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…..

30

 

 

 

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.

30

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.

THE QUEEN OF THE SILVER DOLLAR

 

THE QUEEN OF THE SILVER DOLLAR

Every once in a while  you hear a song that has the right tune, the right cadence and the  right singer. The best singers put something of themselves into singing the song or, as I like to say,  telling the story. One of my favorite singers was Randy Travis. He hailed from a small town in North Carolina.  He would always hum at the beginning of a song to make sure that he was in tune   with the chord being played.  Up until his debilitating stroke, he did the necessary thing of putting himself into the song. In other words, he inserted feeling and emotion as he sung the story. Every song has a story  either in the song or in the writing of the song.

 Country songs are noted for the sad songs like Born to Lose. . Can you imagine feeling like you were born to lose? What a depressing thought.  Many prisoners had prison tattoos with those words on their fingers. Johnny Cash sang a song called  Dark as a  Dungeon. It is about the coal miners, the black lung folks who worked down in the mines of Virginia,  West Virginia and Kentucky. Down in the mine, the wind never blows and the sun never shines.

Tennessee Ernie Ford sang a memorable song about loading coal, Sixteen Tons. Coal used to be King up until the politicians wanted to shut it down as a dirty source of fuel. Hillary Clinton lost a lot of votes  when she  said in a speech in West Virginia that when she became president, that she was going to " put a lot of  coal miners out of work". You could count her supporters in West Virginia on the  tattooed fingers  bearing the the saying, Born to Lose. I thank God that her misspeaks helped defeat this odious person. Yes Madam President Wanna be, you will never measure up to the Queen of the Silver Dollar. I am a proud "deplorable". 

Loretta Lynn was a Coal Miner's Daughter and Dolly Parton  wore a Coat of Many Colors. The Carter  family was famous for songs like Wild Wood Flower and Keep on the Sunny Side. Jim Reeves sang of hanging out in a tavern  called Three Teardrops.  Merle Haggard sang of Swinging Doors and Mama Tried. Jimmy Rogers sang of a hobo Waiting for a train and he sang about what killed him when he sang TB  Blues.

The majority of people who like music have a favorite song, There is even a song named: They're playing my song and Look What They've Done to my Song. People plug the jukebox and punch in A10 to hear their favorite song or they send a note on a napkin to request a band to play what they consider  their song.

Anita and I claimed the song "Oh How Happy You Have Made Me as our song. Yes, it is a soul song. My other famous soul song is "Bring it on Home to Me".

I normally believe the best songs are the ones written and sung  by the songwriter. The exception to this is Kris Kristofferson. He came from a wealthy family who wanted him to make something of himself. He was  a Rhodes  scholar and he was a Captain in the Army, a helicopter pilot. He gave all that up and took a  job as a janitor in a music studio in Nashville. He wrote numerous number one hits for other singers  but his voice quality was not flexible enough to sing most of his own songs. Other singers made hits of  memorable songs like Sunday Moring Coming Down and Loving Her Was Easy but Forgiving seems to  Take a Long Long Time. . Two songs that I think he did an excellent job on is Why Me Lord and The  Silver Tongued Devil and I.  He received a letter from his parents disowning him. He showed it to Johnny Cash who remarked: " It's always nice to get a letter from home, isn't it Kris?

My all time favorite songs were the songs of Roger Miller. Crazy Looney songs like Dang Me and sad songs like Husbands and Wives. Of course his signature song made him a star King of The Road. His songs were both sad and happy. England Swings was a favorite of mine  as well as Walking in the Sunshine and Summertime. He had so much more to give and died too young. 

I could go on and on but I will get to the point of the title of this story.  Shel Silverstein wrote the song Queen of the Silver Dollar especially for Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show. Ray Hook was the leader of  the band and my did they have fun with every song they performed. They sold out a huge concert in  Australia and many other places. Ray Hook liked the taste of alcohol and word is that the band regularly took drugs. But a lot of musicians bit the dust because of using drugs to help them Make it through the Night. Janis Joplin tore up the song Me and Bobby McGee and then died young. The story  is that Mama Cass choked on a chicken bone. You are not supposed to eat the bone but other stories say  that she died of drug overdose. Elvis sang Its Now or Never and he lies in a grave with his name  misspelled on the tombstone.  The word misspelled is very often misspelled and the English accept the  spelling as Misspelt as an  easier way to spell misspelled. My English teacher paid the word no mind as she concentrated in the rule: Never end a sentence in a preposition. 

There I go again. It is easy for me to slip off topic but I will continue to do better.  If I could summarize what I consider significant about a song or a story, it would be to insert emotion. Anyone can sign or speak  the words but Ray Hook put a ton of emotion into singing The Queen of the Silver Dollar. Other singers have covered the song but to me, no one can match the sheer emotion that Dr. Hook puts into the song. It makes all the difference. The presentation of a story, a joke or a song is critical and vital. I want you to listen to the song, then read the words and feel the emotion that Dr. Hook puts into the words. 

QUEEN OF THE SILVER DOLLAR

She's the queen of the silver dollar and she rules this smoky kingdom
And her scepter is a wine glass, and the bar stool is her throne
And the jesters, they flock around her and they fight to win her favors
And see which one will take the queen of the silver dollar home
 

She arrives in all her splendor every night at nine o'clock
And her chariot is a crosstown bus that stops right down the block
The ol' piano minstrel plays a song as she walks in
And the queen of the silver dollar, she's home again

[Chorus]
She's the queen of the silver dollar, and she rules this smoky kingdom And her scepter is a wine glass and the bar stool is her throne, And the jesters flock around her, and fight to win her favors
And see which one will take the queen of the silver dollar home, 


[Verse 2]
Her royal gown is a satin dress that's stained and slightly torn 

And her sparkling jewels are rhinestones, and her shoes are scuffed and worn From the many roads she's traveled and the wonderous sights she's seen

And I watch her and I pray, "God save the queen"

[Verse 3]
The queen of the silver dollar is not as haughty as she seems
She was once an ordinary girl with ordinary dreams
But I found her and I won her, and I brought her to this world
Yes, I'm the man who made a queen of a simple country girl

[Chorus]
Now she's the queen of the silver dollar, and she rules this smoky kingdom
And her scepter is a wine glass and the bar stool is her throne
And the jesters flock around her, and fight to win her favors
And see which one will take the queen of the Silver Dollar home

[Outro]
She's the queen of the silver dollar, and she rules this smoky kingdom
And her scepter is a wine glass

I will now give my analysis of this song. 

No name is mentioned for the Queen of this song. She was an ordinary girl who the songwriter discovered. He claims that he made a Queen of an ordinary Country Girl. Sort of a take on the movie: My Fair Lady" One of the characters remarked that he could make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.  Then there's the saying also how you can put lipstick on a pig, but she's still a pig. 

Apparently, this Queen filled the role the songwriter wrote for her. She got into her role and played the part well. The sad thing I picked up on was where the songwriter said he won her but then he placed her in a position where "the jesters" competed for her favors. Why was he not keeping her as his "won" lover instead of placing her on a barstool to be won each night by one of the jesters? My thought is that he took more pleasure in building her up so that others might look upon him as the inventor of this Queen. She must have been a good looking country girl but without much means. 

Her royal gown is a satin dress that's stained and slightly torn. 

This adds sadness to the song . The least the guy who "won" this ordinary girl could have bought her some nice clothes. I picture a thrift store dress that was long out of fashion. The stains most likely from beer and wine. She had no funds to dry clean the dress or replace it with a more current style. But, that is part of the picture that portrays her as a Queen, quite a promotion for an "ordinary country girl" After all she had "ordinary dreams" not lofty dreams. 

So, her chariot is a cross town bus that drops her down the block and she walks to the Silver Dollar to shine until closing time. The patrons of the bar look to her as royalty for the barroom setting.

And her sparkling jewels are rhinestones, and her shoes are scuffed and worn From the many roads she's traveled and the wonderous sights she's seen

The sparkling jewels came from a yard sale or a thrift store and were purchased from crumpled up dollars stuffed into her bra by lovesick drunks. She sits on her barstool throne and observes the pool and dart games in the background. She has a wine glass in her hand with cheap chardonnay or rose wine which the bartender supplies without charge. After all, it is part of her persona. 

The odor of her smoky kingdom clings to her nostrils and her clothes, but , she became accustomed to the smells.

Her shoes are scuffed and worn but she has seen no wonderous sights as the song sarcastically suggests.  She still has dreams of a better existence but she has fell into this rut and this fantasy of ruling a smoky kingdom from the uncomfortable barstool throne. No one  of the regulars dares sit upon her designated barstool and the bartender informs any bar hopper that stops by that the "throne" is reserved.

This is an extremely sad song and Dr. Hook puts his feelings and emotions into the song to make it memorable. The tune is catchy and one cannot but tell that this is a story told in untold venues across the world. America does not have real royalty but in the minds of the songwriter (Shel Silverstein) and the singer (Ray Hook) there is royalty at the Silver Dollar.

Carl Owen May 14, 2025

 

 

 

The Prelude, The Bad Joke, the Moose Story With Postlude

THE PRELUDE

I really don’t know what a prelude is, but I thought it sounded good. When I read a book sometimes, the first chapter does not start until the author goes off on a tangent explaining the background of his story and introducing the characters. Personally, I think a story should start out with Chapter 1, but I guess each to their own. Now, the popular thing with movies is to have a Prequel. As best as I can tell, it is the story before the story which makes me think there will eventually be a Postquel to explain what happened after the story. Really, isn’t that what Chapters are for; to introduce the storyline, identify the characters and develop a story that interests the reader? I like the alternate endings. You can choose whether the good guy gets killed off or whether he lives happier ever after. I have read some books that hold my interest and then the author gets tired and comes up with a terrible ending. Publishers should closely edit the ending to stop awful endings. The same should hold true for movies. Braveheart is a fitting example. My son Kyle and I have watched Braveheart numerous times, and each time Mel Gibson gets pulled apart. Kyle knows the entire movie lines, and his favorite is when Mel Gibson is asked what he is going to do, and he replies: “I’m going to pick a fight.” My fingers are getting a little tired so I am going to wrap up this Prelude or Prequel since it has nothing to do with the Moose story and it could be perceived as rambling. As far as Mel Gibson goes, I have seen him in other movies and I marvel at the ability to put a person back together after he has been torn apart. Hang tough Mel and don’t accept any more movies with such drastic endings.  I guess I will end this prelude/prequel in the hopes that I have confused readers. My theory is if you confuse the reader, they will keep reading hoping that the story gets better. Sorry about that, this story doesn’t get much better. Maybe, I should have stopped at the prelude.

THE BAD JOKE

Not saying that I agree, but I have been told that when you tell a story that if you tell a bad joke up front that readers will be so grateful after struggling through the bad joke that they will keep reading and accept even a mediocre story because it is such an improvement over the bad joke. Alas, there are many more critics than authors of stories. Please forgive the bad taste of the joke below.

There once was a man who desperately wanted a son to carry on his legacy. He was so happy when his wife became pregnant. I have heard that pregnancy is incredibly stressful, and that giving birth is extremely painful. Don’t blame men, blame God. He designed this system plus it gives women a topic of conversation that they can tell over and over and compete with other women describing the pain. OOPS, I am sliding off track as I am prone to do, so back to the bad joke.

The man strutted around for 9 months proud as a peacock while his wife moaned and complained. Finally, the big day came, and he rushed his wife to the Hospital. His wife was in indescribable pain and forbid him from being in the birthing room with some choice words which I will not repeat here.

He paced back and forth in the waiting room for hours. Finally, the doctor came out and the man rushed to meet him with a dozen questions. The Doctor told him, mother and baby are fine, but we need to step in my office and discuss an issue with the baby. Is it a boy the man anxiously queried. Not exactly said the Doctor as they entered the doctor’s office

Oh, said the man, then it’s a girl. Not exactly, said the doctor. It is an unusual  situation; you should sit down. You see, your baby does not have a sex, it is neither a boy nor a girl. What the hell said the man. The doctor said the baby did not fully develop and it is just a  large  nine-pound eye without an actual body.  This is terrible said the man but at least the baby is healthy, right? After all, we can be grateful for that but what in the world could be worse? Well, said the doctor, “You see the baby is blind.”

 

OK, I apologize for anyone offended. People have written to me and asked what the parents named the Baby. EYE don’t know. 

 

THE MOOSE

You know the sad thing about telling a story is that some people do not believe the story is true. It is a risk I take as I have somehow, with some of my stories in the past, embellished a little to make the story a little more interesting. Sort of a mix of fiction and non-fiction blended together.  Not with this story but with some of my previous tales. I assure you that this story is a true accounting of an incident and a powerful lesson that I learned when I was much younger.

My wife and I bought a small house, and it had enough room for a couch, a kitchen table, and a living room area. That taught us that we needed a bigger house, but alas, we could not afford one when the Moose entered our lives.

I had obtained an old Cadillac which I had jacked up in the front yard in true North Carolina style. It was an ugly purple color, and the grass was growing around it as I did not have a weed eater at the time or a zero-turn mower. So, if you can picture a small front yard with a push lawn mower, a disabled Cadillac parked next to a large green Dinosaur in front of a small house then you can visualize the setting prior to the Moose. Oh, I should explain the dinosaur; it was not real, I bought it at a Sinclair Gas Station that was going out of business. I can tell you my wife was not really happy with my acquisition. She even used some harsh words about me spending the grocery money on what I called my Green Friend. I spent a lot of time just chatting with Dino. Initially, I had to sleep in the front yard on our old couch crowded up close to Dino.  Anyway, we had leftover pinto beans and a loaf of day-old bread to last us until payday. I did have to promise not to buy anymore large animals and that is when the Moose comes into this story. Now, I realize the rest of the story might be a little hard to believe but you have lasted this long , so hang in there. People say that truth is stranger the fiction. My wife would describe this story with more colorful words, but she can get pretty descriptive about some of my choices.

One day  a man in a pickup truck stopped by my house and asked me if he could purchase the purple Cadillac. I was reluctant at first, but he offered me the same amount of money that I paid. I tried to boost the price by telling him all the work I had done on the Caddy, which was a slight exaggeration. You see, I had planned to do a lot of work on the Cadillac, I had just not gotten around to it despite my wife’s reminders. I came from North Carolina, and we have a reputation for being tough traders. There is a custom to ask for something to boot in a trade. It is just an expression that means the person who wins out on a negotiation gets something in addition to the offered trade money or whatever. An example is if you are selling a car, you might offer to throw in a spare tire to boot to secure the deal.

Well, the man wanting the Cadillac obviously wanted the broken purple Caddy as his Dad had one just like it when he was growing up. I clearly had the upper hand and demanded something to boot in the trade. The man haggled for a while and finally broke down and asked me to come to his pickup with him. I followed him to his truck, and he opened the tailgate, There on the bed of his truck was a little wooden pen with chicken wire.

He reached in the pen and took out a small animal that looked like a cross between a little dog and a deer. Well, I am a sucker for small animals, and I asked the man what the animal was. He said it was a newborn Moose. He placed it in my hand and the little Moose barely covered the palm of my hand. The moose looked up at me with its big EYES (Don’t go back to the bad joke now). I told him that we had a small house and asked if the little moose would get very large. Oh no, he said. This here is what they call a miniature moose.

Well, I accepted the Moose as boot to the money deal on the Caddy.  I put the little cage with the moose in the back yard and fed it some breadcrumbs and some leftover sausage gravy. I cut him a water dish from a milk jug and filled it, and he laid on his pad and curled up.

The next day, the man came with a chain and a tow rope and took the purple Caddy. My wife was overjoyed and she gave me a hug and said now, look for a buyer for that ugly green dinosaur she said.  No way says I as I wrapped my arms around Dino’s neck. He is my close friend and people give directions by saying: “You drive by the house with the Green Dinosaur and go about a mile further to the Babtist Church and turn left.” She huffed at that. Later on, at supper, I told her how I had hoodwinked the man on the Caddy trade by demanding something to boot. What did you get said she?  Well, let me show you. I took her out back and opened the Moose cage. She did not look incredibly happy as she asked, what is it? I explained that it was a miniature moose. Won’t it get big? How will we feed it? Winter’s coming on, How will it stay warm? Do we have to name it? What were you thinking? I explained the North Carolina trading policy which she did not seem to understand. She peppered me with about a dozen other questions before going back in the house still muttering.  I did not understand all her concerns, after all, it was such a small critter.

Well, winter showed up with colder weather. I built a larger cage for the moose and put an old worn-out winter coat in the cage to keep the moose warm. It had started to grow, and it was slowly outgrowing the new cage. I was amazed that a miniature moose could grow so big.

Well, it started snowing and getting colder and when I went out to feed the moose, it was shivering. I explained to my wife that we had to bring it inside so it could stay warm by the wood heater. She did not take well to that remedy and told me I would have to find another home for the moose because our house was so small. She added that she had never heard of anyone having a moose in their house. I again explained that it was a miniature moose according to the man and it would not get larger than a dog and people had house dogs. She appeared to be skeptical at best. To be truthful, the moose was already as big as a big Saint Bernard Dog and our food bill had gone up a lot. I began to doubt the man who now owned my purple Caddy that the moose was a miniature moose. I called the zoo and asked how big a miniature moose would get. The Zookeeper laughed and told me that there was no such thing as a miniature moose. About that time, I was questioning my trading skills.

 

To make a long story shorter, the moose grew and grew. We had to put the  dining room table outside by our old couch and the Green Dinosaur . People started giving directions by saying you go past the house with the green dinosaur and the Kitchen table where the purple Cadillac used to be  and turn right at the next corner by the old Sinclair Gas Station.

The Moose grew antlers, and we were losing weight because the food money had to go to the moose. If it was hungry, it snorted really loudly and gave out a loud bray like a wounded mule. It drank gallons of water  and to be truthful the moose became so large that I could not get it out the front door to go potty. The antlers scrapped the top of the ceiling, and the sprayed popcorn texture was all over the rug. We rigged up a harness and a large hose to direct the moose pee out the window and strapped a plastic barrel around his butt for the poop. My wife appeared to become less and less happy and would try to get around the large miniature moose to get to the couch or to get to the kitchen. Once, the moose bumped her against the wall and trapped her. She was a little less than happy when I got home and finally pulled the moose over enough to free her. At one point she yelled that either the miniature moose or her had to go. I finally broke down and called the Zoo. They came out and looked at the large miniature moose. They said that they would have to remove a wall by the front door to get the moose out. It was still cold and I hung blue tarps where the wall used to be. People gave directions to go past the house with the green dinosaur , the kitchen table , the large pile of moose poop and go two blocks to the Dollar Store and turn left.

Life went slowly back to normal. We framed out a new wall in front and boarded it up. We replaced the rugs where the moose had had accidents on. We visited the miniature moose at the zoo, and he was the biggest of all the other Mooses. My wife told me not to believe anybody who claimed that there was any such thing as a miniature moose, and I agreed and told her not to worry that I had learned my lesson.

Well, my green dinosaur started fading and getting mildewed from the snow, so my wife complained that Dino was an eyesore. I loved that dinosaur, but I finally agreed to sell it. You know happy wife, happy life right? I put an ad in the paper with a picture of Dino.

One day a man hauling a large trailer with a hoist came by and said he was interested in buying the dinosaur. While  we were talking, my wife came out to observe the transaction. It seems the man collected large plastic and stone animals. He offered a fair amount of money and said he would throw in a small miniature baby camel to boot. That was when my wife took over the haggling and said Thanks but no Thanks. Money for dinosaur. No boot, no camel, no moose, or any other  miniature anything. I interrupted and tried to explain North Carolina trading etiquette to her, but she pushed me out of the way and helped the man put a lifting harness on Dino. I cried as the man drove off with my Green Dinosaur, but you know happy wife, happy life.

POSTLUDE

I  made up that tile of POSTLUDE. There is no such thing. Well, actually, there is now.

I realize that certain parts of my story might cause some readers to scoff and maybe even claim that I went beyond literary embellishment rules but fortunately, I videotaped the events described  above. For $19.99 plus postage, I will send a VHS tape of my front yard with Dino and the kitchen table. I will include pictures of the miniature Moose as a baby, his growing up pictures, his first antlers, his poop bucket, and the pile of manure in the front yard along with video of my wife waving goodbye to Dino strapped down on a trailer.

But wait. If you pay just for additional shipping and handling, I will include another tape along with a small burlap bag of genuine miniature Moose poop. Act now!

 

FIN