It was 20 years ago when I first met Motee Daniels. I was interviewing for a job at the University of Mississippi, and Beckett and Mary Hartwell Howorth offered to drive me out to a dance at his cabin near Yocona. It was a night I would never forget. We wound along country roads and finally turned into a field and drove across it to a cabin overlooking a lake. A fire burned inside in a large stone fireplace, and couples danced to a country music band. I was quickly introduced to Motee and Lucille Daniels, our hosts for the evening. Their warmth and kindness touched me with a feeling I would rediscover each time we met again. It was cold outside, and with dancers, music, and fire together we seemed to float in their cabin. It was Motee and Lucille's world.

I had heard of Motee and Lucille before coming to Oxford. My cousin Minor Ferris had rented a trailer from Motee and Lucille while he was a student at the University and had been adopted by them as if he were a son. I hoped they might take a similar liking to me and was not disappointed. They became my Oxford family, and I have driven to their home many Sundays for dinner and company.

Over the years I learned to respect and admire Motee as one of the most extraordinary people I have ever known. His intelligence, forthright honesty, sense of humor, and dedication to friends were refreshing and always welcome. Never did we meet that I didn't laugh and learn from him. His cabin became a haven where we hosted parties for dignitaries who visited the Center to learn about the American South. They were always drawn to Motee as someone whose wit and philosophy offered an unforgettable encounter with Southern culture.

During one such party at Motee's cabin we entertained international visitors from Africa, the Middle East, and Haiti. Dressed in their most elegant attire, the group admired Motee preparing barbeque for the dinner and listened to a country music band. My sister, whom Motee had not yet met, was talking with him that evening when he pointed over at me and said, "You see that fellow over there. Just to look at him you would think he was nothing but a dumb son of a bitch. But they got him out there running that Southern Culture Center!" It was a compliment that I would always treasure.

Motee divided his life between the worlds of Lafayette County and Oxford. Born in the rural community of Dog Town, he knew poverty and hard work as a child. Each fall his parents gathered their children, packed their clothes, quilts, and a cook stove, and traveled by train from Oxford to Blytheville, Arkansas, where they picked cotton until December. They returned to Oxford in time to celebrate Christmas. After cotton-picking season Motee attended a county school of which he was intensely proud. He often remarked to me, "I got my Ph.D. in Dog Town, and it's worth three or four from Yale."

I often visited with Motee at Smitty's Restaurant in the mornings where I would have breakfast while he drank coffee and ate a cat head biscuit. He would tell me about his ancestors and their adventures. One uncle sold bedbug medicine to rural families, and when one lady complained it did not work, he asked her how she used it. She said, "I put it in a dish under each leg of the bed." "That's the problem," he replied. "You got to take the bedbug, hold his nose, and pour it down his throat."

Motee loved politics, and during elections he usually predicted winners with ease. He was a familiar figure at the county courthouse where he sat in the audience during trials and offered his philosophy afterward on a bench outside. Seated with his familiar cap, he watched traffic on the Square and knew most of those he greeted by name.

One of the highlights of political life in Lafayette County was when Motee ran for the office of coroner-ranger. During the campaign, candidates gathered at the courthouse to deliver their speeches, and Motee appeared with his campaign manager, a talking dog named Buster whom Motee had taught to say "Momma." Buster sported a sign on his back that said "Motee Daniels for Coroner-Ranger. Buster Daniels, Campaign Manager." Both Willie Morris and William Styron helped write Motee's campaign speech, and he asked me to make two photographs of him--one facing the camera and one from the back of his head--for his campaign cards. Then he printed one on each side of his campaign card with the slogans "He's the Same Coming or Going" on the front and "Any Way You Look at It He's the Man for the Job" on the back. While Motee lost the election, his friends remembered it as one of many times he enriched our lives with his wit and humor.

Motee Daniels was fond of saying that he was "the last one in captivity." While his stories of William Faulkner fascinated thousands of visitors to our community, his own life was one of which we should be especially proud. Like so many of his generation, he grew up without the benefits of wealth and education. He worked on road-building crews, hauled firewood, and picked cotton to survive as a young man. Later as a keen businessman, he traded successfully in land, mules, and real estate before retiring. Motee never forgot his roots in Lafayette County, and he was always generous in sharing his time and stories with others.

On several occasions he visited my daughter Virginia's classroom and spoke with students about his memories of life when he was their age. He taught them with a special love and knowledge about the rural schoolhouse he attended that was heated with a wood stove. His lessons in that school were hard ones, and he delighted in sharing them with children.

Over the past 20 years Motee called me on the phone almost every day. He would usually scold me for not calling him more often, and then we would talk about the day's events. At the end of our conversation he would want to know when I was coming out to see him and Lucille. Last month he insisted I come out for dinner and bring my camera. He explained that he had not been feeling well and asked me to make a photo that could run in the Oxford Eagle if he died. I told him I would make the photo but was sure he would outlive us all.

Sadly, Motee knew better than we that his life was about to end, and he planned his final days with courage. Motee's death left pain in the heart of every person who was privileged to know him. I still look for him as I circle the Square and when I have coffee at Smitty's. His spirit will always hover over this community. He knew and loved this world deeply, and he left us all the richer for having known him. When we remember you, Motee, we will always smile as we think of a friend whose like we will never meet again.

William Ferris