TH’ VISIT

Brother and Maggie, they come up to th’ shack t’other day an’ I knowed jus’ whot they wuz a’lookin’ fer. Maggie, she were a’hopin’ that Susie Mae had done got her some new frocks run up frum them perty sacks whot Layin’ Mash come in. Th’ reason whot I done figur’d hit out were that b’then they got in th’ door, Maggie, she made a bee-line int’a th’ frunt room an’ commenced ‘zaminin’ Susie Mae’s nail to see iffen they were anythin’ new a’hangin’ on hit. Now Brother, he weren’t interest’d in them thare frocks so he jus sot hisself down in frunt uv th’ T an’ V and sorta whined an’ sez, “E. A. T., Jay Henry, E. A. T.”

Now, y’all got to ‘member that Brother, he be’s holler all th’ way to his’ns toe’s ’bout all th’ time an’ he purely do ‘tak-on’ ’bout Susie Mae’s Chitlin’ an’ Wild-Onion Casserole.

Susie Mae, she had done ‘fixed’ stuff fer jus’ ’bout all mornin’ an’ she some-more “laid out’ a spread.” Hit were ’bout all I cud do ta carry-on a n’telligent conversat’n wiff Brother ’cause his eyeballs jus kep’ a’wanderin’ over to that eatin’ table.

When’st Susie Mae hollered that th’ vittles wuz ready, Maggie, she comin’ a’runnin frum th’ frunt room wiff one uv Susie Mae’s frocks in her han’. She sez to Susie Mae, she sez, “Susie Mae, does you s’pose you can do with-out this here frock so’s I can ware hit to big meetin. some time. ‘Sides, hit clashes rale good wiff them ear-bobs whot you done made fer me.” Brother, he jus ’bout choked on a mouff-ful uv chitlin’s and when’st he had swallered, he sez, “I ain’t a’payin’ fer’um.” Brother has al’ways been sorta chinchey wiff his’ns money.

Well’sr, in spite uv everthing whot they had done et up an’ toted off, we’uns had us a rale nice visit wiff them. When’st they wuz a’fixin to go ‘cross th’ creek, Susie Mae sorta teared-up an’ sez to me, “Jay Henry, honey, hit purely does a body’s heart good to holp somebodie whot ain’t done as well as we has. Mayhaps, I’ll send them a post-card an tell’um to come back to see us’ens ag’in sometime ’round nex’ year or th’ year atter that.”

Writ by Jay Henry

The Vapors

  Read any book about the Deep South in the days before the Civil      War, and you will surely find that some lady, usually of genteel background, had suffered from an attack of the “vapors” at one time or another. In many cases, the attack was so severe that they were required to “take to their bed” for an extended period. The exact cause of this malady was never explained; however, I arrived at the conclusion that it had something to do with shock or astonishment since it usually followed an announcement from a daughter that she was keeping company with a young swain who lacked the proper breeding which their station in life demanded.

Although I am far removed from the aristocracy of the plantation owner set, it nevertheless caused me concern that a little of this disorder could perhaps have made its way through the generations, and therefore be responsible for my many aches and pains.

Turning to the dictionary for guidance in my pursuit of the meaning of the dreaded ailment, the best I could come up with was, “exhalations of the stomach believed to be harmful to one’s health, hypochondria or depressed spirits.” Delving deeper, I discovered that exhalations means, “something exhaled, as air, steam, or an ODOR.” At last, here is the diagnosis for milady’s problem. She was simply suffering from gas pains. Come to think of it, this COULD have been passed down through the generations.

The thing that troubles me most is the fact that this affliction is only mentioned following some extreme tribulation. Were these sophisticated souls not affected by pinto beans or sweet potatoes? And, why take to their beds? It would seem to me that fresh air would be more of a solution than the confinement of a bedroom.

Nothing is said about the rank and file members of society suffering from this illness. Perhaps they were immune since their physical makeup was not as delicate as the nobility.

Getting back to my aches and pains. Whether or not a touch of the “vapor” genes have been passed down leaves room for question. However, please allow me to make one thing perfectly clear. If I suddenly leave the room during a conversation, you may be sure that I do this for a very good reason.

Demijon

My Prayer

“Please, dear God, make the words that I write today sweet and tender, because I probably will have to eat them tomorrow.”

I am certain that I am not the only person who breathes this prayer on a daily basis. It is indeed hard to put to paper, or for that matter, to speak what is on one’s mind without the risk of offending at least one person. We do not do it deliberately, but there are times when even the most innocent of our thoughts will strike a sore spot. Humor is at its best when it can be related to the speaker/writer as well as the listener/reader. We must be willing to laugh at ourselves before we should be permitted to laugh at others. You know the idiom; if you want to dish it out, you’d better be prepared to take it.

Perhaps this is the reason that I write a lot of fiction. Fiction is the perfect vehicle for venting emotions and feelings. You invent a character and a setting, and then you can make them into anything you wish. A disclaimer at the beginning states that any similarity is coincidental and that the persons and places are products of the writer’s imagination. What better place to “tell it all.”

Someone once said, “If you write, write about something you know.” With this in mind, large amounts of my writings are based on my memories. Most of these memories are from an era that few know about, and hopefully will produce a small amount of nostalgia in others.

Our minds contain the capacity to remember some minute detail of long ago, and when dwelling on this particular incident will expand it to reveal relevant information that can be woven into a readable article. The hardest part is attempting to relate the story in a method that will appeal to the rank and file.

For instance, no one would be interested in Joe breaking his leg trying to get the best of his young son in a game of tag football. Now, place Joe’s son on the banks of a flood-swollen river, making a futile attempt to rescue a prize Hereford calf. As Joe jumps into the river to save both his son and the calf, a floating log rams into his leg and breaks it in two places.

From his hospital bed, Joe is proclaimed a local hero by his honor, The Mayor. In attendance is Joe’s lovely wife and his doting son. Joe’s remarks are, “Shucks, t’weren’t nothing.”

To complete the narrative, the calf must go on to win first place at the county fair and Joe’s son must grow up to become President. This is just the way it works. Granted, there have been very good books and articles written with every word truthfully told, but those authors are the ones who are successful and do not have to rely on a fading memory.

John

I’ll bet that you didn’t know –

            Webster’s dictionary contains thousands of words which old Noah himself was not completely sure of the correct definition.  This article is intended to dispel any inaccuracy, therefore, preventing your “skinning your ignorance” when the occasion arises where you have a need to impress someone.

            Append; Webster defines this word as, to attach or affix.  Now, everybody knows that this is totally incorrect.  It is the rear-most part of the body of a large gorilla, the part that he sits on.

            Broadaxe:  A weapon or a tool to hew timber?  Wrong again.  This is a question, covering a wide variety of subjects and is usually axed by a “good ole boy.”

            Calcium:  Silver-white chemical, found in limestone, right?  No.  >Cal= is the fellow who observed Corry Mae Poovey and Wadlow Jarvis making love on the fodder.

            Defeat:  Certainly not, to win victory over; or overcome.  Simply put, dis is the part of the body dat de shoes go on.

            Ether:  Commonly designated as a sleep producing agent but those of us with superior intelligence are aware that; “Ether you pay me that dollar or I’ll whup you.”

            Futile:  Useless, vain, and hopeless.  Ugh-ugh.  Correct usage; Futile your kitchen and not the hall, you’ll have a mess in wet weather.

            Gentile:  Mr. Webster says; any person, not a Jew.  Right interpretation; Flooring removed from the cotton gin and used in the kitchen or hall.

            Handbill:  In the book, it states; small printed notice, advertisement. Precisely put;  “Hand-Bill that hammer so he can nail them shingles down.”

            Indicate:  to direct attention to; the right way;  “Billy Joe broke his hand when he got it caught in-de-cate.”

            Juncture:  a point or line of joining; Another Boo-Boo.  “Bobby Frank tol me that you juncture car atter you wrecked hit.”

            Kickapoo:  Noah says, a tribe of Indians; I say, “If you sass me jus’ one more time, I’ll haul off an’ kick a poo outten you.”

            Locale:  Incorrect definition, a place of locality; Proper usage; a fitting greeting for former race car driver, Yarborough, you know, “Lo Cale.”

            Mater:  Definitely not, the mother, as depicted in the dictionary.  It is a red fruit produced by mater vines.

            Nairn:  I will not doubt that this was a county in Scotland, however the correct definition is;  “How come you got two co-colers an’ I ain’t got nairn.”

            Outwit:  to overcome by cunning; Totally wrong; exact pronunciation;  “Joe Lee went inta’ that poker game wiff two dollars an’ come outwit seben.”

            Petty cash:  money for incidental expenses; No, No; The amount of winnings derived from the NASCAR circuit by driver Richard.

            Quotient:  Certainly not, the result obtained when a number is divided by another; Literal usage refers to, “I run that quotient light an’ got me a ticket.”

            Reply:  Here is another of old Noah’s mistakes.  He indicates that this means to answer or respond.  Everybody knows that this is what you do when your plywood rots.

            Screen test:  testing suitability as a movie star?  Hail no!  It’s simply determining if a fly can get through the mesh covering your window.

            Teleplay:  Not a written account of a television play; Used mostly by coaches in the game of football, i.e. “Teleplay to that dumb-ass quarterback an’ he forgets it.”

            Unpolled:  You would think that Webster would know that this does not mean, not canvassed in a poll.  It means that the boat merely sat there, unpolled.

            Vaccine:  The stuff in a shot?  Definitely not; What Bubba call the waitress at the diner because he pronounces an M like a V.

            Wet Bar:  Once again, incorrect; Not a serving counter for drinks.  “They ain’t nothin’ slicker’n a wet bar of soap.”

            X Ray:  Not a photograph of the bones in ones body;  “Stella is like a different person since she divorced her X Ray.”

            Yam:  Surely everyone knows that this in not a ‘tater.  This is dialogue used by cartoon character “Popeye”, i.e. “I yam what I yam.”

            Zeal:  Noah’s book says intense enthusiasm;  Not so;  This is one of them animals that live in the cold waters near the north pole.

            I sincerely hope that you have learned something.                            

Demijon           

Observations

            There was a time when I was not as attentive to patterns of misinterpretation among my fellow man; however, now that I am older and perhaps a little wiser, things really “get to me.”

*********************************************

            For instance, shopping for a pair of shorts at a well-known “super store.”  I maneuver my cart to the men’s department and find the rack containing hundreds of pairs of shorts.  The majority of these were size 28 through 36 and only one pair of size 42.  To compound the fracture, this pair was the color of pale vomit.

            Now, my question is:  Is the store under the misinterpretation that the ones of us who have a big belly and gaunt legs are not to appear in public while wearing shorts?

            The same holds true in the shirt department.  If, by chance, we can locate a size large enough to contain our bulk, the tail will not cover our belt.  Again, there are hundreds of sizes 14, a few of size 15, but if we are lucky we may find one size 17 and it will be tucked underneath the rack, wrinkled and dirty.  Who decides that the only ones who have a need for a shirt are the small, trim, undernourished of the species?

            Another problem is in the area of footwear.  While browsing in a name brand shoe store, I discovered that the majority of their stock consisted of expensive jogging shoes; ankle hugging, tongue bulging, nylon with tire tread soles and some even containing air bladders and pumps.  And they expect a person of my caliber, who becomes winded with even the thought of getting out of a lounge chair, to consider the purchase of a pair of “running” shoes?  Where were the glove-soft slippers with bunion protectors and the smooth tread that doesn’t jar the teeth when taking a step?

            Let’s face it, the world in no longer geared to the mature.  Somewhere, someone has decided that the young are the only ones who matter.  Where the heck do they think the young gets their money?  From us old folks, that’s where.  Judging from the attire that  some of this younger set wears; it is my opinion that they have been forbidden to eat at the money trough for quite some time.

            I believe that the time has come for shop owners to realize that the ones of us with big bellies and a pension check are just as important as those scrawny, young dudes who have nothing but a credit card from “Toys ‘R’ Us.”

Demijon

 

Cheaper Transportation

This photo at the left is an adaptation of the famous HOOVER CART of the 1930’s.

The financial situation for most people, especially in rural America, was such that few families could continue owning an automobile. It was not uncommon to spot MODEL-T’s and Model-A’s parked under a shelter and in some cases, simply abandoned. However, this did not hinder the need for more comfortable transportation other than the rickety, steel-tired wagons and buggies. Since power was available, without the outlay of money, in the form of horses and mules, innovative minds began working overtime and parts of the abandoned vehicles were converted to what was then known as The Hoover Cart.

This nickname for this mode of transportation was applied by the mostly Democratic farmers in the South, simply because President Herbert Hoover (a Republican) just happened to hold the office of chief executive during The Great Depression.

The idea for this vehicle was simple enough. The front axle, springs and wheels were removed from an automobile and installed onto crude, home-made carts. Shafts were then attached for the purpose of hitching an animal to the contraption and, voila, The Hoover Cart was born. If one just happened to be mechanically minded, other parts of the cars could be used for a more comfortable ride.

With the price of gasoline reaching an all-time high; my miserable mind has been searching for a less-expensive way of traveling. Granted, there is no way of converting today’s computer driven cars into a Hoover Cart but we could possibly adapt wheels from a bicycle; but there remains the matter of power. Perhaps a large dog would be feasible.

With our kind of luck, if we did succeed in creating this cheaper way of traveling, a Cartel among dog food manufacturers would be formed and the price of dog food would esculate. Hay for a horse or mule would skyrocket to $150.00 per bale and corn would sell for $275.00 per bushel if these methods of power becomes the criterion.

Today’s cost for a pair of shoes is now upwards of $150.00; therefore, walking is not an option for many of us. What choice do most of us poor folks have? I suppose the only alternative that many of us will have is to eventually sit at home and watch the tractor rust.

Demijon

I remember when

Grass was something you chopped from the rows in your fields or garden rather than filler for funny cigarettes.

Yo Yo was a toy operated by a string attached to your finger and not two dudes answering in succession.

Rap was what you received on your head from the teacher when you failed to pay attention in class.

Incense was considered the amount of knowledge contained within a person’s head and had nothing to do with the burning of smelly sticks.

Bread was an important part of the human diet and was far removed from the medium of exchange stored in banks.

Chicks were simply the offspring of a hen and a rooster and, in no way, to be associated with the female of the human species.

Line was a straight mark drawn on an even surface or a string or rope and was not the definition of someone who handled the truth loosely.

Poke was a container used to carry ‘stuff’ in and had nothing to do with the connection of a fist in someone’s face.

A Black Racer was the fastest of a breed of the snake family and had nothing to do with an African American who was swift of foot.

Discount was merely Bubba’s way of telling a story; you know, “discount and discountess wus goin’ together.”

Uppercut had nothing to do with fighting. It was simply relating to the barber the type of haircut you wanted.

Spam was not in any way connected to a form of junk mail sent electronically but was the mainstay food for millions during World War II.

Bail was an amount of hay tied together with wire or twine rather than the price charged by the courts to get out of jail.

Morbid was the question the auctioneer asked before raping on the table with his hammer and declaring an item sold.

Outback was the location of the privy and certainly not necessarily a sparsely settled region in Australia.

Housewarming was not only a party, but also the chore for the first person out of bed in the morning and that was simply building a fire in the fireplace.

Frigate was a word denoting disgust with something that does not work properly and has no bearing on a fast sailing ship.

Film Strip was what them hoochie-coochie girls did when the cameras were rolling.

Everlasting was the account for the taste of the wild onion casserole served at the housewarming.

Soundless was simply an order from one or both parents to the younguns describing the way they should play.

Synoptics was the way Bubba’s eyes reacted when he observed them “nekid hoochie-coochie girls” dancing.

Topside was the way Bubba described his car shortly after he wrecked it; you know, “It were Topside-turvey.”

Underbrush was designated as a tool to be used for cleaning underneath the stove or refrigerator.

Walkie-Talkie refers to more than one woman strolling through the mall or pretending to shop in a grocery store.

Courtroom was the ‘front room’ of the home chosen as the place where young ladies were to entertain their boyfriends.

“Disarm” was the place Bubba wanted the doctor to inject the needle when he went for his distemper shot.

Epistle was what the Mexican admitted was the weapon used when he was charged with shooting his neighbors dog.

Farfetched was the description Mavis used when telling about traveling ten miles to borrow a cup of sugar.

Hardware was what Bubba experienced when the ‘little woman’ put too much starch in his drawers.

Authors name withheld by request.

Changes in our attitudes

“T.B. or not T.B.; that is congestion; Consumption be done about it?”

This was a phrase that everyone seemed to be saying when I was in elementary school. Our underdeveloped minds were in the process of finding something funny in everything that we did or read. The classics meant nothing to us at the time. We were more interested in playing baseball, shooting marbles and roaming the woods in search of perfect “prongs” for slingshots to be bogged down with a dull book.

Our ideas of “good” books were the “big little books” that depicted Dick Tracy, Tom Mix and Jungle Jim’s adventures. We could spend hours in a tree house, absorbing every word of these suspenseful works and even went so far as to emulate most of them. One day I would be Tom Mix and would prevent the bad guys from foreclosing on the ranch of the beautiful damsel and the next day I might become one of the gangsters who was trying to “do in” Detective Tracy.

Most of us considered it “unmanly” to be assigned homework that consisted of a novel that was for the most part romantic. We were “he-men” that made our living protecting the underdogs. Our calling in life was that of being at the right place at just the right time. We were the only hope for the oppressed and we were extremely proud of it. The safety of the world depended on our actions. Romance was for girls and wimps. After all, wouldn’t Gene Autrey rather kiss his horse?

We even went so far as forming clubs for boys only. Exclusion of anyone of the female gender was mandatory. We neither solicited nor accepted females, period. If you could not fight the Nazis and did not wear a six-shooter, you need not apply.

Then, one day, our outlook changed. We began to notice that the female of the species was not something to be shunned. Rather, they were somewhat unique in their ability to cause our heart to beat faster. The spindle-legged larva had suddenly turned into a beautiful butterfly. It was not so important that Detective Tracy could not get along without us, and at this point in our lives we did not really care if the foreclosure of the ranch took place as planned.

This turning point in our lives was nothing more than growing up, but we saw it as a major event. Slingshots and cap pistols were traded for items that we felt would impress our “new-found interest.” The tree-house clubs that we were once so proud of were more or less abandoned since our interests were channeled in another direction.

Our way of putting things changed along with our attitude toward girls. Instead of making a mockery of the classics, we sought to quote them in hopes of impressing our chosen ones in the fact that we had “class.”

As the divine plan unfolded, we succeeded in impressing the one that was to become our “intended” and merely let nature take its course. As a result, we became one with them and our lives were enriched. A bonus was added in the form of children and a happy home.

When we reflect on the past, it seems impossible that we could have placed so much importance on a spoof of Shakespeare’s writings, and we can hardly remember who Tom Mix was.

We had finally found our purpose in life.

Demijon

Forget the dog: Beware of the owner.

With crime running rampant throughout the country, unique ways of curbing the onslaught are surfacing. Purchases of handguns have risen to almost phenomenal proportions. Permits for the ownership of weapons are now being issued to people who otherwise would have scorned possession of these items. Their logic is, (and rightly so) that when all weapons are banned, the only ones to possess guns will be the criminals.

It has almost reached the point to where everyone has rights with the exception of the victims. If a suspect is apprehended while in the process of committing a murder, they are often released on a technicality or else, if convicted, only serve a short time because of overcrowding in the prisons. This could very well be the reason for the increase in violence. With little or no penalties, what do they have to lose?

I can vividly remember a time when no one considered locking their homes. Quite possibly, while they were away, a neighbor would have need of something and would not hesitate to enter and borrow the item. Likewise, you were encouraged to do the same if you had a need. Those truly were the “good old days.” I recall hearing my father say that he would NOT allow anyone to: (A), “Leave his house hungry, (B), insult my mother and (C), kick his dog.” Crime was the least of his worries.

No thought was given to a romantic stroll along the streets on a moonlit evening and perhaps window-shopping in the downtown area. No one would pass a pedestrian without offering a ride. Car-jacking was unheard of and kidnapping was only in isolated instances where ransom could be demanded. It was certainly not done for the fun of it.

Since recent crime bills have done nothing to control violence, many have resorted to their own methods of protection. Signs such as “Protected by R.E.M. Security Systems, Inc.,” “This car protected by Colt-44,” “Warning, Doberman Loose Inside,” and my favorite, “This House Protected By Attack Poodle,” have appeared almost overnight. People are getting serious about their rights to feel safe and are doing something about it themselves.

Lawmakers would be wise to stiffen the penalties to the point that it would become intolerable for anyone to commit a violent crime. Only then can they hope to achieve a workable control over the guns that Americans now need for their own protection.

Demijon

Things ain’t like they used to be

Children today just can’t wait until their 16th birthday. On this day they are eligible to take the test and become licensed drivers. Chances are great that, in addition, many will receive a car for a birthday present. This was definitely not the case when I was 16. I did get my drivers license but a car of my own, no way!

We considered ourselves lucky to have one used automobile that served the entire family. There was barely enough money to afford this one vehicle. Income from the small farm combined with “moonlighting” jobs provided enough money for food, clothing, shelter and very little else. The one automobile was purchased on credit and although the payments were small, they were nevertheless extremely hard to meet.

My Daddy was not the type of person to buy on credit if there was any way to avoid this. However, he felt that the necessity of owning an automobile outweighed his reluctance of being in debt, just this once. From month to month he worried about the upcoming payment, but somehow, he was successful in his efforts to meet this obligation.

The car was a 1931 Ford; Model-A, two-door sedan. As most other cars of the day, it was black. It was not equipped with a heater, AM-FM radio, tinted windows, cruise control or white sidewall tires. Air conditioning was unheard of in a home, to say nothing of an automobile. I suppose it would be considered basic transportation by today’s standards, but this was the sole purpose of this vehicle, to provide transportation.

An updraft carburetor on the four-cylinder engine delivered adequate mileage, and even though the price of gasoline was cheap enough, we were never allowed to use the car for any purpose that was considered wasteful. No cruising in town on a Saturday night. No pleasure trips that did not involve the entire family. The car was to be used when needed ONLY.

Once the debt had been satisfied, my brother and I were allowed to “borrow” the car for an evening provided we had earned the money for gas. It was mandated that we bring the car home with the same amount of gas as it had in the tank before we left home.

Eventually, the car was traded for a later model, but they all were pre-owned or USED. The very thought of financing a new car was something that daddy could not comprehend. As long as a used one would suffice, he could not even think of going back in debt for the cost of a new one.

I remember hearing him speak of owning a new car before the great depression, a model T. However the hard times that he had gone through was ingrained within him to the point that he refused to buy any vehicle that he could not pay cash for, EXCEPT that one model A. If memory serves me correctly, the price of that car was $100.00.  A new one could be purched for around $600. This was a fortune in that day.

Daddy would never believe that most families today own at least two vehicles and that some own as many as there are members in the family. He would consider this a waste. His theory was that a car should be used only for going to work, to church, to the doctor, and an occasional ride on Sunday afternoon. Any other use was folly and he did not believe in squandering money in such a useless manner.

The very fact that I remember the days of the Model A as well as the struggles my Daddy had in order to pay for one, have made me appreciate the few new automobiles that I have owned. They were financed to the hilt, however, a better economy and a steady job made the payments within the range of my paltry income. The very fact that I was raised during “hard times” enabled me to endure a steady diet of beans and potatoes until the debt had been satisfied. Astonishing as it may seem to some, I was well into my golden years before I was finally capable of paying cash for an automobile.

If my upbringing during these “hard times“ combined with the teachings of my father did nothing else, it instilled within me a fear of any debt that is not absolutely necessary.

JOHN