She said, with tears in her eyes that we would have to wait a little while longer for Christmas. I said that’s alright Mother, I know there’s not a Santa Claus. Ronald said, “yes there is. Tell him mother!” and then he started to cry. Mother put her arms around him and pulled him close to her and he said, “You remember Donald. We heard him, those jingles!” Betty, my oldest sister, was like my mother and she took care of me more than mother did. Mother always had her hands full with everybody else. Betty had told me about Santa but not to tell Ronald and Tommy, and that I was old enough to understand. I was an hour and five minutes older than Ronald and she told me to keep it a secret. So I didn’t say anything else and went to bed. Christmas morning I woke up. Everybody else was still in bed. It was so cold that no one wanted to get out from under the cover. I had to pee. So I got up and went to the front door and pulled it open. It drug on the bottom, so I had to reach down to the bottom and pull on it, stepped out the door and looked up. There was a 25 lb. bag of gold-medal flour, a big bag of potatoes, cornmeal, a big ham, canned goods, apples, oranges, nuts, candy and toys! The whole front porch was full as I stepped forward in the middle of them. I saw two sets of cap guns. One Hopalong Cassidy and the other Roy Rodgers. Ronald had said he wanted Roy Rodgers guns. I knew those were for us. picked up Hopalong Cassidy guns, put them on, and then picked up the hat and put it on. There was a feeling in my head that went to my hands, into my stomach, into my legs and my feet start moving. I couldn’t control them.

 

 

I looked out over those old tombstones. They had a little snow gathered on top of them, and then a little puff of wind blew the snow up in the air above the graves, and it looked like a white Santa Claus, and I heard a little jingle. My feet would not stop dancing. I hollered, danced up and down the porch, on the steps, in the yard, around the graves and around the house. I was the happiest boy in the world and I couldn’t stop dancing. I was making so much noise I woke everybody up. Mother and Tommy came to the door first. Mother was more surprised than anyone. I couldn’t stop dancing. I would slow down and pick up a piece of candy and that feeling would come over me again. It felt like my hair was standing up and then it would go down my back and hit my feet and they would start moving. I have been so tickled I couldn’t stop laughing and I had hurt so bad I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know they were a feeling of happiness that would make you dance. That was a feeling I never will forget. For two or three days I would pick up an apple or an orange or something else Santa Claus had brought and that feeling would hit me and I would start dancing again.

About a week or two before, down at the old barn, Ronald had written a letter to Santa Claus, but not a real letter. He couldn’t even write. He just scribbled something on paper and pretended it said he wanted Roy Rodgers guns and then put his letter in an old army boot. No one knew it but him and me. His letter was written on an old paper bag. There was a nail on the post at the top of the steps and a brown piece of paper with Merry Christmas written on it. We took it down and on the backside of this paper was Ronald’s letter to Santa Clause! So I believe in Santa Claus. He may not have a beard and red suit, but he could. He may not live at the North Pole, but he could. So don’t forget, you may not be Santa Claus, but for someone you could be. And you may never be so happy it makes you dance, but you could.

 

Like I said we lived in a lot more places from North Georgia to South Georgia and all in between. In my 12th year we moved right in the middle of town in Macon, Georgia and we had an inside toilet, running water and everything. But that didn’t last very long and back to the country we went.

By then I had discovered how to sell things on the side of the highway. You know? Produce, red wigglers worms for the fishermen, boiled peanuts, little cedar trees at Christmas or anything else I thought someone would buy. When I was 14 my father died. That summer I went down to a little town call Boston, Georgia to run a fruit stand for my Uncle Carl. It seemed like a 1000 mi. away. When I got there it was just a square cut out of a cornfield at the forks of the road. A cedar tree and an old Nash Rambler car setting on the ground with no tires on it. You know the model that the seats lay back to make a bed? That car was my home for the rest of that year and into the next.

I was working hoping I could send home some money to my mother and my younger brothers, however, I sent very little home. In fact they moved and I didn’t know where they had moved. I was taught a lot of lessons that year. Here is just one of them.

In late fall, a carnival coming down from up north on their way to Florida for the winter, stopping off in our little town and set up right in the middle of that corn field all around me. Elephants, hippopotamus, giant snakes, sword swallower, fire eater, clowns and a gorilla.

One afternoon before the show started, I was at the gorilla’s cage leaning on the rail about 4ft. from the cage, eating peanuts looking at the gorilla. There was a man cleaning the cage next to where I was. He was also the fire eater, sold cotton candy and other things. They worked hard.

The gorilla was sitting on a 50 gal. barrel with a hole in it,( where he did his business ). With one hand on the cage and with his other arm stretched through the cage as far as he could go with hand open and asked for a peanut. I reached in my bag, pulled out a peanut and dropped it in his hand.

He set back on the barrel opened it and ate it, never looking at me and reached out again for another one, but not stretching as far. I reached over and dropped another peanut in his hand. He calmly set back, and ate it and reached for another one not stretching at all. I reached over a little further and dropped one in his hand, he set back and ate it. And then he reached out his hand for another one, only putting his arm through the bars just above his elbow. I stretched further and dropped another peanut in his hand. He ate it and then dropped his hand out of the cage just below his elbow.Standing up on my toes, holding on to the rail, and stretching just as far as I could so I coud drop the peanut in his opened hand.

When my hand was over his, quick as a flash he grabbed me around the hand and pulled me into the cage bars, like catfish on a fishing pole,. About 4 or 5 times he yanked me into the cage and then dropped me like an old dish towel on the floor in front of the cage. The men in the cage next to the gorilla came through the door with a stick to hit the gorilla. But it was too late. I was hurt, with knots on my head, bloody nose, and felt like I’d been pulled apart. As quick as I could, I staggered away. The lesson learned. The good book says “don’t cast your pearls before swine and your bread before dogs” and I will add “don’t feed your peanuts to gorillas”.

As quick as they appeared they disappeared. They left nothing but a few broken down corn stalks and two big holes in the ground where the elephants were tied up. They tried to get me to go with them, but after seeing them a week I wanted no part of it. It was cold that winter sleeping in that old car. I had to build a fire every morning to thaw the water out so I could wash my face and hands. It was after Christmas and we had run out of produce. Mr. Thompson would come down from Macon about every two weeks and restock the fruit stand. But it had been about a month and a half since we had seen him. His wife said he fell off the wagon. I knew about that. My daddy had a drinking problem. I had seen him fall off the wagon a few times.

With nothing to sell and running out of money. I knew I had to do something so I could eat. Mr. Frits, at the little restaurant where I ate every night, told me he’d feed me and give me some tobacco if I would wash the dishes for them. I accepted. It was a happy day when my older brother walked into that little restaurant. He was there to take me home. He had brought his wife with him, along with Mother, another brother and their little baby. I had to ride on the back of the truck. It was cold and it was bumpy. I had a blanket over me blowing in the wind. But a team of horses could not have pulled me off the back of that truck. I was going home!

My Mother and my brothers had moved from the country to the middle of Atlanta into the Capital Home’s. I was introduced to the projects and the city life. They told me I was going to have to go back to school and that I wasn’t old enough to quit. So back-to-school I went at the age of 15 and in the fifth grade. Boy, was I out of place. But after a couple of months they changed their minds. They sent me to a counselor somewhere downtown to talk about my future. The counselor asked me, ” what do you want to be?”. I told him, “an artist”. He asked me,” do you have any of your work?”. I said,” no”. He said,” boy, you better forget about that art and get you a real job”.

And I did. I went to work with our local milkman delivering milk in the neighborhood, making $12 a week. Then I delivered ice cream to the grocery stores, making $15 a week. Then I went to work with the grocery store making $50 a week. I was in hog heaven. Not knowing how to read and write was a burden and pretending that I could was a challenge. But we worked through it. I started as a porter and worked my way to a produce manager.

In the meantime in 1966 the best thing that had or has ever happened to me is when I met Linda, who became my wife. I missed that old nasty Vietnam War somehow maybe because I had a family and dependants, or health, but probably all those sheets of paper that I left blank on the recruiter’s desk. Anyway, Uncle Sam didn’t call and I didn’t volunteer. The only battle scours I received was from the Battle Of Ben Hill.

In 1968 my wife was pregnant with our first child we felt the need to start going to church. I grew up with a lot of Bible but not a lot of church. We dedicated ourselves to God and joined a Baptist Church in a little community on the west side of Atlanta.

I listened to the preacher quote the scriptures off the top of his head, l listened to everything that the Sunday school teacher said, I carried my Bible with me, but not a verse or even a word had I ever read. I felt like God wanted me to teach and preach and become a fishermen of men. I asked God to teach me what no one else could do, teach me how to read. and I believed that he would.
One Sunday evening, I was sitting on the sofa with the Bible on my lap, waiting to go to church. Linda was in the kitchen boiling bottles for the baby’s milk, mother was in her bedroom trying on some shoes to match a beautiful blue dress that Ronald had given her that day. I open my bible to St. John in the New Testament . In the first verse I begin to read “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made”.

I was reading for the first time! I’m not sure if I had heard these words many times from the preachers or if this was God’s clever way of teaching me to believe in myself. But I gave God the credit.
Ronald my twin brother walked into the living room where I was sitting and asked me what I was doing?. With tears rolling down my cheek, I replied, ” reading, God is teaching me to read.” He said,” you can’t read. Let me hear you?” I repeated what I had just read.

He yelled through the house Donald is reading! He’s reading! Donald is reading the Bible! My wife, mother and my other brothers came to see what the commotion was about. One of them said, “Ah, you’re just reading that by heart.” And then he reached and turn to another page somewhere in the Bible and said,” read that!” And I read that, and he turn to another page and pointed to another verse and said again for me to read it. And I read that, and I kept on reading just the Bible at first, then the newspapers and other books.

Later on I purchased the Talking Bible albums. I would put on a record and sit back and read along with Alexander Scourby. We started at the beginning and read to the end, and when we got through we did it again.

And now it was time to keep my end of the bargain and I did. Our pastor, brother Wolfe, gave me my first opportunity to speak to the congregation. But it wasn’t the first time I stood before the congregation, the first-time was trying to sing.

My twin brother, Ronald, was a member of the same church that I was. On every third Saturday the church would have a Saturday night singing. There would always be good groups from other churches to sing and some special quartet or well-known group. Ronald loved to sing. He wanted me to sing a song with him that Saturday night. I told him I didn’t think so but he kept on and I said I would give it a try.

So we had to practice. He wanted to sing “Go Tell It On The Mountain”. I was to sing one part and he was to sing the other. We practiced all evening so I wouldn’t make a mistake. I tried not to listen to him and listen only to the music. We had it worked out. When the music started and it hit my note, I would start singing. It was a Saturday night and time for the service to start. There were about 400 people present. The song director led the church in a few songs. Next a few local groups sang and then the quartets. Then it was our turn. Standing off to the left, waiting for the director to introduce us, my mind went back to the last time that Ronald and I had sung to a big crowd of people.

When we had just turned 11 years old. The school was having a talent competition and we were one of the 10 finalists to get to come up on stage and entertain. Someone had bought us a new pair of pants, shirts and shoes. We were standing behind the curtain waiting to be introduced and I was looking down at my new shiny black shoes. This was the second pair of new shoes I could ever remember having. The announcer introduced us “From the Grand Old Opry, Welcome Donald and Ronald Cochran”.

The curtain opened and Ronald stepped forward. I looked up and saw all those people looking at me looking at my shoes. And I rushed forward to catchup with Ronald. We did just fine. We sung “Sowing On The Mountain, Reaping In The Valley” and “The Old Rugged Cross”. I don’t know why the announcer said we were from the Grand Old Opry. I didn’t tell them that and I don’t believe Ronald did.

Although I had been guilty of telling some big ones before. One was when I was in the first grade and I went to school hungry. The smell of cooking in the cafeteria coming down the hall and into my room was too big of a temptation to bear. I didn’t know where daddy was, but I told the teacher that he had been in an automobile wreck and got his leg’s cut off and we didn’t have any food to eat. Back in those days they didn’t have free lunches and if you didn’t have a quarter or bring your lunch, you didn’t eat. It worked! They fed me and my brothers .I might have gotten away with it if they hadn’t wanted to know where to send flowers.

Anyway, there we were again, in church, ready to sing. The song director introduced us as Don and Ron, the twin brothers. The piano player for the main quartet that night said he would play for us. That was the first mistake that night– trying to mix professionals with amateurs. But maybe not, the first may have been us choosing to sing a christmas song in July.

So, there we were, standing side by side with my back slightly turned to Ronald, microphone in my right hand. My left hand over my ear so as not to be confused when he started singing. The pianist started playing. It was much faster than the record we had been practicing with. When I thought it hit my note, I started to sing in bass “Go tell it on the mountain”.
I didn’t hear him, but I assumed Ronald, in tenor, was singing “over the hills and everywhere”. And then back to me, on my note. I repeated again” Go tell it on the mountain” and then Ronald, “Jesus Christ is born”.Trying to catch up with the pianist and the pianist trying to slowdown for me, we ran over each other. I kept singing. I did not know it but Ronald had stopped.I noticed on the front row a few people snickered. Then I heard some giggling. The pianist stopped, then started back, then stopped again but I kept singing. Those giggles turned to laughter.

My

mother and wife on the third row sank down out of sight. And there was a few others with their hand over their eyes looking down but most were laughing. I realize there were no music playing no one else was singing as I slowly turn toward Ronald still singing,”Go tell it o-n t–h–e—–m–o—u-n—-. Standing there with his microphone down by his side his other propped up on his hip looking at me. And he asked me what are you doing. I replied, “what are you doing? playing mother may I”.

By then the whole church was laughing loudly. I felt like a fish in hole with nowhere to go. I don’t know what else I said, but it wasn’t helping. The church was hysterical. I looked over at the preacher and he was laying back in his seat with his feet up in the air with his hands on his stomach laughing uncontrollably.

Another old gentleman fell off the pew laughing so hard. And brother Creech , the deacon , wet on himself. I had turned every color of the rainbow. I looked up and said “I don’t know what God called me for, but it sure wasn’t singing”. Then I stormed off the platform looking for a place to hide.

They would try to stop laughing but they would look at one another and burst out laughing again. People Laughed so hard that they had to go outside. People were laughing so hard they couldn’t continue the singing.

There I was again in front of the congregation this time ready to preach wondering what would happen. It was on a Wednesday evening and I was scared to death. I thought I had a good message and I had a lot of topics I wanted to talk about, but after about 10 minutes I ran out of things to say. The second time was easier. I wasn’t so scared. The third time I was bubbling over and I had a lot to say. My wife told me after the service that she thought I was never going to stop talking.

After that I tried to contain myself to know when to stop. I preached anyplace I was invited and a few where I wasn’t. I wanted to take the gospel to the world. I was an associate pastor, a pastor and an evangelist with five radio broadcasts each week on W.T.J.H. in East Point, Ga..

Even though the ministry was number one in my life I still had to make a living and preaching didn’t pay a lot of money. I worked mostly in the food business operating a catering route. You know, those little lunch wagons that bring sandwiches and snacks around to your work place?. When I was just a little boy, I couldn’t wait for the rolling store to come by. I would sit on the bank in front of my house every Tuesday waiting for him to come by. I guess I just wanted “my own little rolling store”. But then everything changed in 1979. I had an automobile accident driving home one day. A tractor truck crossed the center of the highway and hit me almost head on. It didn’t kill me but it did knock me into a different place.

The following couple of years after the accident were trying times. I only preached a few more times and the last sermon was the funeral of my twin brother Ron, and then I walked away. My business partner and I was scheduled to have our grand opening for our new catering business that week of the accident but I didn’t make it. Later, I went back to work for a while, but my heart just wasn’t in it, and I turned the business over to my partner and walked away. We will come back to this time in my life a little later and share with you what God showed me in this other place.

In 1981, Linda and the kids and I moved to the mountains in North Georgia. I started working on the talents that God gave me when I was just a boy, changed my title from Rev. Don to Artist Don and started painting. It was like an old story I heard about a boy out in the field plowing. He looked up in the sky and the clouds had formed a big G.P. He went back to the house and told his daddy that God had given him a sign in the clouds to “Go Preach”. His daddy told him that G.P. was not to go preach, but was to go plow. My G.P. was Go Paint.

I didn’t have any money problems, because I didn’t have any money. I would share a piece of work here and there but my goal was to work in the movies as a scenic artist.

They told me I would need a college education, join the Union and move to California. There were lots of obstacles and a lot of stones that had to be turned over. If I couldn’t move them, I would just go around. The front door was closed to me, but the back door was opened and I walked in. Just a helper for the helpers at first. But I worked hard and listened, and as the opportunity revealed itself I would grab it. I was invited up a step at a time up to scenic artist, and then scenic chargeman (in charge of the scenic department), training those that come in the front door. We created little pictures, big pictures, small sets, and big sets.
( A basket of eggs is not fun. It’s rewarding or disappointing, but hunting them is fun. If you’re disappointed in what is in your basket, use the field that God gave you, and have fun hunting whether you find a few or find a lot, the fun is the same).

 I worked as a scenic artist in theater, television, feature films, and other things. I had lots of fun, met a lot of interesting people, made lots of friends and I didn’t have to go to Hollywood. Hollywood came to me.

A successful artist in the movie industry is a team effort. Sharing your knowledge, knowing someone shared with you. Which reminds me of when I was in the third grade, new boy in class. (I was the new boy in class a lot of times). There was a little boy named Ricky Lowe that shared his peanut butter and jelly sandwich with me when I was hungry. I didn’t have anything to give him so I drew him a picture. He said he would bring me a sandwich tomorrow if I would draw another picture. I said I would. I’ll never forget little Ricky, nor will I forget all those other people through my life that have shared with me their knowledge, understanding and peanut butter sandwiches and all they wanted in return is a picture.
God has shown my work, and my name, all around the world with such movies as the award-winning “Driving Miss Daisy”, starring Jessica Tandy and Morgan Freeman. I have worked on over 150 television episodes with “In The Heat Of The Night”, starring Carol O’Connor, and many more movies I am sure you would recognize.
People all around the country, and a few outside of it, have my work. I have won awards in all categories of my work and I’m still hunting and having fun. Most of my work has that folk art look–some a little primitive, therefore, I accept the title Folk Artist. I am also a master scenic artist.