memory. Homer's adaptation is reasonably accurate and loaded with "Homer humor" as he recalls his endeavors to save the South and protect underage brother, Lack, who illicitly has sneaked, early on, into the battlefield. The boys are deceived by a corrupt gang of Rebel deserters into thinking the War is over. Unknowingly, they join these renegades, but soon realize they are traitors involved in iniquitous activity. The boys decide to right this wrong. They search out and inform appropriate Rebel officers. Now having become heroes, the boys return home to accolades few in that war-torn land could ever imagine.
About the Author
Bob Taylor graduated from Georgia Southern, served his country as a Marine rifle platoon leader, a Marine Pathfinder, a Marine aviator, a school teacher, and then entered the field of computers. His career as a computer professional included employment with two major computer companies and then owner of his own computer software company. In retirement, he serves on a number of military forums, debating approaches to national defense. Bob is a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather. In addition to writing books, he writes for magazine monthlies, newspaper columns, and articles, critiques, and commentaries in military and trade journals. Bob has published three prior books, all of which have a military flavor, as does this current one. His books are listed on his website at www.BobWritesForYou.com.