Mary Bell Stone (Ferguson) was born on April 22nd, 1941, in the “Show-me” state of Missouri. She was the youngest child of Jake and Florence Ferguson. Born in a two-bedroom house five miles outside of Fisk, she was the last of seventeen children. Her parents had children, and grandchildren, older than her. She entered this world the youngest of a big family and is now the matriarch of her own family. Mary Bell gave the world Pam, Joe, Mary Ann and yours truly. Twelve grandchildren between us kids and seventeen great-grandchildren between those folks makes quite the tribe. All of us are here because Mary Bell made it happen.
Mary Bell and Wayne Stone would’ve never been married if she hadn’t decided to go meet this good-looking Army boy that she’d been writing to in Europe. She had it in her head to go have a look-see and drove down from Missouri to Forrest City, Arkansas. She had to stop at the local post office for directions to their rural home, then off she went. When she got to the Stone’s house, she was told that Wayne was down the road “talkin to a fella about a car”. One of the siblings went after him. When he made it home, she was sitting on the steps when he walked up. He wasn’t paying attention and patted her on the head (thinking she was his little brother) and she says, “Is that all you’ve got to say to me?” The rest is history.
My mamma was a homemaker. In a world of working moms, my mom was always there for us. She had started her young adult life as a waitress and working hard, and she did the same for all of us every day of our lives. All that laundry, all those meals, all the trips to the doctor were her. When we cried, she was there. When we failed and succeeded, she was there. She’s been the go-to person in our lives. She still is.
In her eighty-four years (come the 22nd of this month) she will have been on this earth one thousand and eight months, four thousand, three hundred and eighty-three weeks, thirty thousand six hundred and eighty-two days, seven hundred and thirty six thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight hours, forty-four million, one hundred eighty-two thousand and eighty minutes, and two trillion, six hundred and fifty million, nine-hundred and twenty-four thousand and eight-hundred seconds. And she can’t quite understand why she doesn’t have any energy nowadays. Mom, you deserve to sit on the couch if you feel like it. You’ve earned it many times over.
Happy Birthday to the one I owe my sense of humor and “never say die” attitude to: Mary Bell Stone! I’m proud to be your baby. You might say I owe my whole life to you. You never gave up on me, and I love you, Mom.
Now all Y’all go call your momma.
God bless Y’all!
Rolling Stones 