The village raises the child, whether it means to or not. The child who grows up in the warm embrace of adults who teach by example the lessons of faith, caring and responsibility is blessed.

For over a century, the black community of Middleburg has raised many youngsters who, as adults, have carried these lessons to the four corners of the earth and, in their turn, passed them on.

Larry B. Jenkins, called L.B. by most folks, was born into this warm cocoon of people in the summer of 1947, the fifth of seven children of Barney and Lula Belle Jenkins.

His parents, by all accounts, were something special -- hard workers and generous of spirit. Barney worked a rigorous and demanding job at Florida Soap in Doctor's Inlet. The plant, located just east of where the railroad tracks cross County Road 220, rendered slaughterhouse waste for the manufacture of soap. Depending on which way the wind blew, the noxious aroma of Florida Soap made its presence known over half the county. To the people who worked there it was the smell of money and a steady job in hard times.

Come quitting time, a bath and fresh clothes were his first priority but then he was available to his family and neighbors. Many folks without transportation relied on Barney for trips to the doctor, church and store.

Lula Belle cooked at Moosehaven. It was a known fact in those days that the Moose only hired the best cooks in Clay County. She loved people. It didn't matter who they were or where they came from. Any one could come by and she made time to feed, talk and pray with them. In fact, L.B.'s momma was known for her praying.

Friends say her life was a continual conversation with God every waking hour, not just in church and at bedtime. She was always in the company of her creator. Every Sunday the whole family was in church at St. Mark Missionary Baptist.

L.B., it seemed, took particular attention and more than likely a lot of praying because he always seemed full of ideas and energy. He was always reaching, stretching to do, see and know more and inspiring others to do the same.

In his early years, the Jenkins family lived in the black neighborhood in Middleburg near the one-room schoolhouse about where the fire station is today. L.B. was just a kid when he zigged when he should have zagged and locked horns with an automobile on what was then a two-lane Blanding Boulevard. He came out of that relatively unscathed except for the pounds of tape across his nose that made him resemble an Egyptian mummy. It didn't slow him down a bit.

L.B. was always tall for his age and when he reached adolescence he really stretched out and soon was towering over older kids. He carried his height well and it seemed in keeping with his advanced maturity. As he had witnessed in the community, he began more and more looking out for the smaller ones.

L.B. was fun, too. Long, lazy, summertime days and after school, the neighborhood kids of all ages gathered in the Jenkins yard to wile away the time under the shade tree, shooting marbles or playing baseball. His easy smile and rumbling laugh as his voice began to change were a comfort. The younger boys would go after him in a pack, laughing with joy as he wrestled them to the ground. He was a gentle giant.

Some evenings the family would join relatives and friends at the community building where Cush Jenkins, their granddaddy, showed shoot-em-up cowboy moving pictures. This was a really versatile place because Saturday night everyone danced to lively tunes from a jukebox and on Sunday morning church services were held in the same place.

Like all the children, L.B. went to school in the one-room black elementary school in Middleburg, then attended Dunbar High School in Green Cove Springs. L.B. was a baseball player -- a pitcher -- and he was good.

L.B. also had a deep and abiding fondness for cars. While he was in high school he bought and paid for his own car. It was a little red and white Ford, which he souped up to perfection, buying parts a little at the time. On weekends, he and his likewise infatuated buddies raced on a track across the river in Switzerland. He was good at that, too, but had an uncanny way of making others feel that when he succeeded, they did too. He earned the bulk of the cost of that car when he worked out of town for the summer picking and packing flowers. From when he was a little guy, he picked up odd jobs and always had a little money to pay his own way, help out others and put in the collection plate.

Young L.B. worked for about a year after graduation at Burlington Hosiery Mill in Green Cove Springs, then joined the Army and went to Vietnam in 1967. Barely 21 on April 9, 1968, Larry Jenkins was killed in action. Like a shooting star his life burned bright but brief.

Wrapped in their grief, the Middleburg community, along with his Army comrades, laid the noble warrior to rest in Grant Cemetery. Then they set about to do their part, wrapping the infant son he never knew in rich memories of his father -- the boy and man they knew, admired and loved so well.

That child, Darryl Jenkins, is now a man -- a gentle giant and a shining example of a man. He graduated from Georgia Tech, played in the NFL for the San Diego Chargers and is a successful businessman in California. He looks after the smaller ones in his own home and in his community.

Acknowledgements: Earnestine Jenkins Jones; Maude Jackson; Letters of Gen. Harold K. Johnson, United States Army, Chief of Staff and Col. William H. O'Connell