Jebidiah Mason was just six years old when the Civil War came to an end. His momma and daddy helped to free the slaves by opening their home to those fleeing for a better life through the Underground Railroad. His brother gave his life in the war, fighting for the North and the freedom and equality of all people in the great United States of America. And he, a small boy, uncorrupted by the hatred and discrimination of the adult world, welcomed each and every man, woman, and child who popped up through the floorboards of their weathered kitchen with a smile, a hug, and a song to warm their hearts as the chicken broth his momma left bubbling on the stove warmed their bodies.

Now, even though he was just a small boy, he understood that these people had not nothing on God’s Green Earth but the clothes on their backs, the knick-knacks in their pockets, and their unparalleled will to survive as free citizens of this here world.

His momma and daddy saw to it that he learned right from wrong. They showed him how to welcome every adult he met and treat them with the respect that elders deserve, and they encouraged him to make friend with any child he may come across.

You see, the Masons understood something that I don’t think very many people do, not even today: every dang body on this Earth is coming from somewhere you ain’t never been. They have seen and done and learned so many things that you haven’t, and it would be a damn crying shame if you didn’t at least learn or experience something new and different from each and every person you met. They raised up those boys to be citizens of the world, even if their world was limited to Youngstown, Ohio.

So, young Jebidiah did just that. He took every opportunity he could get to learn and grow from those folks who were passing through his home I n the pursuit of freedom and happiness.

They taught him the song they’d sung in them fields to keep from losing their sanity on scorching hot summer days and WHY they sung them and what they meant. They told him folktales from Africa and the importance of keeping them tales alive. They taught him how to carve playthings out of wood, how to make the most lick-your-lips-deeee-licious grits this side of the Mississippi. They gave him small trinkets to remember them by, if they had them to spare. He began building a small treasure of coins, figurines, silverware, belt buckles, and silver knives.

The war came to an end and soon new visitors stopped coming through the kitchen floor and started living their lives as free citizens.

But I ain’t gonna pretend it was pretty and nice. You see, they were only freed by law. They still couldn’t do a great many things and were still treated like animals. A damn shame, if you ask me.

Jebidiah Mason learned how cruel the world was as he grew up. He saw a great many killing of the black folk he considered his equals by the evil Klu Klux Klan. He saw that they couldn’t vote in elections, even though he could.

That is why he buckled down and studied to become the best dang lawyer Ohio has ever seen. He devoted his life to representing the under-represented. He fought for equality, liberty, and justice for all people, the people he loved so dearly.

But I ain’t gonna pretend it was pretty and nice. You see, Jebidiah inherited quite a fortune when his momma and daddy passed on to the Lord, and his job as a lawyer meant he earned a pretty penny along the way.

And that didn’t sit well with people. No sir, they didn’t like that, you see. They didn’t understand how this smart guy could be on the side of them black folk. They were jealous that he could live comfortable like while he worked for “their side.” And they sure as shit didn’t like it when he started going with one of them colored girls named Mary like it was nothing to him to betray his race. No sir, it was a dang shame the way that Jebidiah and Mary were treated by this here community.

One night, as they lay sleeping in their beds, dreaming of better days, those boys from the KKK rode up to their house by dark of night. They got real close, real quiet like and set that beauty of a house ablaze.

Jebidiah and Mary awoke in all the ruckus and were damned frightened, but they were prepared for something like this. Ever since they wed, they had an escape plan. Bags was packed by their bed, his boyhood treasures and monies among them.

While them KKK boys were raising hell outside the house, Jebidiah and Mary escaped through the very same kitchen floorboards that runaway slaves had so many years before.

They worked their way, hand in hand, belongings strapped to their backs, through the overgrown tunnel leading to our very own Mahoning River. The tunnel opened up on the building site of the Youngstown Bridge.

Now, I hear tell that Mary hurt her leg pretty bad as they scrambled for safety. That their treasures became too much of a burden for Jebidiah to hold as he had to support her weight. They had no choice but to leave them behind, with every intention of returning for it someday.

They buried them somewhere at the base of the bridge and ran off into the night.

Well, that there bridge went up, finishing in about 1897, and I ain’t never heard about Jebidiah and Mary returning for their treasures. Could be that they came for it ain’t nobody saw or heard of it. Might be that it’s still somewhere under that bridge, waiting to be dug up.