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It’s Cotton Blossom Time
S. Earl Wilson III is the author of eight books prior to this one. All his previous books, with the exception of two, have been fiction. In this book, this Mississippi writer, a Morehouse College graduate, pens a uniquely loveable and humorous recollection of the travels and adventures of the renowned Cotton Blossom Singers of the Piney Woods School of Piney Woods, Mississippi, during the fifties. Here, he invites you to travel along, sing, endure the hardships and pain, and rejoice in the success of these six special young girls as they pave the road for the benefit of others. This story is not a must-read––it is a should-read. You’ll be elated if you do and sorry if you don’t!
It's Cotton Blossom Time
S. Earl Wilson, III, is the author of eight books prior to this one. All of his previous books, with the exception of two, have been fiction. In this book, this Mississippi writer, a Morehouse College graduate, pens a uniquely loveable and humorous recollection of the travels and adventures of the renown Cotton Blossom Singers of the Piney Woods School of Piney Woods, Mississippi, during the fifties. Here, he invites you to travel along, sing, endure the hardship and pain, then rejoice in the success of these six special young girls as they pave the road for the benefit of others. This story is not a must-read--it is a should-read. You'll be elated if you do and sorry if you don't!
It's Cotton Blossom Time
S. Earl Wilson, III, is the author of eight books prior to this one. All of his previous books, with the exception of two, have been fiction. In this book, this Mississippi writer, a Morehouse College graduate, pens a uniquely loveable and humorous recollection of the travels and adventures of the renowned Cotton Blossom Singers of the Piney Woods School of Piney Woods, Mississippi, during the fifties. Here, he invites you to travel along, sing, endure the hardship and pain, then rejoice in the success of these six special young girls as they pave the road for the benefit of others. This story is not a must-read-it is a should-read. You'll be elated if you do and sorry if you don't!
The Possum Hunter
This is a tale of life, defining everything that we are and hope to become, such as finding love, education, success, and security by overcoming adversities to find happiness. It begins with simple people who find love in the remote areas of Mississippi while hunting raccoons together. They are simple people with simple lives doing simple things. We all lust, we hunger, we suffer, we enjoy. At times, we are deceived. Sometimes, we learn the truth that is often concealed but is revealed to us by someone of higher intellect. We love, we play, we fight, and we rescue and are rescued. Regardless of others’ opinions, we eat what we like. We hunt even if it is nothing more than a bargain at a store. We are all victims of in flagrante delicto—the act of doing something wrong, especially like having illicit sex. You will perhaps find your own self while reading this story.
Earl Wilson
"At the free dance for us, held at the Phoenix Ballroom Saturday night, I asked a brown-eyed lass to dance with me. She managed very well to keep me off her feet, especially in the slow ones." And that brown-eyed lass is why a soldier began to write the story of his role in the second global war, better known as World War II. 2nd Lt. Earl S. Wilson Sr. started this journal after enlisting in the U.S. Army in April of 1942. He finished it just three months before he died in March 2, 1984 after his youngest child visiting for the holidays found his writings and asked why it was not complete. His final chapters began with "Forty years and seven kids later...." He had a story to tell and he had ...
The Ghetto Poet
The Ghetto Poet was born in the Ghetto of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, which at that time was the third largest city in the state. I was exposed, at a very early age to Ghetto ways; eating, drinking, the blues, fussing, fighting, yelling, dancing, singing, sorrow, laughter, happiness along with prostitution and gambling. All of this happened between two corner churches on Mobile street, just pass the beer garden and dance hall where very loud live music was played. I could hardly sleep at night from listening to the blues. We then moved to the outskirts or country where my father became principal of the Springfield school. I was raised and educated in the country. There I learned country ways and also country talk. I then went to Morehouse college in Atlanta, Georgia and hung out on Auburn avenue and Hunter street, partying.
Just Stories for the Young
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