MY BROTHER EDGAR ALLEN OWEN

 

MY BROTHER EDGAR ALLEN OWEN

It was April 23, 1942. World War Two was raging in the Pacific.  My Uncle Edward had just been ordered overseas to fight with his unit. It was  just beginning to warm up a little after a cold and snowy winter. My Mama was in the kitchen putting pinto beans in a new cooker with a copper bottom. She had soaked the beans the night before in a large yellow jewel bowl  and before putting them in the cooker, she had sat down by the kitchen table  in a straw seated chair and done a familiar  ritual. She called it looking  the beans.

She took a handful of beans and put them in her white apron trimmed in blue corn flowers. It was her favorite among many that she had sewed from flower sacks. When she bought flour, she always chose either white or calico bags. The children sported pretty calico shirts  hand sewn by loving hands. As she looked at the beans, she picked out small black rocks. She placed the clean beans a handful at a time in the new cooker.

As she rose from the chair to add water to the beans, she felt a sharp pain. She held her stomach until the pain passed and began pouring water over the beans. After she covered the beans with water, she placed a chunk of salt pork on the counter and scored it with a butcher knife. The blade of the butcher knife was worn down to a narrow blade, but it remained sharp. It had chopped up various kinds of things over the years. It had a wooden handle with brass rivets. She recalled buying it years ago from the company store in Rosman.

Suddenly she doubled over with another sharp pain worse than the one before. She called out to her daughter Thelma and Thelma rushed into the kitchen. Would you get the beans cooking? I am having some pains, and I need to lie down for a minute.

Thelma put the new cooker with the beans and water on the wood stove and added some more sticks to the burner. She stirred the beans good and added the salt pork or what Mama liked to call the fat back to the beans and covered the pot with the silver lid with a wooden knob on top.

When Thelma returned to the living room, Mama was lying on the couch holding onto her stomach. Are you all right Mama? Yes, I think the baby is coming. Go to Mama’s and call the doctor. Mama has the number.

Thelma ran out the dirt driveway, down the hill, and up Frozen Creek Road to her Grandma’s house. Grandma called the doctor and then quick walked with Thelma back to the house. The labor pains were getting worse and more frequent and Mama’s forehead had beads of sweat. Grandma got a cold washcloth and placed in on Mama’s forehead.

About 45 minutes later, the Doctor came in his old 39 Buick Coupe. He ordered everybody out of the room except for Grandma and soon a loud cry came from the living room and Edgar Allen Owen entered the world. It was April 23, a Thursday at 3: 43 in the afternoon.

Edgar lived most of his life along Frozen Creek Road in Transylvania County. He grew up alongside the creek known as Frozen Creek. It was a shallow creek that seldom was deeper than knee deep in the bends of the creek. It emptied into the French Broad River just below Edgar’s trailer house.

It was 67 years since my Mama lay on the couch giving birth. Edgar had  lived a rough life. It was November of 2009, and the weather was getting colder. Edgar had a dog that growled with a menacing sound if anyone approached Edgar’s trailer house. Edgar took the dog some pork chop bones and some leftover biscuits and cornbread. The dog jumped up on Edgar and tried to lick his face, but Edgar scolded the dog , pushed him down and told it to eat. As the dog ate, Edgar rubbed his head and ears. The breeze picked up, and Edgar went back into the house. He settled into his favorite chair and popped the lid on a can of Schlitz beer. He picked up his book, found the dog-eared page, and continued reading a Science Fiction story.

Since his wife, Faye died, Edgar seldom left home. When he received his Widower’s check at the third week of each month, he would drive his pickup down to Rosman to his cousin Phillip’s store and cash the check. Each time, he loaded a twelve pack of beer in his truck and drank one on his way back to his trailer house.

On the morning of November 23^rd, Edgar woke up. His book was on the floor, and a can of beer had spilled on his lap.  The twelve pack of beer from the day before sat on the floor by his chair. There was three left unopened. The empty cans were stacked around his chair. He struggled to his feet and splashed some water on his face. He had a hangover headache. He broke off a piece of cornbread that was on a plate in the kitchen and drank a cold cup of leftover coffee. He decided to make a new pot of coffee, and he fumbled through the cupboard and found a filter. He measured four tablespoons of Folgers in the coffee pot and added water up to the bottom of the filter holder.  He put the pot on the left front burner as the right front had stopped working.

When the coffee was done, he removed the pot and filled his stained coffee cup to the brim. As he made his way back to his chair, he spilled some of the coffee. He liked it boiling hot. He drank a big gulp of coffee and sat it down by his chair and his book. He popped the lid on a beer and was sipping on it while he read his book. He was on page 237 when someone began knocking on his door. A few people knew when his Social Security check arrived and he had visitors around that time.

He pushed himself into a standing position and hobbled to the door. He opened the door and three people were outside. Hey, Uncle Ed said the girl. We are fixing to go to town and wanted to know if you needed anything. Well, I could use a twelve pack, and I need a can of Carnation cream for my coffee. I forgot to get it yesterday. Hold on, I will get my billfold.

As Edgar  went to the kitchen  counter where he normally kept his billfold, the three people entered his house. He opened his billfold and removed a twenty-dollar bill. The girl took the twenty and said, Uncle Ed, Would you loan me ten dollars? I have to buy a coat for my daughter. Someone took her coat at school, and it is getting colder. I can pay you back when I receive my disability check. Edgar took another 20-dollar bill from his billfold and handed it to her. The big guy saw the money in Edgar’s billfold and said, “I could use a twenty also. Edgar looked at him and said, “I don’t even know you. The big guy grabbed Edgar and pushed him toward the open door. Edgar swung and hit the guy in his eye with his right fist. The big guy pushed Edgar out the door. Edgar fell down the steps onto the ground and as he was getting to his feet, both of the men hit him. Edgar staggered and turned to fight back. The smaller man had picked up a stick of stove wood, and he brought it down hard on the side of Edgar’s head behind his ear.  Edgar fell to the ground unconscious. The girl said, “Is he dead”?

Well, if he’s not, he soon will be said the big guy. You get his wallet. Edgar was dragged over to his pickup and thrown in the back.

The girl came out of the trailer with Edgar’s wallet in her hand. Oh God, what are we going to do now?

We will put him in the creek said the smaller man. What good is that going to do asked the big man? Well, everybody knows that he goes to town to get beer. We will turn the truck around as if he is coming back from town, drive it off the road and put him in the creek. When he is found, they will think he was drunk and tried to walk across the creek to his trailer and that he fell in and drowned.

They drove down the road in Edgar’s truck and turned around. Just as they got close to the creek, they run the truck off the road. The big man pulled Edgar out of the back of the truck and hauled him off the bank down to the creek. He placed Edgar in the creek face down. The girl said, turn him around where he is facing down the creek toward the river.

Edgar was found within a few feet of where he was placed in the creek. The Rosman Rescue Squad was called. One of the squad members was going to get Edgar out of the creek but the leader said that they had to call the Medical Examiner to come to the scene. They placed a call to the Medical Examiner, and he said if it was an accident he did not need to visit the scene. He instructed the Rescue Squad to bring Edgar to the Brevard Hospital.

At the Hospital, a gurney was brought out, and Edgar was wheeled into an examining room. The Doctor came in and asked where Edgar was found. I know of him said the Doctor, he is a drunk. He probably run off the road and tried to cross the creek to get to his house and then fell and drowned. He checked the bruises on Edgar’s head and the scratches on his arms. Then he took a vial of blood from Edgar’s carotid artery and had a nurse call Moody Connally Funeral Home to come and get Edgar. The Rescue squad leader asked if there would be an autopsy. It would be a waste of money on a drunk and according to the way he was found, it was an accident. I will notify the Sheriff, and he will have someone question you all. The Doctor went home.

In North Carolina, state law on an unattended death, an autopsy is supposed to be conducted to determine the cause of death. No autopsy was conducted. At the funeral home, Edgar was washed and his clothes were discarded. According to the Funeral Director, the clothes were torn and soiled so they were thrown away. The worker who prepared Edgar for a funeral took a paste and filled the indention in Edgar’s head and placed his hair over the wound.

It was a cold November day and according to the Sheriff, based on what the Medical Examiner said , Edgar died from accidental drowning. Edgar was later exhumed and sent to Raleigh for an autopsy. The autopsy report could not determine a cause of death but noted that there was no water in Edgar’s lungs. The blood sample taken by the Medical Examiner showed a high degree of alcohol.   The scratches were described as injuries that occurred when Edgar allegedly walked through brushes to get to the creek. The bruises were described as possibly happening  when Edgar fell into the creek and possibly hit a rock.

On November 27, 2009, at the 2:00 p.m.  viewing of Edgar at the funeral home, my brother Gerald went to the casket and noticed some of the makeup paste on Edgar’s hair. He put his hand on the spot, and the soft paste gave way to a deep wound on the side of

Edgar’s head by his ear. Gerald stood at the coffin and leaned over and told Edgar, “We will find out who did this”. He then reached in his pocket and took out his yellow case knife and placed it in Edgar’s hand.  Our brother Harold had given each of his brothers a case knife and Edgar had lost his.

Gerald and I had several reward posters printed and hung them on bulletin boards throughout the county. The perpetrators at that time were not ready to turn on each other but a lot of time has passed. This November 23, it will be 16 years since my brother Edgar was killed for a few dollars. There was no interest in the Sheriff’s office in pursuing even a cursory investigation. I wrote the DA, and he showed no interest. In fact, he responded that I was trying to threaten him. I wrote to the State Bureau of Investigation, and they claimed that they could not get involved unless the county law enforcement or the DA asked them .

 

Gerald and I have a fairly good idea of who was responsible but no solid proof. After all this time, I believe that the killers have talked about the killing to others, and they are feeling pretty safe. They have probably bragged about what they did to relatives or friends. I don’t think they will come forward to collect a reward unless they can strike a deal for immunity for informing on the others. But someone they talked to about killing my brother might be tempted to collect  a reward and testify against the killers.  There are no secrets in Transylvania County. Somebody knows exactly what happened to my brother Edgar sixteen years ago. Edgar would be 83 now if he were still alive. I can  almost feel Edgar telling me and Gerald that we still can find out who killed him.

So, I am going to post a $5000 reward for any information that leads to the arrest and conviction of one or more of the killers. If we can get one of them, they may be willing to rat out the other two for a lighter sentence. I have nothing but disgust for the Medical Examiner who showed no respect for Edgar. I am not surprised at the inefficiency and lack of interest in the Sheriff’s office as it is filled with untrained and inexperienced people.  The DA is the worst of them all. I begged him to request the State Bureau of Investigation (SBI)  to look at all the inconsistencies and do an actual professional investigation. All Edgar wanted to do was to drink his beer and read his Science Fiction books. He bothered no one and he was continually ripped off of his meager funds by dead beats and no good takers. He was always willing to help people and would give a shirt off his back to someone in need. He did not deserve to die the way he did. He lived alongside Frozen Creek all his life and for someone to tell me that he drowned in that shallow water drunk or sober makes my blood boil.

My brother Gerald is in bad shape health wise, but he will help me get reward posters out. He , like me, knows Edgar was murdered, Edgar would expect no less. I think of him often and in dreams, he tells me to keep trying. I will.

Edgar’s bones rest at Whitmire Cemetery in Lake Toxaway but his spirit and soul are free. The truth needs to come out and then maybe  my brother Edgar’s soul will be at peace.

The Bra Strap Dilemma

 

THE BRA STRAP DILEMMA

As a young man back in those early days I pondered the Bra Stap Dilemma. It is very similar to dissimilar automobile parts. You are probably wondering right about now, what the heck is the similarity to such dissimilar things. Maybe an example will clear up the confusion.

My brother Gerald had a 1953 Mercury at one time. The radio on that old Mercury could pull in WSM Nashville Tennessee or the Louisiana Hayride. On a cloudless night, we could listen to radio stations in Texas. When he finally got rid of the Mercury, I wished we had kept the radio. Anyway , back to the example.

One day or maybe it was one night, I can’t rightly remember the starter quit working. We even  tried to stick a screwdriver between the leads of the solenoid and it was deader than a door nail or was that a doorknob. Anyway, we could not cruise around the countryside with a dead starter. Sos we parked it.

 

I got this brilliant idea; well come to find out it was not really brilliant, it just seemed to be at the time. There was an old 1950 Chevrolet that had died upon what we called the old road. I took some tools in a tow sack and walked up on the old road by the trash pile. I breaks out my tools, climb under the old, abandoned Chevy and commenced to get the starter off. After an hour, I climbed out from under the old Chevrolet with  dirty greasy starter.  All my knuckles were bloodied because starters don’t wat to be removed easily. The manufacture hides the bolts to where you have to be a double-jointed ventriloquist  to slide a wrench over and between the engine block to loosen the bolts. I had grease and dirt all over my clothes, but I wore a smile as I carried the starter down the road to Gerald’s parked Mercury.

Both Gerald and I were impressed with my ingenuity. Gerald clumb out from under the Mercury with bleeding knuckles and holding the dead starter. I handed him the Chevy starter, and he went under the Mercury once more. After about 10 minutes , I heard Gerald making strange noises including some guttural grunts and some loud by dams. Respecting delicate ears, I will not recount the actual words he muttered.

It seems that Chevrolet starters have a different mounting system for a starter than Ford designed for the Mercury. The mounting holes on the Chevy starter were about two inches off from the Mercury starter. We were pissed big time and swore to only buy Chryslers in the future.  A trip to the junkyard solved the problem and we were back on the road again listening to that fabulous Mercury radio.

Years later, I worked at a GMC dealership. Well GM makes Chevrolets and Cadillacs. One day a Cardillac owner came in to buy a starter. When I told him the list price for the starter, I thought he was going to pass out. He called his wife and told her to bring some more money down to the dealership. After he left with his starter, I opened the box on a Chevy starter and compared it to a Cardillac starter. They were identical except for the part numbers and the price. The Chevy starter was half the cost of the Cadillac starter. It brought back memories of the old 53 Merc.

Anyway, I got sidetracked a little. Back to the Bra Strap story.

The similarity to automobile parts is that different Bra manufacturers design the strap holders completely different. It seems that no two bra straps fasten the same way. Some have hooks, some have clasps some have hooks and clasps, and some have a hook up like a tie down strap where you have to thread one end over and under and then pull the slack to tighten the Bra. (so, I’ve heard). Anyway, the subject came up one day in our Future Farmers of America  (FFA) class, so the teacher suggested that we take a sheet of plywood and make a class project . Before too long we had at least a dozen bra straps mounted on the plywood. We examined the different hook ups on the Bra straps and practiced releasing the different configurations just in case someday some poor girl had passed out, and first aid technique required removing the bra strap to allow her to breath better.

Well, the plywood with the different bra straps stayed up for quite a while until the Home Ed teacher somehow became aware  and she and the principle came to our FFA class and demanded we take it down. I felt sorry for next year’s class. I guess they eventually learned the ropes by trial and error. But my classmates never reported any future difficulties with the delicate matter.

I later wrote a song to the tune of Are you Lonesome Tonight)

My song started with the following lyrics:

Are you lonesome tonight?

Does your bra fit too tight

I can fix that problem for you

And so on.

I had another Bra strap incident just recently.

We made a dump run  dump and decided to swing by the bank and  deposit one of Anita’s Business Account checks. The check was made out to “Bed of Roses Machine Quilting.” I wanted to deposit it into our joint checking account. I knew the bank would want to first have it deposited into her business account and then we could transfer the money to our checking account. My name was not on her business account so I told Anita that she would need her drivers license to show that the business account belonged to her. So, she took her drive’s license out of her purse and showed it to me. Since we were almost at the bank, I told her just to hold on to her license. We parked in the bank parking lot, and I told her we would both have to go into the bank. I then asked if she had her license handy. She looked down at her hand and said “Just a minute ago, I had it in my hand, but it is not there now. Well, we proceeded to search her purse, then we got out of the pickup and searched the floorboards and in between and under the seats. The driver’s license had literally disappeared within a period of 5 minutes. It was not in the pickup although we found a quarter, a dime and two pennies and an old gum wrapper.

I said , “Well, let’s try to deposit the check anyway and when we get you a new license, we can transfer the money into our checking account. Well, the band went ahead and deposited the check into the business account, but the teller had trouble transferring the money to the checking account. After a few calls to the main branch, the money was finally transferred into our checking account after about 35 minutes or so.

I told Anita the only thing I could think of with her driver’s license was that her window was partially down and maybe she had dropped it out the window because it dam sure was not in the pickup.  So, it was early in the day, DMV was within a mile. I drove there, stood in line for 21 minutes to be told that they did not handle driver’s license only motor vehicle registrations and titles. It seems driver’s license business was handled in the Sheriff’s office. So’s we goes to the Sheriff’s office. Everybody and their third cousins were in line. I finally got to the counter and the girl said that Anita would have to fill out a form to get her driver’s license replaced. She gave me the form. I helped Anita fill out the form. By that time , the line had gotten longer with more third cousins getting in line.   I told Anita that we would come back another day when all the illegals were not getting their driver’s license. We left with the form and went home.

When I got home, I needed a drink, so I poured a shot of 100 proof and tried to relax. I checked the fine print on the form for replacing a driver’s license and it required an identification card to turn in the form and get a replacement license. Anita’s driver’s license was her ID because she had earlier lost her purse with her military ID. I poured another drink and decided to deal with it later.

I was sipping my drink when Anita came to the table and showed me her driver’s license.  I sputtered and sputtered a little more and finally, I asked her: Where the hell did you find your license. Well, I swear this is the truth.

She pulled her bra strap aside and said she had felt something stuck. She found her driver’s license down in her bra by the boobies. I felt like a booby for not searching there; I just never imagined that it got from being in her hand into the booby territory and I poured another drink and just accepted it, didn’t even try to figure it out.

 

 

The Road Trips and Piggly Wiggly

We were living in an apartment in Wilmington, California. The walls were thin, and I could hear the neighbor’s snoring. Had the nicest little landlord, Mrs. Carey. I had a small tabletop grill, and pork chops were cheap. Simple pleasures, I would take the small grill down to the bottom floor and put the charcoal  in and light it off. Anita would bring down the pork chops and the Worcestershire sauce. I waited until the coals got golden and then arrange the pork chops evenly on the grill. The smell would waft over the fence to the next-door house where Mr. Carey lived. Soon, she would saunter over and visit. I would always invite her over for grilled pork chops which was her favorite. My ship, the aircraft carrier USS Hornet CVS-12 was almost out of Dry Dock, and I had to report aboard and get ready for Carrier Quals. The ship was heading for another 9-month Westpac cruise patrolling the North and South Viet Nam coast and launching bombing strikes. I was close to being discharged and I requested that I be transferred to the USS Yorktown which was in Dry Dock since I only had about 65 days 3 hours and 27 minutes left in my enlistment. They turned me down and Anita came down to the piers to see me off in my Crackerjack uniform with the cape and stars on the flap.  I gave her the keys to our 65 Chevelle Malibu and we kissed goodbye like we had done so many times before. On the first day out, we had pork chops for supper. Our first stop was Hawaii. I knew that I would leave the ship in Honolulu.

Well, I was out on the fantail of the ship smoking a Marlboro and a cool breeze blew by. I went below decks and got my foul weather jacket. It kept getting colder and colder and the second day out, the Captain got on the 1MC and announced that the reason it was getting colder was we were not in Hawaiian waters but approaching the Aleutian Islands in Alaska. He explained that we were following a Russian Submarine. Well soon we turned south and headed for warmer waters. An embarrassed Captain got on the 1MC and announced that the Russian Submarine had turned out to be  a good-sized whale.  We docked in Hawaii, and I went down to the Personnel Office to check on my discharge. They said that I would have to wait a day as they were behind. I was told that I would fly to Treasure Island for discharge. I explained that I lived in Long Beach/Wilmington. Tough titty said they.

So, I packed my seabag and went ashore. A Navy bus took us to downtown Honolulu. I went down to Hotel Street. To the sailors, Hotel Street was called Shit Street, but they did have some nice cafés and cheap beer. I intended to get back to the ship early in order to rest up for my flight the next day. But then one thing led to another which led to another, and I might have drank a little too much beer in a bar with a Johnny Cash Band. Well, it was a Hawaiian  band, but they played all the old Sun Record hits of Johnny Cash.  I got back to the ship after midnight and did not get too much sleep. Reville was about 0600 so I got up and did my SSS. I went down to the mess decks and had a plate of SOS and drank a few cups of coffee. Then I went to the Personnel Office, and they handed me my records and my orders in a large manila folder.  I struggled with my seabag and the large envelope up to the gangway, sat my load down, saluted the OOD and requested permission to go ashore. The Chief asked me where are you off to and I told him freedom. He saluted, grinned, and said permission granted.

I went down the gangplank , sat my seabag on the ground, and turned toward the ship and gave the ship and the Navy a righteous bird. Then I caught a cab and told the guy to take me to the airport. When I got to the airport, I went to the Military Help Desk and showed a nice lady my orders and what was called a GTV (Government Travel Voucher which was basically  a ticket. It read Honolulu Hawaii to San Francisco. I told the lady I was being discharged, and she asked where I lived. I told her in Long Beach, and she asked why the heck are you being discharged in Treasure Island when you could be discharged in Long Beach just a few miles from my apartment. I said that lately the Navy and I were not seeing eye to eye, and she said that if she were me, she would draw a line through San Francisco and write in Los Angeles. So, I did. I took the modified GTV to the ticket counter and was told I would have to wait for about three hours for the next flight to LA. I killed some time at a little airport restaurant and had some bacon and eggs and an endless cup of coffee.

I checked my seabag to LA and boarded the plane. At the top of the ladder, I looked back at Honolulu and its clear blue skies. It would be almost 18 years until I saw those skies again.

I landed in Las Angeles , well, the plane did, and I called Anita to tell her I would be home soon. I got the answering machine and left a message that I would call her from Long Beach to pick me up

I went to the Military Assistance Counter and bummed a ride to Long Beach in an old green Army Bus. They let me off on Ocean Boulevard. I managed to wrestle the seabag off the bus and went to a pay phone. This time Anita answered, and she agreed to come and get me.  Twenty minutes later she pulled to the curb and popped the trunk, and I started to climb in, and she said no Silly, put your seabag in. I followed her orders and rode up front in the Malibu. When we got home, I looked at my orders, and they said report to Treasure Island for Discharge. Well, I quickly lined through Treasure Island and wrote in Long Beach.

The next day, I went to the Long Beach Naval Station and checked in at the Personnel Office. The guy at the counter said hey according to this, you are supposed to be at Treasure Island, who wrote in this change. Heck if I know said I.  Oh well, he said as he stamped the orders. I asked when I would be discharged, and he said that it would be abut three weeks. Well, long story short, to kill the three weeks, I was assigned as shore patrol at night and during the afternoons, I was put in charge of funeral details. We would go to different cemeteries around Long Beach and Los Angles. I would have the firing squad do honors and I would give a folded flag to the family of the deceased sailor. Most were coming from Viet Nam. Sometimes a local veteran died and deserved military honors. I did not care for that assignment.

Well, the days drug on and finally, my enlistment was up. I was discharged and once again proclaimed a civilian. I took the Malibu to the base service station for a tune up and there was a line at the service counter. When I got to the Service Counter, I told the guy I wanted a tune up and an oil change. He asked what kind of vehicle I had. My mind went blank. If someone offered me a thousand dollars to tell the make and model of my 65 Chevelle Super Sport Malibu, I could not have done it. The guy looked at me and said what is the make and model of your vehicle. I said, I will be right back. I got to the parking lot and saw the beautiful Forrest green Malibu looking back at me. I wrote the license plate number on my hand and went back in the service station. I had to wait in line again and when I got to the counter, the guy looked at me and said did you find out what kind of car you own? I gave him the information and went to the soda pop machine and bought a 7-up. About an hour later, I picked up my car and drove off the base and went home. We packed the car with our suitcases, and I looked at Anita and said, “are you going to get the kids.” She gave me that look and said we don’t have kids’ buster. Well that changed.

 

We filled up with gas, bought some maps, and headed for North Carolina. We saw a lot of sights along the way, Paul Bunyan, the Worlds biggest ball of twine and a lot of  roadside attractions. Cheap motels, fast food, and rest stops and playing with the radio dial trying to find a country station.

We went through Knoxville, Tennessee and headed down the mountain to Asheville North Carolina. When we got to a sign saying Welcome to North Carolina I pulled off the road and hugged the sign as Anita took a picture of me and my goofy grin. But Thomas Wolfe was right: You can’t go home again. Well, you can but it is never the same.

I think I have told the story about getting a job at a GMC dealership as a parts counter employee and then working in Pickens, South Carolina in a Tool factory so I won’t go into that again except to say that the minimum wage was $1.65 an hour and that gave us enough money to buy gas to and from work, buy Anita’s pre-natal vitamins and pay the Doctor. We ate a lot of beans and cornbread (no complaints there) and once in a while a meatloaf or a pork chop. We got by and we found out what time relatives normally had supper and we just happened to stop by. NO, No,  no, we would say, we did not plan to interrupt your supper, and our noses grew a little. Well maybe just a little of those potatoes and a cup of coffee.

Well, Grandma insisted that we go to Sunday services with her. We sat in the pew and out come this holy roller preacher. He did not look so bad at first. He had a tie and coat on. Well that changed, He looked directly at me or so it seemed and ripped off his tie and coat and threw it in the corner. Then he lit up like a Christmas tree and yelled, he did not raise his voice, he yelled as he locked eyes with me and screamed “You sinners are going to hell, you will see fire and brimstone.” I felt pain. Anita had grabbed my arm, and her fingernails had sunk deeply into my arm. She was as white as a ghost. Not like the holy ghost , but more like Casper. Her teeth were gritted and the thought I had was to take it easy honey, we can’t afford to break a tooth. Well as we walked out of the church Grandma looked at us with a great big smile and said, “wasn’t that one of the best sermons you ever heard.” I started to reply but Anita still had hold of my arm with those fingernails still embedded in my arm, so I just nodded.  When we got home, Anita said she had to lay down. I said what’s for supper and she gave me one of those looks and growled fix it yourself. I said Honey, next Sunday, we have to go with Grandma, that’s when they pass the snakes around and she slammed the bedroom door in my face. Did you know that those old Naugahyde couches are hard to sleep on? They are arched and slick. I must have fallen off three or four times that night.

PART TWO

THE TEXAS ROADTRIP AND THE PIGGLEY WIGGLEY STORE

After trying to get a job that paid more than $1.65 per hour, I found a few for $1.25 an hour. I had been supplementing my income by flying to Atlanta once a month for Navy Reserve training. I made almost as much as a week’s wage by going to Ashville and flying to Atlanta on a rickety old cargo plane. Didn’t have to work. Sat in classrooms and drank coffee. One of the instructors talked me into enrolling in active Navy Reserve which meant that I would keep my discharge rank of E-5 and train weekend reservists.  Well, as I was a Navy Aviation veteran, I had several Naval Air stations to choose from, and Dallas Naval Air Station was one.

I talked it over with Anita and she agreed to sign up and go to Dallas. She was not that fond of living out in the woods with only a 22 rifle and some chickens and a small dog to keep her company while I drove back and forth to Pickens South Carolina every day which took about 12 hours of the day. Our little dog was named Loco, and he was a sweet dog who loved us, and we loved him. We piled him in the backseat with a blanket and a bag of dog food and a gallon of water. We packed our suitcases and drove out Frozen Creek Road on our way to Dallas Texas.

As we drove down the mountain’s curvy road to Pickens, I stopped at Scatterbrain Johnson’s bar and had a going away beer. Then I stopped at a few of the other roadside taverns and had another beer.  We were headed to Interstate 95. Well on our way to Pickens, I saw a car in the rearview mirror that looked like a highway patrol car with a light bar on top. I told Anita that she would have to switch places with me and drive. She slid out of her bucket seat  and slid onto my lap and grabbed the steering wheel. In the process, we weaved all over the road as she tried to sit on my lap, and I tried to scoot over into the passenger seat. With Margaret taking up room in her belly, it was a difficult maneuver . Somehow it worked and we got back in the right lane. The highway patrol car turned out to be a car with a ski rack on top. As they passed us, they gave us a mean look. I think they were from Florida. Anyway, we cruised into Atlanta having to stop several times for Anita and Loco to go behind bushes and pee. I was almost sober. We looked for a cheap motel to spend the night. There was some kind of big convention going on and we drove all over Atlanta and even the expensive motels were full . We did what we had to do; we pulled off on a side road, found a place to get off the road, and spent the night in the car. Loco did not know what to think and it was not that comfortable as the Malibu had bucket seats, but the sun came up and woke us up. We got back on the road and headed for Texas. After many, many long hours driving, we saw a sign that said “Welcome to Texas. Finally, said I and it seems we drove another 311 miles to get to Dallas. Just prior to getting to the location of the Naval Air Station which was actually in a small town called Grand Prairie, I saw a hamburger joint off an exit that said WHATTABURGER. Well, if you have never had a Whataburger, you are missing out. I was goanna order two and Anita said just get one and we can split it so’s I orders one Whataburger and two cups of water. Well, the Whataburger was about a foot across, and the hamburger must have weighed more than a pound and a half. We spit it with Loco who seemed to like it. We ate it in the car and must have used a dozen napkins because it was pretty greasy. Eventually Anita, me, Loco and Margaret drove into Grand Prairie Texas with about 23 dollars to our name. We went to several apartments, and they wanted a month’s rent in advance, and they did not allow dogs. So, we ended up on the main drag of Grand Prairie in a small box like studio apartment with one room, one small table and  with two chairs and a small bed up against the wall. There was a very small stove with two burners  but no pots and pans. We made Loco a small bed with his blanket. He looked up at me with confused and Pitiful eyes, and I could almost hear him say: “Dad, I don’t think I like this.”

 

The next day, I drove out to the Naval Air Station and checked in. They directed me down to the Aviation Warehouse and I met the guy in charge. He took me over to the paymaster and they paid me a month’s advance pay. The boss man told me to take the day off and find an apartment.  With a pocket full of money (about $300) we went looking for an apartment. No dogs, No dogs, No dogs allowed. So, we went back to our small apartment and tried to figure out what to do with our baby dog Loco. He knew something was up and he polished off the rest of the Whataburger and looked sad. We loved that little puppy, but the boss man knew a couple with a nice back yard that wanted a small dog. We left Loco with them. I got back in the car and tears filled my eyes. We did go to visit him from time to time, and he seemed happy, but I felt like I had betrayed him. After all, he was a North Carolina dog far from home. It was a tough adjustment.

 

 

 

THE PIGGLY WIGGLY CONNECTION

So finally, you say: “What’s the deal with Piggly Wiggly?  Well, the Piggly Wiggly grocery store was right across the street from out small apartment. As I explained, we had no pots or pans to cook or piss in and only a very small window to throw them out of. So’s I goes across the street to Piggly Wiggly and  buy an aluminum pie pan, a dozen eggs and a loaf of store-bought bread, and a pack of plastic forks and spoons.  We still needed a place to live, and rent was high. We lived on eggs and bread for about a week or so. We used our Whataburger plastic cups for water glasses. We had left our snuff glasses in North Carolina, and I told Anita that as soon as I got a couple of paychecks that I would buy a few real glasses and a couple of coffee cups. Well, we discovered a small thrift store in Grand Prairie and bought some used silverware and a baby crib that we absolutely loved. It was a deluxe crib and the nice people who owned the store let us charge the crib and a small maple desk that we still have (well, not the crib, the desk).

While we were living in our small apartment eating eggs and bread I saw a help wanted sign at Piggly Wiggly.  I went and talked to the manager, and he said the job was doing whatever he told me to do which was mostly stocking shelves, sweeping, and mopping the floors and watering the vegetables with a large spray bottle. Nowadays, the sprinkling of the vegetables use a timed spray system.  Piggly Wiggly probably never updated and some poor guy is probably stuck with a large spray bottle . Mine leaked, no matter how tight I tightened the lid. My right shirt sleeve was always wet. I mentioned it to my boss; Sam and  he told me to just get over it.   He let me work in the evenings part time while Anita stayed cooped up in the studio apartment playing solitaire on the small folding table we ate off of.

Looking back, We were happier than a pig in shit. We never bemoaned our situation and eventually, we found a nice apartment not too far from work with a community laundry. We rented it furnished and there I was with another Naugahyde couch which was uncomfortable, but I was good and got to sleep in the bed. We had a full-size stove, a table and 4 chairs in case we had company. The second bedroom was Margaret’s, and we set the crib up with some dangly toys and awaited her arrival. Anita was getting bigger, and Margaret had started kicking. Not much has changed.  Anyway, back to Piggly Wiggly for a moment.

According to my boss Sam, I was doing a good job stocking the shelves and I had put the beans and corn cans close together and always had the labels out so people could see what was in the cans. Sam told me that he had compliments on my helpfulness with the customers. I was tall and could reach the top shelves and the short lady shoppers would always look me up to reach stuff on the top shelves. Sam bragged on me and even gave me a 15-cent raise. I thought the job was easy. All I had to do was do what Sam told me to do.

Anita found a part time job in a mobile home sales lot hanging curtains and putting towels on racks and whatever was necessary to make the mobile homes look attractive. We felt like we were in high cotton.  We even saved up and bought a 19” color TV at Mervyns for $319.00 . On the same shopping trip, we bought Anita a Singer sewing machine for about $129.00 with all sorts of gadgets to go with it. She made Margaret a lot of sun-dresses and pretty shirt tops .That was more money we had ever spent and the biggest check I had ever wrote.

Sam had me stocking shelves and spraying water on the vegetables one day. He would walk by once in a while as I was arranging cans on the shelves and say: “The vegetables look a little dry, don’t you think?” That was my cue. I sprayed the vegetables and was going back to my stocking job when the incident happened. At the vegetable bins and the meat counter we had a little silver bell attached to the bins. It was a cute little thing and it was pretty loud. Well, as I was heading down the aisle to unbox canned goods, I heard the loudest ringing sound over and over. I turned around and went toward the vegetables. Well, there was this Hugh woman in a dress that looked like a tent with big red flowers on it. Her hand was as big as my aluminum pie plate that I had kept from our poor days. She was slamming the little silver bell over and over. As I got to her, she slammed the bell so hard that it came apart and rolled down on the floor in pieces. I knew Sam would be pissed. In my best customer service voice, I said: “May I help you?” Sam taught me that phrase.  It seemed a little fancy to me, but my job was to do what Sam told me to do. She whirled around and yards of material with big red flowers swirled in the air like a tent collapsing.

I glanced up and saw that she had two front teeth missing and her hair looked like a bale of hay that had started to come untangled. That woman had ugly completely surrounded and she had an unhappy expression on her large face.  She was standing in front of several heads of iceberg lettuce glistening with beads of water I had sprayed. Some cucumbers had fallen onto the floor along with the broken silver bell.

She yelled at me and said: “I want a half a head of lettuce.” Well, I didn’t know if she had confused cabbage with lettuce as we did sell half heads of cabbage since cabbage grew so large in Texas, sorta like Whataburger.  I put on my best customer service smile which I had practiced in front of our bathroom mirror before coming to work.

Ma’am  says I do you mean half a head of cabbage?” Well, I wish you could see the look she gave to me. She said are you an idiot?” I said half a head of lettuce and lettuce doesn’t sound like cabbage does it as spittle dripped down her double chins.  I summoned my best customer service voice, and I said no Ma’am. Let me get my manager and I am sure he can help you. I started walking down the fruit aisle where Sam was arranging apples and bananas. I did not know it at the time, but this big woman was following me with her red flowers swishing as she walked. I got to Sam, and I said Sam we gotta problem. Later it reminded me of “Houston, we have a problem.” Sam says whatsup?

I said Sam, there’s this great big fat old woman  who wants to buy a half head of lettuce and out of my peripheral vision, I saw and sorta sensed she was right behind me. So, then I turned around and said: “And this nice lady would like to buy the other half.” Sam went back to the vegetables and cut a head of lettuce in half , doubled the price with a marker, and gave it to the woman.  He called me aside and said that he was going to give me a dime raise because I displayed exceptional tact. I asked why he had charged her double and he said I noticed the broken ringer on the floor, and I have to buy a new one.  I worked at Piggly Wiggly a little longer and I found a job with higher pay at a service station pumping gas and selling Dallas Cowboy bumper stickers. Once in a while, I would visit Sam, and he told me I would always have a job at Piggly Wiggly if I wanted one.

 

Well, my work job was boring compared to being in Attack Squadrons on Aircraft Carriers, so I put in for a transfer away from the reserves and back to the regular Navy. Margaret had decided to arrive, and she was born at the Grand Prairie Hospital on June 9, 1969. I got orders to Iceland where Margaret’s brother Kyle was born. When the little Icelander was a little older, I told him that I had a tattoo put on his ass that said: “Made in Iceland.” I found him one day with his pants down in front of a mirror looking at his butt. I have some fond memories of those times, and I still miss little Loco.

30

CAMP SKY TOP

 

CAMP SKY TOP

Back in the sixties there was a place called Camp Sky Top. It consisted of a Boy’s camp and a Girls Camp. Separated by about a mile, the boys and girls got together for cookouts and canoeing on the small lake at the boy’s camp.

The buildings were rudimentary, with bunk beds and outdoor toilets. Nestled off the beaten path right up against a forest known to house panthers, bears and other critters, the boy’s and girls explored around the camps gingerly and never alone. Stay in pairs said the Camp Counselors who trained the campers in basic woodsmanship.  Campfires and sing-alongs were some of the most enjoyable times for the residents who mostly came from city life.

My sister, Thelma, was a caretaker for the boy’s camp at one time. Later, a great friend from Georgia, Norris Free was the caretaker. We played guitars together and occasionally had a sip or two or three of a mountain drink called moonshine or as some liked to call it, white lightning.  Norris paid me once in a while to mow the grass around the boy’s camp so the kids could see the snakes a coming.

My brother Howard had a whiskey still up the road about two miles away up a holler with a small mountain branch running through the holler. I remember one time distinctly. Gerald told me to pick him up on Frozen Creek Road that run past the camps at about 7:30 in the evening. I parked at a small pull-out by the holler and opened the trunk. Both Gerald and I loaded the trunk down with gallon jugs of whiskey. Some of the jugs still had the Coca Cola emblems on the labels. Since we were driving by  Camp Sky Top. We decided to stop and give Norris Free a taste of our moonshine.

We drove around the small lake and parked in front of the main section of the camp which housed a large kitchen area and living quarters for Norris and his wife Merle.  Our Daddy had taught us how to temper the whiskey down to 100 proof but Gerald was reluctant to get it down that weak so most of his jugs ranged from 110 to 120 proof. This was mostly corn whiskey and it had quite a bite going down.

Well, we took a jug at random and knocked on the door by the kitchen. Norris was sitting inside plucking away on his old Kay guitar. He was always glad to see us, and he always had a smile. He invited us in, and we sat by the large kitchen gas range and drank a little.

It was getting into the fall, and the weather had cooled so Norris decided to start a fire in the gas range to warm up the room. He turned the gas on and went looking for some matches. Well, he was moving kind of slow, and I could hear the hissing of the gas. He finally found the matches and came over to light the burners. I was positioned right in front of the large range.

Norris struck a match and started to light a burner. He got about two feet away and all of a sudden both Norris and I landed backwards  about 10 feet head over heels. The loud boom echoed through the kitchen. Gerald was sitting back and to the left of the range and he  was just shocked, and he figured Norris, and I were done for. The flame went all over me and I’m glad I did not have a glass of moonshine in my hand, or it would have blown my hand off. Both Norris and I got to our feet and seemed to be OK. In from the bedroom came Norris’s wife Merle running to beat the band. She grabbed Norris and screamed at him, “Are you OK? Norris was about three sheets in the wind, and he just nodded with kind of a goofy grin. Once Merle found out he was OK, she hauled off and knocked him on his butt. Don’t you ever scare me like that again, she muttered and whirled around and was gone. She was as mad as a wet hen.

I helped Norris up off the floor and he looked at me and laughed. Gerald came over and looked at me, and he laughed too. What the hell says I. Gerald told me that my eyebrows were gone, and I had had some bushy ones. Norris offered to get some of Merle’s Maybelline and paint me some eyebrows, but I declined.

Well since everyone survived the explosion, we went back to the jug of moonshine and drank some more. Norris and I took turns picking his old guitar and singing. Gerald just kept on chuckling. Norris took a ham out of the big industrial freezer, and we made ham and cheese sandwiches and drank a little more. Well maybe a little more than a little more.

Eventually, my eyebrows grew back. Merle calmed down some and Gerald enjoyed telling the story to just about everyone. Just another Frozen Creek adventure. We got back into my 1953 Chevy Bel Air and Gerald insisted on driving. I told him I was sober enough to drive but he said if the revenuers caught us, they would charge me for driving without eyebrows. And he laughed and laughed some more as he maneuvered the dirt road curves of Frozen Creek road.

 

For those not from those parts, Frozen Creek Road was a rough section of Transylvania County about 13 miles from Brevard. For those who are not familiar with Brevard , it is about 9 miles from Rosman on highway 64. If that don’t help, it is about 47 miles from Ashville. They have an airport there.

Sidenote:  Camp Sky Top changed hands over the years and at one time, a bunch of hippies bought the place. They smoked wacky tobacco and dressed in colorful clothing. But, they had some wonderful music sessions and dances on the weekend. I learned the song “Little Band of Gold” from one of the Hippies. I still play it on my guitar, and I often think of Norris Free and his goofy grin. He had to be a nice guy because my Mama liked him. 

30

The Squirrel Story Republished

 

The Squirrel Story Republished

 

Over the last several years I have written short stories. Some were lost due to Computer hard disc crashes, some were somehow deleted, and some were sent out in printed form by mail to a small group. When the Owen Newsletter first started, my daughter, Margaret Rose, typed up the stories, printed them out and mailed them. Over the years, old stories seem to disappear. Like an artist, Now that I am famous, people want to get copies of some of my oldest and best stories.

One of my most commented-on stories was a true story about a squirrel that got in my house and wreaked havoc and really got Anita’s blood circulation going. We lived in town for a number of years until my yearning to live in the country caused us to sell our house in Bremerton, Washington and look for land in the county to build a country home.

After over a year of searching available properties, I found a beautiful 2 ½ acre parcel with a peek-a-boo view of Mount Rainier. I first had a two-story building put up with the top floor for Anita’s overgrown quilting business and the lower part for my tools and wood. The plan was to bulldoze out a spot and build a house. Anita drew up the plans and we rented a place until we could build the house.

I came across an old single wide mobile home that needed extensive work and had it delivered to the property. I ripped out carpeting, replaced windows, installed new flooring. I dug a  trench for water and electricity, paid for numerous permits and finally, we moved in. We moved Anita’s quilting business into the new two-story building and moved my tools and wood products into the new building.

In the Mobile home kitchen area, there was a spot for a stove exhaust fan that had been removed and an exhaust pipe going through the roof. I closed off the  vent with a circular piece of wood and some duct tape.  At last, we were living on our property.  The plan was to live in the Mobile until we built our house based on Anita’s plans.

Well, we lived in the mobile longer than we planned for various reasons.

Just recently, my sweet sister. Vonda Lee called me and asked me if I could get her a copy of my Squirrel story. Despite searching and asking people if they had kept a copy, it fell upon me to recreate the popular story.  My first cousin Eddie Dean bragged about the squirrel story for years. Every time I would see him, he would tell me how much he enjoyed the story. He said that as he read the story, he felt as if he were there observing the squirrel’s antics. I did get compliments from people who Margaret Rose had mailed  my stories . I don’t know if I can do justice to the original story but since I promised my sweet sister, Vonda Lee, I will give it my best shot. Ray Stevens had a hit comedy record entitled: The Day the Squirrel Got Loose in the Antioch Babtist Church.

If you have not heard this squirrely song, listen to it. I saw Ray Stevens once at the ARIZONA State fair when his song the Streak was popular. Well, I guess enough background, so here you go sweet sister Vonda.

 

THE SQUIRREL STORY AND ANITA’S NEW DANCE ROUTINE

The characters in the below true story are true characters, especially the wayward squirrel. This is a true story with only very minor embellishments.

So, as you recall, we were living in a single wide mobile in Kitsap County Washington on a beautiful 2 ½ acre piece of property. I rehabbed the mobile home to make it livable. In the kitchen there was a vent pipe going through the roof. At one time, a stove vent had been attached.  I used my bandsaw to cut a round plug for the vent pipe. I fastened the plug and duct taped around it to keep out critters.

Well, the fix worked for bears, cougars and even Santa Clause. None of the aforementioned climbed or (clumb (N.C. word)) down the pipe.  But there was one exception.

It was a cold November night. The wind was blowing, and the sky was filled with dark clouds. For some reason we had a queen-sized  waterbed. Don’t ask, I can’t explain why. Anita and I were bundled up with quilts even though the waterbed was heated. She sometimes ended up with most of the bed clothing come early morning. I was frequently left in the cold with my ass hanging out.

Anita does not like scary stories. Once in  a theater in Port Orchard, Washington, I took her to a scary movie and bought her a big, I mean, big bag of popcorn. Suddenly, a vampire, a monster or a creepy ax murderer flashed on the screen and screamed. It was a loud scream and a little startling  to me. But to Anita, Moreso.

She let out a blood curdling scream that really scared people seated around us. I was a little embarrassed but soon to become much more embarrassed when she literally threw the huge bucket of popcorn into the air. People five rows down were drenched in extra butted popcorn. Long story short, we are not allowed in that theatre to this day. We had to drive further to see movies on the big screen and believe me, I have not taken Anita  to a scary movie since. She gets pretty excited when a TV program shows a snake. She is deathly afraid of snakes. I was watching her watch a snake on TV once and her eyes were big as saucers, she was breathing funny, and she curled her feet up into her recliner. I thought I would have a ha ha and I walked up behind her, bent over, and pinched her ankle. I find it hard to describe her reaction. She flew up into the air. Screamed a 100+ decibel scream, overturned her recliner, and threw a shoe at the TV within the period of 23 seconds. I won’t go into great detail, but I don’t do that anymore.

Sorry, I got sidetracked. Back to the squirrel story with only brief intermissions. No guarantees.

So, there we were all comfortable in out waterbed when all of a sudden Anita broke three of my ribs with her elbow, might have been only two but felt like three. She developed this squeaky voice, and I was having trouble hearing what she was attempting to say due to acute rib pain . Finally, I was able to decipher her loud whisper as: “Get up, Get up, Get up, something is in the house.”  As I became more awake, I explained to her: You are dreaming. I locked the deadbolts on the door. There is nobody in the house. Well, she did not accept my explanation. She said something like dammit, I heard something. She was becoming frantic, and I might have made a mistake by asking her to calm down. Here came the elbow again on my sore ribs. “Listen, Listen, Listen said she in rapid fire. I hear it.

Finally, I decided to humor her and listen. My gosh, something really was in the house. I heard the fast patter of little feet and saw a grey streak in the dawn’s early light. I really did not want to get up that early, but Anita was hyperventilating, and I decided to be the man and solve the intrusion. Just at that moment, what later turned out to be a gray squirrel jumped up from the floor to the cloths rod in our closet. I had yet to hang closet doors. The squirrel was a streak running back and forth on the closet rod and making little squeaking sounds like: oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. The squirrel was approaching panic mode. Anita reached panic mode before the squirrel, and she jumped up on the waterbed.

Now, I don’t know how many of you  have tried to stand on a waterbed, but she not only stood, but she also jumped up and down in a rhythmic patter. I was enthralled. I had only seen someone do the Watusi dance once on a National Geographic special on Africa. Well, she was surpassing the native dancers and even adding new moves to the dance.

While I was observing this magnificent dance move, she started screaming. I had to listen closely to discern what she was saying. At first I thought she was singing some African song to accompany her Watusi dance. But as I listened closer, she was saying :

Gititout,gititout, gititout, gititout.

Well once I understood that she wanted me to convince the squirrel to go outside,  I got out of the waterbed. Actually, to tell the truth, I was bounced out of the bed as Anita was really getting into her unique dance.

I jumped out of the bed to see what was the matter, what was causing all the clatter and as my eyes focused, I determined the apparatus running back and forth on the closet rod was a long tailed grey squirrel.

I calmly told Anita, don’t worry, it is only a squirrel. She responded with the rapid fire: gititout, gititout , gititout  again.

I had a stick beside the bedroom door with a fuzzy end to clean spider webs. I grabbed the stick and tried to knock the squirrel to the floor. I was never really good at baseball and each time I swung the stick, the squirrel was faster and at the other end of the closet rod. Finally, I got tired of swinging the stick although it seemed that my swinging was coordinated with Anita’s Watusi dance movements. Sort of like a band conductor. The squirrel was in full panic mode and making strange noises. Sounded like, helpme, helpme, helpme. It was like he was getting in tune with Anita’s song of: getitout, getitout, getitout.

I was worn out and my ribs were hurting due to my wild swinging of the stick, so I rested the stick on the closet rod to catch my breath. Just as I laid the stick on the rod, the squirrel ran toward me and tripped on the stick. I originally  told that I took careful aim and knocked the intruder to the floor, but I decided on this go around, I would tell the truth.

The squirrel tripped to the floor, looked up at Anita doing her moves and looked up at me and clearly said: Help me Dammit. I nudged the squirrel through the bedroom door and opened the back entry door. I don’t know what the record for a long jump is, but it appeared to me that the squirrel jumped a good 50 feet in the air as he exited the door.  Of course, I was the hero and Anita’s chant changed to: isitout, isitout, isitout??

Calm returned to the single-wide mobile. Anita fell to the waterbed exhausted. I found an ace bandage to wrap around my ribs. Anita finally fell asleep, and I hobbled to work.

When I got home that evening, Anita showed me how the squirrel got into the house. The vent pipe I had fixed had the round stopper hanging down still attached to the duct tape. The squirrel  had fallen down the vent and its weight  had dislodged the stopper. I reinforced it . I just wish I could have heard the squirrel telling his version of the adventure to his family.

30

    

IN THE BACK OF MY MIND

Did you ever wonder where you store your memories? If you live a long life, you accumulate a lifetime of memories. Your mind is not like a chronological storage center. Sometimes your memories get out of sequence. Some stand out more vividly than others. With me, I hear a song or see a scene from a movie and without any effort from me, a memory appears. I suppose it would be nice if you could just remember the good times, but bad memories are recalled just as easily as the good.

 

Some people have thrown off on my ability to remember the day I was born. They look at me with a sparkle in their eye and you can almost hear them say “bullshit”.

 I have always loved music and good storytellers.  Just today, I visited my good friend Dave Anderson. I caught him working. He was mowing his lawn. He said that he would be done in about 20 minutes, and I told him to take his time as I was not in a hurry, and I would wait. Well, I really think that he was ready for a break. He parked his zero turn Toro and made me a cup of coffee. A good friend is like a favorite shirt; comfortable. It takes no effort to be with good friends.

 

Some of the thoughts and memories just suddenly appear. Today, I thought about my brother Charles. Charles loved music. I remember that he had somehow acquired an old Zenith radio. The radio did not have a plug on it. Don’t ask me, I don’t know. But every Saturday night, Charles would take his pocket knife out and cut a little insulation off the two wires and stick the bare wires into an outlet. I suppose it would not take too much of an effort to put a new wire with a plug on the end, but that was just not Charles’ way. We would gather around that old Zenith and listen to the Grand Ole Opry or the Louisianna Hayride. Well, anyone that knew Charles knew that he had tight black curled hair. He could break a comb just combing his hair. Well, one night, Charles was demonstrating his electrical engineering skills, and he was a little careless. He trimmed the insulation off the plug wire a little too much and as he plugged the two wires into the electrical outlet, part of the bare wire was held by his fingers as he plugged it in.  I was sitting on the floor right by him when all of a sudden, he was knocked from a sitting position to a reclining position about five feet away. I do recall that his hair looked just a mite more curly than normal and his hand was shaking like he had palsy. I was glad that he survived as was he. In about a minute, he had his knife out and was trimming the burnt wires  and reinserting the wires into the outlet. I noticed that he was a little more careful and he paid just a mite more attention, but we listened to some good country music that night. Years later . I was on an Aircraft Carrier as a member of Attack Squadron 144. We had piped in music on the carrier and most of it was pop or rock and roll. I wrote a letter to the Grand Ole Opry and told them that we had no country music on the radio, and could they send a tape so I could ask the Ship’s DJ to play it for us country music fans. I forgot about writing the letter and I figured the Grand Ole Opry had forgotten about my letter. Well, about 3 months later, I received a good-sized package in the mail. When I opened the box, I though of Charles again. The box contained several records of recorded Grand Ole Opry shows. I still have the box and the old records from 60 years ago.

Yesterday, my brother Michael had heart surgery, a triple bypass. I beat him by a few years as I had a triple bypass in 2017. I always took my guitar when I traveled back to North Carolina and Charles would always ask me to play the song “White Silver Sand” Edgar would request “My Favorite Memory of All” and Michael would join me in singing “Thinking About Things”. My first song I learned on the guitar was “Tom Dooley”. I must have played it a million times, and my entire family would groan when I practiced Tom Dooley. They probably hate that song to this day. There was one exception; my Mama would come and ask me to play a song for her. I would ask what she wanted to hear, and she would smile and say “Tom Dooley. My sister, Thelma always liked the song “Precious Memories” and “Peace in the Valley”. My brother Gerald was stuck on the song: “Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain”. When we got out first small TV, Mama always used to like to watch the show “Queen for A Day” but Gerald picked up on the singing advertisements. He would walk around singing, “You’ll wonder where the Yellow went When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent. I don’t know which tune the family disliked more, Tom Dooley, or the Pepsodent song. I still buy Pepsodent Toothpaste with Baking Soda. When I got out of Navy Bootcamp, I was stationed just outside Phoenix, Arizona at a small Naval Air Facility at Litchfield Park with my  high school friend who joined the Navy with me, Henry McDevitt. Henry died recently and I feel  such a great loss; we were such good close friends.

So, when I was stationed in Arizona, I passed by a secondhand store and saw a white Zenith Radio in the window. I rushed in the store and bought that radio, but first I checked to see if it had a plug on the end of the power cord. My hair was curly, but I did not want to have as curly hair as my dear brother Charles.

One of the first songs I heard on my new old Zenith Radio was Merle Haggard singing “My House of Memories”

My brother Edgar had an Airedale dog named Sally. Sally was a good old girl and where you saw Edgar , you saw Sally. They were soulmates as well as best friends. Edgar would take Sally down to Frozen Creek which ran through out property. Sally would jump in the Creek and within minutes, she would hop back upon the bank with a good-sized fish.  Well, Sally got some kind of infection that ate into her eyes, she eventually went blind and instead of walking by Edgar’s side, she would trail behind him at his heels. Sally got sicker and sicker and cried most of the time. Finally, Edgar went and got Daddy’s 22 single shot Remington rifle and told me that he was taking Sally up to the Lissy place and put her out of her misery. He came back about an hour later and Sally was right on his heels. Edgar’s face was all screwed up with a grimace. He told me that he could not put Sally down and he asked me to do it for him. Remember, when I said there is no filter on memories, and the bad and sad ones reside in the back of my mind. I loved Sally also. Edgar handed me Sally’s leash and the 22 rifle and he knelt down beside Sally, took her head in his hands and I remember tears falling on Sally’s red fur. Then he turned suddenly , wiped his eyes, turned his back and walked hurriedly away.  I somehow found the courage to put Sally out of her misery and as I walked back with just her leash, I had tears falling . Such a vivid sad memory.

When Daddy went to Atlanta Prison for selling untaxed whiskey, Thelma and her husband Henson piled all us kids up in a green 1953 Chrysler and drove us to Westport. Oregon. I wrote a story some time back about our family sharecropping in Banks, Oregon and picking strawberries from dawn to dark.  I entitled the story “Strawberry Fields Forever” after an old Beatles song. I have had people ask me if I grew up poor and I tell them; Hell no. I would not trade my memories of growing up for a bucket of gold. A big bucket.  If we were poor, I did not realize it. One of the songs I used to play was a song named “Poor Folks” by Whispering Bill Anderson. One of my favorite lines is: “My papa was a farmer but all he ever raised was us” Later, I learned  a Merle Haggard song with the line: “ I raised a lot of cane back in my younger days, My Mamma used to pray my crops would fail”. More later…..

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LITTLE GREEN MEN ARE OUT THERE-SO BEWARE

 

You have probably heard the expression that truth is stranger than fiction. Now I don’t know much about fiction as the majority of my writings are the truth, the whole truth with only a wee bit of embellishment  included once in a while just to keep the reader’s interest.

Now some time back I was informed by an anonymous person that when she was a 10- or 11-year-old child living at home on Frozen Creek Road  that she was lying in bed awake one night and experienced a strange event. I don’t want to divulge this person’s identity because such accounts as her story are sometimes  ridiculed and I would not wish for her to be made fun of. At any rate, she no longer lives in North Carolina; she now lives in Kalispell, Montana with her husband Michael and her daughter Jessica. Before I go further, I want to emphasize that any resemblance to a real person is strictly coincidental. To protect her identity, I will just pick a random name from an old Baby name book of names.  To protect her real identity, I will just refer to her as Vonda Lee or VL. VL was born into a large family and three beagle dogs owned by her father, let’s just assign him a random name of Fred. She had an older sister so to hide her real identity; I will just call her Sis. That is a good anonymous name for her. She no longer lives on Frozen Creek, North Carolina. She lives in a small town in South Carolina called Easy of Easily or Easley (not really sure of the spelling)  Now VL has an extremely smart brother who lives in Idaho. Her brother has been described as one of the smartest men in Idaho. Coincidently, he once lived on Frozen Creek road too. I am not saying that to insinuate that her genius brother is related to her. As a matter of fact, some in her family have made claims that she is adopted.

Once you hear her story of being abducted by 4 little green men, you might deduce that she could be an alien from another planet. You know they can make themselves look just like earth people.

So VL’s story is that one night she was laying in bed wide awake when 5 little green men climbed through the bedroom window and approached her bed. At first she thought nothing about it but then she recounts how they came closer to her bed and reached out to her with their small skinny arms. According to Vonda Lee or VL, she did not yell out for help but instead allowed the little green men to put their arms under her and carry her out through the bedroom window from which they came. At some point, according to VL she lost consciousness and later found herself back in the bed without a memory of where the little green men took her.  Now some might scoff at her story but her description of the little green men was pretty detailed. According to VL, they were little and green. Oh yes, they had big heads. Well, when she told me the story, she claimed to have told it to family members many times without any variance. I will admit that when I first heard the story I scoffed a wee bit because according to VL she was in bed when the little green men took her and became conscious and found herself in the same bed as if nothing had happened. I suggested a possible dream, but she insisted that it was real.

 

Well, the strangest thing happened to me a few nights after hearing VL’s story. I was lying in bed reading a really interesting book when I suddenly felt a presence and glanced to my left. Much to my surprise, there stood 4 little green men with oversize heads staring at me. I was close to the middle of the bed and as they reached their small arms out toward me, I could see that their arms were not long enough to reach me, so I scooted over toward them. Don’t ask me why I was aiding and abetting my abduction as I have no answer, I just felt like I was under a  spell. I slid over toward the little green critters, and they put their arms under me and managed to lift me off the bed. I could tell it was not easy for them. As I cleared the bed, they dropped me on the floor. The leader, who was a little bit taller than the others looked down at me laying on the floor and said, “Dam man you is heavy” Actually he did not say anything but somehow through telepathy I heard what he was thinking. I said woah now, I just ate a big supper earlier. We talked a little bit , actually we communicated through telepathy. The leader looked at me and said or thought, how did you learn our Uranian language? I don’t speak Ukrainian said I. No, No, not Ukrainian, Uranian said the leader. So, you are from Uranus, the seventh planet from the sun, said or though I. Watch it now said the leader, we spell it differently without the anus part. To make a long story short, I had a bottle of Jack Daniels by my bedside, and I gave them a few drinks in paper cups. After a while, the leader said or thought to me, “I don’t think I can drive that dam spaceship. I had better rest up a little. I made them pallets on the floor and before they dozed off, I asked them about the abduction of VL many years before. They did confirm VL’ story and the leader said that they carried VL down by the spout branch past the corn crib and had just crossed the foot log crossing of Frozen Creek when they fell backwards into the creek. Once they got their wits about them, they decided to bring VL back and put her back in bed without taking her to the spaceship. I wanted to ask them more questions but when I woke up the next morning, they were gone. So, like I said, Truth is stranger than fiction.

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POST NOTE:

Some people somehow got the idea that VL in the story was actually Vonda Lee Owen who just happens to live in Kalispell Montana and is married to a guy named Michael and has a daughter named Jessica.

I assure you that that is just a cooincidence as I said before, Any resemblance to a real person is merely happenstance,  Just to make sure that VL is not Vonda Lee Owen, I spoke with VL's older sister Thelma and she assured me that there is no connection between VL and Vonda Lee Owen. As a matter of fact, she told me that the real person Vonda Lee Owen was a goose's mom. It seems that the real Vonda Lee Owen's father, Fred (another cooincidence) put a goose egg in with some chicken eggs being hatched by a jersey red chicken and a little goose was eventually hatched. The real Vonda Lee Owen took to the little goose and the baby goose took to her. Just like in the story about Mary who had a little lamb; Vonda Lee Owen had a little goose who followed her everywhere even to the outhous.  Vonda Lee carried the baby goose around and of course, the goose thought that Vonda Lee was its Mom. People wouild remark, " here comes that little Owen girl with her goose". Unfortunately, the goose did not lay a golden egg and the school would not let the goose in the classroom with Vonda Lee. The goose had to stay in the detention room until recess and then Vonda Lee would take it out and play with it on the playground . I might make an individual story about this at some point. Hope this clears up the confusion between VL and Vonda Lee Owen, the goose's Mom.  Any resemblance is just a cooincidence.