Another thing I liked that cowboys did was to set traps. I remember from the old movies that when the cowboys wanted to catch the bad guys, they would dig a trench across the road and cover it with tree branches and sticks and leaves, etc. Then the good guys would get the bad guys to chase them and of course, the bad guys would fall into the trap (trench). Then the good guys would beat up the bad guys, have the sheriff take the bad guys to jail, and then the good guy got to kiss the girl and ride off into the sunset with her.
I thought this was pretty neat and I thought I would try it. There was a chicken house on our property and a garage. There was a walk space between them about 5 feet wide. I thought this would be a great place to dig a hole in the ground, cover it with sticks and leaves, and set a trap for some unexpectant weary soul. I would trap somebody! I would get'em!
I dug the hole right in the middle of the walkway about 2 feet wide and 12 inches deep. No one could miss stepping on the sticks and leaves and fall into the hole. I had a rope in the garage that I thought I could tie up the unsuspecting passerby, thus capturing the "bad guy."
My brother-in-laws grandfather lived in the chicken house that had been converted to a one room apartment. He was about 75 years old and rather thin and frail. He walked with a cane. His name was Jasper Scott.
Well, as fate and my luck would have it, Jasper stepped in the hole. I'd caught my first person in the trap! Of course I had no intention of catching a 75 year old frail grandpa that walked with a cane. I thought I would get someone my own age so I could beat them up and then tie them up with my rope. I don't know if I would have called the local police to get them thrown in jail ... after all, they had committed no crime. And where was the girl that I was going to ride off into the sunset with? Where, oh where was she?
Jasper sprained his good ankle really bad. He was able to get up and get into the chicken house, now an apartment, and call his grandson, my brother-in-law. When my brother-in-law arrived and surveyed the scene, it didn't take a New York detective to figure out the scenerio. I was in trouble ..... again!
I don't remember what my punishment was but I do remember having to apologize to Mr. Scott, fill in the hole-trap, sustain a really good tongue lashing from my hot-headed brother-in-law, and promise I would never do anything like that again.
Dad told me that if I ever did anything like that again, and hurt somebody, there would be hell to pay and I would pay it at a costly price.
I never set a trap again!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
I Wanted To Be A Cowboy
When I was a kid I always wanted to be a cowboy. I would have been a good cowboy. When I lived on the farm I used to set up hay bales in the barn and pretend it was a horse and ride miles and miles. When we moved to town and got our first black and white 13 inch television I watched every cowboy and Indian show that was broadcast on Saturday mornings. Then on Saturday afternoons if there was a western movie at the local theatre, I would scrape up the 10 cents to go to the movies. No drink and no popcorn ... just the movie.
I was "eat up" with wanting to be a cowboy. I paid attention to every detail in the television shows and the Saturday afternoon movies. The thing that particularily excited me was when the cowboys were chasing the Indians or the Indians were chasing the cowboys. I also loved to watch the cowboys blow-up something with dynamite. I especially liked it when they would blow-up a shack on a hillside.
Well .......... I got a bright idea one day. I decided that I was going to make a bomb and blow-up the neighbors garage. It was falling down anyway and was an eye sore to the neighborhood. So I figured out that I would take 4 of my brothers shotgun shells and tape them together. Then I fugured out that I could use wax paper for a fuse.
I got all my stuff together and left to go to the neighbors across the street. I planted the bomb on the ground up against the back side of the garage. Then I proceeded to lay out the wax paper fuse across a vacant lot that was next to the garage. I layed it out and down into a ditch that was about four feet deep. The ditch would give me good cover to hide in and protect me from the huge explosion that I visioned in my mind.
As soon as I had the fuse layed down into the ditch I lit it with a match. The fuse burned up out of the ditch and the fire was on its way to the bomb. I dove into the ditch to take cover ..... and I waited. I waited. I waited. I waited and waited and waited for the explosion.
After waiting some more, I peeked up over the edge of the ditch and much to my surprise, the entire back yard was on fire. The grass was burning toward his house and I just knew it was going to burn his house down. I panicked and didn't know what to do.
As luck would have it, a neighbor lady was watching the whole episode out her kitchen window. She had called the volunteer fire department which took forever to arrive. They put out the fire and everything was under control. But the bomb never went off and I didn't have the pleasure of hearing the explosion that would have wiped the neighbors garage off the map.
Of course everyone in the whole town knew about my episode within the hour because news like that travels fast in a small town. My parents knew about it before they ever got home from work and I was in big trouble. My punishment was NO television and NO cowboy movies for a month.
I also had to go knock on the neighbors door and apologize to him for burning up the yard and trying to blow up his garage. He just smiled at me and then he laughed.
I was "eat up" with wanting to be a cowboy. I paid attention to every detail in the television shows and the Saturday afternoon movies. The thing that particularily excited me was when the cowboys were chasing the Indians or the Indians were chasing the cowboys. I also loved to watch the cowboys blow-up something with dynamite. I especially liked it when they would blow-up a shack on a hillside.
Well .......... I got a bright idea one day. I decided that I was going to make a bomb and blow-up the neighbors garage. It was falling down anyway and was an eye sore to the neighborhood. So I figured out that I would take 4 of my brothers shotgun shells and tape them together. Then I fugured out that I could use wax paper for a fuse.
I got all my stuff together and left to go to the neighbors across the street. I planted the bomb on the ground up against the back side of the garage. Then I proceeded to lay out the wax paper fuse across a vacant lot that was next to the garage. I layed it out and down into a ditch that was about four feet deep. The ditch would give me good cover to hide in and protect me from the huge explosion that I visioned in my mind.
As soon as I had the fuse layed down into the ditch I lit it with a match. The fuse burned up out of the ditch and the fire was on its way to the bomb. I dove into the ditch to take cover ..... and I waited. I waited. I waited. I waited and waited and waited for the explosion.
After waiting some more, I peeked up over the edge of the ditch and much to my surprise, the entire back yard was on fire. The grass was burning toward his house and I just knew it was going to burn his house down. I panicked and didn't know what to do.
As luck would have it, a neighbor lady was watching the whole episode out her kitchen window. She had called the volunteer fire department which took forever to arrive. They put out the fire and everything was under control. But the bomb never went off and I didn't have the pleasure of hearing the explosion that would have wiped the neighbors garage off the map.
Of course everyone in the whole town knew about my episode within the hour because news like that travels fast in a small town. My parents knew about it before they ever got home from work and I was in big trouble. My punishment was NO television and NO cowboy movies for a month.
I also had to go knock on the neighbors door and apologize to him for burning up the yard and trying to blow up his garage. He just smiled at me and then he laughed.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
New Fun Begins
The move to town was over. We were all settled in. I didn't have to make new friends because I already had plenty of friends from school and church. I just had to learn where they lived. With a population of only 761 people it wasn't too much of an area to learn.
We lived on the west side of town about 3 blocks from what we called "downtown." There were no street signs and the streets were a dirt-oil mix with some gravel mixed in. There was no home mail delivery. Everyone went to the post office to get their mail. It depended on where you were in town as to whether it was "uptown" or "downtown." Downtown consisted of two short city blocks with a four-way stop right in the middle of town. Town was bordered on the north end by the Grease Palace, a full-service "filling" station. It was bordered on the south end by Shelby Motor Company. I can only remember seeing maybe one or two cars inside on the showroom floor at any one time. I don't think they sold many cars. Downtown consisted of a grocery store, a post office, a drug store (pharmacy and soda fountain), hardware store, funeral parlor, bank, movie theatre, gasoline station, restaurant, dry cleaners, car dealership, a telephone office, and a local newspaper printing shop. There may have been more businesses but these are all I can remember. The bank is the only business that exists today and of course it has changed ownership through the years. None of the other business are in existence.
The "drug store" was on the busy corner at the four-way stop and was my favorite place to go. You could buy a small fountain drink for 5 cents. A scoop of ice cream cost 7 cents. I remember when the cost of a small drink went to 8 cents. I was crushed. It was just too expensive.
You could buy liquor by the bottle at the drug store. The owner had it stored and locked up in a cabinet all by itself. There was a sign hanging over the cabinet that said: NO SALES TO MINORS. I thought that was pretty interesting and curious. I wondered why he wouldn't sell it to minors. I deciphered that it must be because when the workers got down in the coal mines they would get drunk and couldn't find their way out. Then it dawned on me that there weren't any mines within hundreds of mile of Oak Grove. I finally had to ask my dad what the sign meant. He told me. I felt rather foolish.
There was an electric cigar lighter in the drug store that fascinated all of us boys. You could pull down on a lever and it would create a spark that lit a wick and then you could light your cigar. Well, we devised that we could smoke a paper straw or a grape vine, so we would sneek in the back of the store and light a straw and smoke it. It was good for about 3 puffs before fire would burn your tongue.
My fascination with smoking continued. There will be other stories of smoking.
We lived on the west side of town about 3 blocks from what we called "downtown." There were no street signs and the streets were a dirt-oil mix with some gravel mixed in. There was no home mail delivery. Everyone went to the post office to get their mail. It depended on where you were in town as to whether it was "uptown" or "downtown." Downtown consisted of two short city blocks with a four-way stop right in the middle of town. Town was bordered on the north end by the Grease Palace, a full-service "filling" station. It was bordered on the south end by Shelby Motor Company. I can only remember seeing maybe one or two cars inside on the showroom floor at any one time. I don't think they sold many cars. Downtown consisted of a grocery store, a post office, a drug store (pharmacy and soda fountain), hardware store, funeral parlor, bank, movie theatre, gasoline station, restaurant, dry cleaners, car dealership, a telephone office, and a local newspaper printing shop. There may have been more businesses but these are all I can remember. The bank is the only business that exists today and of course it has changed ownership through the years. None of the other business are in existence.
The "drug store" was on the busy corner at the four-way stop and was my favorite place to go. You could buy a small fountain drink for 5 cents. A scoop of ice cream cost 7 cents. I remember when the cost of a small drink went to 8 cents. I was crushed. It was just too expensive.
You could buy liquor by the bottle at the drug store. The owner had it stored and locked up in a cabinet all by itself. There was a sign hanging over the cabinet that said: NO SALES TO MINORS. I thought that was pretty interesting and curious. I wondered why he wouldn't sell it to minors. I deciphered that it must be because when the workers got down in the coal mines they would get drunk and couldn't find their way out. Then it dawned on me that there weren't any mines within hundreds of mile of Oak Grove. I finally had to ask my dad what the sign meant. He told me. I felt rather foolish.
There was an electric cigar lighter in the drug store that fascinated all of us boys. You could pull down on a lever and it would create a spark that lit a wick and then you could light your cigar. Well, we devised that we could smoke a paper straw or a grape vine, so we would sneek in the back of the store and light a straw and smoke it. It was good for about 3 puffs before fire would burn your tongue.
My fascination with smoking continued. There will be other stories of smoking.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Stay or Move?
The year was 1950. I was seven years old. Hard times fell on the farm. After five years of tough times dad was between a rock and a hard place. With the cost of supplies rising that were needed to continue the farming operation dad tried to purchase the farm from the landlord. The landlord quoted dad a price he could not afford and thus began the shift in thinking about what dad was going to do. He opted to move to town, Oak Grove, and he didn't know what he was going to do. Grandmother Walraven, dads mother, gave him a small lot to build a house on for the family. Dad had never built a house but he thought he would give it a try.
The house was small. Back then they called it a "cracker box." I don't remember the dimensions but it was really small. The bathroom was so small you could wash your face in the sink while sitting on the pot! There was just enough room in the bedrooms (2) to walk around the bed. The kitchen was unbelievably small. The front room, as we called it, was the largest room in the house. I would guess it was about 10 feet by 12 feet. But the house was our home and we loved it.
While dad was building the house someone stopped by and asked him if he would build them a house. And since he had no prospects of doing anything else, he said that he would. That job led him to another building job and then another and then another. Soon after Grayum Building Company was born and the stage was set for dad to be a small-time builder in and around Oak Grove.
One interesting note about when we were packing up to leave the farm and move to town. My dad told my brother to not forget the plane that was in the barn. Well, I went nuts when I heard that we had a plane in the barn. I had never seen an airplane in the barn and I had played all over every square inch of that barn. I immediately ran to the barn ahead of my brother to see if I could find the plane. When I told my brother I had never seen an airplane in the barn and I didn't even know we had an airplane, he began to laugh hilariously. He took me to the workbench and showed me a tool used to plane smooth edges on a board. A plane. Not an airplane like I had thought.
I was almost eight years old when we moved to town.
A new saga began and the story continues.
The house was small. Back then they called it a "cracker box." I don't remember the dimensions but it was really small. The bathroom was so small you could wash your face in the sink while sitting on the pot! There was just enough room in the bedrooms (2) to walk around the bed. The kitchen was unbelievably small. The front room, as we called it, was the largest room in the house. I would guess it was about 10 feet by 12 feet. But the house was our home and we loved it.
While dad was building the house someone stopped by and asked him if he would build them a house. And since he had no prospects of doing anything else, he said that he would. That job led him to another building job and then another and then another. Soon after Grayum Building Company was born and the stage was set for dad to be a small-time builder in and around Oak Grove.
One interesting note about when we were packing up to leave the farm and move to town. My dad told my brother to not forget the plane that was in the barn. Well, I went nuts when I heard that we had a plane in the barn. I had never seen an airplane in the barn and I had played all over every square inch of that barn. I immediately ran to the barn ahead of my brother to see if I could find the plane. When I told my brother I had never seen an airplane in the barn and I didn't even know we had an airplane, he began to laugh hilariously. He took me to the workbench and showed me a tool used to plane smooth edges on a board. A plane. Not an airplane like I had thought.
I was almost eight years old when we moved to town.
A new saga began and the story continues.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Go Fish !
My first time fishing was in Sni creek, bordering the western part of the farm. My mothers nephew, Ed Lawson, took me. He was about 16 or 17 years old. He was visiting us during the summer and decided he wanted to go fishing. He rigged up a cane pole and we headed out for the quarter mile hike to the creek. We caught some grasshoppers along the way to use for bait.
It seemed like a long time passed but he finally caught a fish, a ten inch long catfish. I had caught nothing ... nada ... zilch-o! I was really excited that he'd caught a fish and I wanted to clean it, take it back to the house and eat it.
He didn't want to do that and instead proposed that we cut the fish up and use it for bait ! I was very opposed to the idea but my opposition was over-ruled. I said we could walk back through the hay field and catch some more grasshoppers but he said the "cut bait" would work better and that we would catch a whole bunch more fish.
Well ... the "cut bait" didn't work and we didn't catch any more fish the rest of the afternoon. I was crushed. My first fishing trip and I was going home empty handed!
But that's the way it goes. Sometimes you just "go fish" and at other times you "catch." I would rather go "catching" than just "fishing" any day.
It seemed like a long time passed but he finally caught a fish, a ten inch long catfish. I had caught nothing ... nada ... zilch-o! I was really excited that he'd caught a fish and I wanted to clean it, take it back to the house and eat it.
He didn't want to do that and instead proposed that we cut the fish up and use it for bait ! I was very opposed to the idea but my opposition was over-ruled. I said we could walk back through the hay field and catch some more grasshoppers but he said the "cut bait" would work better and that we would catch a whole bunch more fish.
Well ... the "cut bait" didn't work and we didn't catch any more fish the rest of the afternoon. I was crushed. My first fishing trip and I was going home empty handed!
But that's the way it goes. Sometimes you just "go fish" and at other times you "catch." I would rather go "catching" than just "fishing" any day.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Camel Cigarettes
I remember harvest times on the farm were good times. Harvesting was hard work and I mostly watched because I was too little to be of much help. There are two primary times for "putting up" hay. One in late spring and one in late summer. Once the hay is cut, it has to lay for a few hours, and then be baled before the evening dew sets in. So, depending on how large the field is, it can run into late night before you are done hauling in the hay and getting it in the barn.
I remember on one occasion dad had several men come over to the farm and help him put up the hay. They came to our house around noon and immediately went to work doing whatever it was that they did. I remember being down in the hay field with them and dad called to me to come over to where he was. He told me to go to the house and get him a pack of cigarettes. He smoked Camels and I thought the camel on the front of the pack was pretty cool. I went to the house and told mom that dad needed a pack of cigarettes, so she gave me a pack to take to him. I took them to him and gave them to him.
Then I got a bright idea !
I thought that I'd like a cigarette for me to smoke. I couldn't go to dad and ask for one because, of course, he wouldn't give me one. So I went back to the house in a little while and told mom that dad needed another pack of cigarettes. She questioned me rather thoroughly but finally gave me another pack. So now I was set.
Well, I didn't have anything to light the cigarettes with so I just pretended to smoke them. It was pretty cool smoking (or at least pretending to smoke) like all the other big men on the hay crew.
After the hay was cut and left to dry for awhile in the field, all the men went to the house for a meal before they began to bale and haul in the hay. Before we sat down at the table mom asked dad why he needed another pack of cigarettes since she had already sent one to him via me. He asked her what did she mean? And she told him about me coming to the house for a second pack. He said he didn't send me for a second pack. Well, I was in trouble.
My punishment for lying and making up such a story was that I didn't get to set at the dinner table with all of the big tough hay haulers. I had to sit in the corner of the kitchen and look at the wall and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They all had roast beef.
As I remember, that was my first time trying to smoke.
I remember on one occasion dad had several men come over to the farm and help him put up the hay. They came to our house around noon and immediately went to work doing whatever it was that they did. I remember being down in the hay field with them and dad called to me to come over to where he was. He told me to go to the house and get him a pack of cigarettes. He smoked Camels and I thought the camel on the front of the pack was pretty cool. I went to the house and told mom that dad needed a pack of cigarettes, so she gave me a pack to take to him. I took them to him and gave them to him.
Then I got a bright idea !
I thought that I'd like a cigarette for me to smoke. I couldn't go to dad and ask for one because, of course, he wouldn't give me one. So I went back to the house in a little while and told mom that dad needed another pack of cigarettes. She questioned me rather thoroughly but finally gave me another pack. So now I was set.
Well, I didn't have anything to light the cigarettes with so I just pretended to smoke them. It was pretty cool smoking (or at least pretending to smoke) like all the other big men on the hay crew.
After the hay was cut and left to dry for awhile in the field, all the men went to the house for a meal before they began to bale and haul in the hay. Before we sat down at the table mom asked dad why he needed another pack of cigarettes since she had already sent one to him via me. He asked her what did she mean? And she told him about me coming to the house for a second pack. He said he didn't send me for a second pack. Well, I was in trouble.
My punishment for lying and making up such a story was that I didn't get to set at the dinner table with all of the big tough hay haulers. I had to sit in the corner of the kitchen and look at the wall and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They all had roast beef.
As I remember, that was my first time trying to smoke.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Little Lamb
The first pet I ever had was a lamb named Duz. He was named after a popular laundry detergent at the time. His wool was as white as freshly laundered bed sheets ... and that was the theme of the laundry detergent.
I don't remember where we got him and I don't know that I ever even knew where he came from. But we got him when he was just a baby. I do remember being told that his mother sheep had died and dad brought him home from one of our neighbors. I had to feed him warm milk from a glass bottle with a rubber nipple. I remember how cute he looked when he was "nursing." Slobbers included!
As he grew he became more frisky with every passing day. And of course he was puttin' on the pounds. As lambs, sheep, and goats will do, he began to "butt" me with his head and anyone else that looked like a good target. When I would ride an old beat-up-hand-me-down tricycle he began to "butt" me off and turn me over. Well as he grew larger the "butts" became harder and harder and more severe. One day he "butted" me really hard and then began to maul me and dad had to come to my rescue. I remember at the supper table that night mom and dad talking about what to do with the lamb, now grown into a sheep. Dad told mom and me that he thought he would just take Duz to town. Well, little did I know at the time what that meant.
I thought taking Duz to town was a great idea. Then he could run all around town up and down the streets playing with the dogs and cats and anything else that was interested. I wanted to go with dad when he "took him to town," but dad said no ... he had to do this by himself.
For a short time after dad took the lamb away and we went to town, I would want dad to drive around and see if we could find Duz. That happened a couple of times and I soon forgot about him.
Well, as time passed, I later learned that when a farmer talks about taking something "to town," it didn't mean what I thought it meant. When a farmer talks about taking something "to town," he is referring to either a grain elevator, if it is a crop, or he is referring to taking livestock to the slaughter house.
"Oh my," I thought, when I learned what the real meaning was when dad said, "I think I'll just take him to town."
(I have a picture of me feeding Duz with a bottle and if I can find it I will try to put it by this post.)
I don't remember where we got him and I don't know that I ever even knew where he came from. But we got him when he was just a baby. I do remember being told that his mother sheep had died and dad brought him home from one of our neighbors. I had to feed him warm milk from a glass bottle with a rubber nipple. I remember how cute he looked when he was "nursing." Slobbers included!
As he grew he became more frisky with every passing day. And of course he was puttin' on the pounds. As lambs, sheep, and goats will do, he began to "butt" me with his head and anyone else that looked like a good target. When I would ride an old beat-up-hand-me-down tricycle he began to "butt" me off and turn me over. Well as he grew larger the "butts" became harder and harder and more severe. One day he "butted" me really hard and then began to maul me and dad had to come to my rescue. I remember at the supper table that night mom and dad talking about what to do with the lamb, now grown into a sheep. Dad told mom and me that he thought he would just take Duz to town. Well, little did I know at the time what that meant.
I thought taking Duz to town was a great idea. Then he could run all around town up and down the streets playing with the dogs and cats and anything else that was interested. I wanted to go with dad when he "took him to town," but dad said no ... he had to do this by himself.
For a short time after dad took the lamb away and we went to town, I would want dad to drive around and see if we could find Duz. That happened a couple of times and I soon forgot about him.
Well, as time passed, I later learned that when a farmer talks about taking something "to town," it didn't mean what I thought it meant. When a farmer talks about taking something "to town," he is referring to either a grain elevator, if it is a crop, or he is referring to taking livestock to the slaughter house.
"Oh my," I thought, when I learned what the real meaning was when dad said, "I think I'll just take him to town."
(I have a picture of me feeding Duz with a bottle and if I can find it I will try to put it by this post.)
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