FRACTURED FABLES!

Many, many years ago, before modern medicine and the ability to diagnose ailments as easily as we do today, seizures we frightening and much feared. 
In ancient Persia, the ruler, the Shah, had a very young son, called a Shan(meaning son of the ruler), who was prone to violent bouts of seizures of unknown causes. But whatever the cause, the only treatment was to take silk ropes and gently tie the Shan to his bed until these fits past.
Now the Shah had a small detail assigned to the task of watching the Shan every minute of every day, to be ready to protect the young boy, otherwise, while in this state of wildness, the child could, and would destroy priceless vases, statues, and any objects he could get his hands on.
One day,while sitting around for what seemed like an eternity, the guards began to talk among themselves. The boy had been free of his malady for more than 2 months without any signs, there was music coming from the bazaar out side the window in the streets below, the laughter of the dancing girls was hypnotic, and the aroma of the wine was more than they could bare.
They decided that they would go out the window and down the balcony to have a few drinks, a few laughs, and watch the dancing girls for a short time, and then return to their posts. No one would be the wiser.
They had no sooner landed on the street and began to enjoy the festival when the Shan had the worst episode of his short little life. He broke vases, turned over tables, toppled marble statues, ripped silk curtains, and would have chewed through the walls if his teeth had been strong enough.
The court guards heard the commotion and summoned the Shah, who soon got matters under control. The had the palace guards arrest, bind and bring the Shan's attendants before him.
As the men were on their knees, with an axeman standing over each one, seconds before the fatal blow, the Shah asked that famous question that we still ask today,

"WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE FIT HIT THE SHAN?"

YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK! YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK!

First let me say, Thank you, to all those of you that take the time to read the drivel that I pass off as ‘writings’. They are just things that come to mind from time to time and I have to get them out. It is much like the “artwork” that I do. It means little to most people, but it is my male equivalence of giving birth, of sorts. I do not sit and try to create or ‘build things in my mind’, they just happen. On the contrary, when I try to think of amusing stories or projects to make, NOTHING, I just come up blank.

This is why I laugh every time one of you posts the comment, “You should write a book.” I would if I could. Maybe, if I live long enough, I will have a collection large enough to incorporate into a book worth printing and more importantly, worth your money.

I will say that, as a young man,if I had this wonderful computer with all the amazing editing capabilities, or even one of those early word processors, I would have written far more while it was still fresh on my mind. Old fashion typing was out of the question, what with number of errors that I make on a single page, and HANDWRITTEN, forget about it. I can’t read most of my own writing as soon as I write it. Even with this modern system, I still cringe and think of Mrs. Carroll when I hit a wrong key. Let me be my father right here and say kids just don’t know how easy they have it. I think it would be good training to have and occasionally use the old typewriter, correction paper, carbons, and the like, just to give prospective to their lives.

I have toyed with the idea of buying one of those voice recognition units, but I see two problems right off the bat. First, it says it can recognize any voice, well; I would have to have a money back guarantee to believe that. Second, even if we get past my severe Southern Drawl, I talk so much that it probably would burn up the processor on my Dell. I envision a Star Trek scene as done on SNL: 
“Capt. Kirk, “Computer!”
Computer, “Huh, you talkin’ tu me?” 

At any rate, much like an old man wearing Depends, the stories will leak out from time to time. Not because I want to, but I have to.

Thank you for reading and your comments

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE, AND QUITE POSSIBLY A LIFE SAVER!

Today's on again off again rain is very taxing if you are trying to paint some projects and let them air dry in the sun. It is a merry go round of take in, the rain stops, take it out, the rain starts, take it in, repeat.
During this little dance with the rain gods, I recalled an earlier time when I was not as patient as I am now. If you laughed at that statement, clearly you did not know me 20 years ago. 

2001

Being the inventor/artist/nosy Nellie, that I am or was, I decided that since it was going to rain every fifteen minutes and quit long enough for me to haul everything back out in the sunshine to dry only to have to repeat the process, I would come up with a better solution. Now right then where I should have looked at the Weather Channel to see what would be a good day to paint and let dry in the sun, but hell, I don't need no stinkin' Weatherman/woman to tell me that. If it won't dry naturally, I'll do it artificially.(Sorta sounds like that tag line, "Hey, fellas, I wonder what will happen when I ....!)

Like any good handyman, I have a heat gun lying around that is seldom used. Now a heat gun is much like a lady's hair dryer, just on steroids and PCP and Speed, with a little diet pill to even things out. They are normally used to heat the paint on wood just enough to make it turn loose from the wood, so that you can take a large putty knife and scrape it away and save hours of time or paint strippers or sanding. The only problem is it takes a very delicate touch and keen attention, both genes that I seem to have been born without. What I lack in natural talent, I can always make up in bravery(that;s city talk for stupid).

On the utility table, I had my boards that I had just painted and taken back out for third time. I had the extension cord plugged in and ready, along with the "ACME HOTTER THAN HELL HEAT GUN", much like the one that Wiley Coyote sometimes uses, another ignored red flag.

I will take a moment to crow and say that I was being unusually careful and attentive to my work, an anomaly for me to be sure. Then it happened. I confess that I have the attention span of an goober hull---on a good day. I used to say that I had the malady that all 'artists' are afflicted with, that special brand of ADD, OCD, or any combination of letters that meant I could not stay focused. I no longer make excuses and attempt to tag along on the coat tails of real suffers. I CAN NOT STAY FOCUSED!

I had finished drying a few boards to the degree of readiness that was needed, when my gaze slipped past the lumber on the utility table to another table where there were many cast iron toys I had been pricing and getting ready to box up for the next sale. THEY ALL HAD GOTTEN WET, and in just a minutes nature would take its course and they would begin to put on a light coat of rust.

I walked over to where the iron pieces were sitting on the table and began to give them a blast from my HEAT TERMINATOR. Like magic all the fronts were dry in an instant. Now for the backs. A quick science lesson, cast iron is a GREAT conductor of heat, hence all the millions of cast iron stoves invented and sold since Ben Franklin's day!
As I picked up the first piece, I did not even get to the point of rotating my wrist when the pain from the DEATH RAY heated iron reached my brain. I immediately tossed the piece about five feet straight up in the air. In the mili-seconds that it took that little piece of cast iron to make the trip up and back down, I realized that if it hit the ground from that height, it would break(yes, cast iron will break like glass in some cases--usually when heated and owned by me). My left hand being rendered useless, I dropped the heat gun(thank goodness they have a 'dead man's switch for just such users as me) and proceeded to try to catch the iron with my right hand. Second science lesson: iron will not cool off sufficiently in a 5ft. toss to be catch-able. As soon as it hit my hand it was airborne again.

Now, I had two burned hands and was in great pain, to me at least. I ran over to another table that held assorted tools and the important first aid kit. I know I must have looked like Frankenstein trying to put a model airplane together as clumsy as I was opening that box and retrieving that Unguentine but success was not to be mine that day. I sat down in a chair and as I was fumbling around with the cap, got a large glob of it on the top of the tube, then I dropped it in my lap.

My wife, Janice, had witnessed the entire proceedings and was walking past me as I dropped the salve. "Did you just see what just happened?"

In one of her rare moments of "Fractured Sayings", as we called them, she said without breaking here stride, "Yeah, looks like you got an ointment in the fly!"

IT'S A GATOR! IT'S A M******F******* GATOR!

Somehow the original post was lost, so I will try to retell this story as best I can to the first time. This is a true story!

IT'S A GATOR! IT'S A M******F******* GATOR!

From the car I remember driving back then it must have been the Summer of '65. It could not have been the Summer of '66 or later as that damned Draft was taking Hogansville's finest young men off to war. Dwayne Robinson was there, so it had to be 65 because he left early in '66 when we graduated.

It was the middle of Summer, another do-nothing Saturday night. There were several of us sitting on the steps of Jabley's Dept. Store, our usual place to hang out. We had rounded up a six pack and were all having one. One each was enough, the point was not to get drunk, just say that you had a beer with the guys and not be lying. The talk was the usual BS; girls, cars, girls, movies, girls, etc., etc. As I recall we were content, not looking to get into any trouble--but would not pass up the opportunity if it presented itself.

TROUBLE COMING KNOCKING!

I am guessing that it was probably around 9 to 9:30pm when up roared a car load of the 'Williamson Brothers'. Now there are several different families of the Williamsons in Hogansville, but this branch is of the junk yard fame. I remember Ed was driving, as Charlie was what is know as "shot in the ass" drunk(I have not clue of the origin of that phrase, although I did GOOGLE the term and found out you can 'BUTT CHUG" alcohol and get very, very drunk--a strange world we live in). There were several other guys in the car, cousins or something. Ole Charlie, riding shot gun, hangs his head out the window and slurs, "Y'all want a gator?''
It only to a second for Dwayne to look at me and me to look at him and in harmony say, "Hell yeah!"
Charlie gets out of the car and opens the trunk. Now it was a hot as hell Saturday in Georgia. Those boys had seen the gator along side the road as they were coming back from the beach, Panama City Beach, to be exact. Instantly one of them had said it would make a good pair of alligator boots and without any more discussion, a large caliber pistol was drawn from the dash and the gator met his fate. Now there were no 4 lane roads form Fla. to Hogansville back then and it took a while to get back to Hogansville. I say this to give you an idea of how long that gator baked in that hot trunk on a hot long trip. Also on that long ride home, someone had come to their senses enough to mention that the possession of an alligator was a felony. The possession of a DEAD alligator was an added charge. Well, when Charlie opened that trunk, I think the odor was enough to sober him up. Smell or not we still wanted him. Charlie grabbed that 4 1/2 carcass by the tail and dropped it at our feet, and off they roared, jail time avoided.

"What are you idiots going to do with a dead, stinking, ILLEGAL, alligator," on of the guys asked, as if expecting an intelligent answer. I looked at Dwayne, then looked at the side door of the Royal Theatre then back at Dwayne. "Hell, yeah", was his response a second time. I scrounged around in my trunk and found a roll of twine that they made in the mill. It was good for all sorts of things.

We each grabbed a front leg and off we went to the side door of the ROYAL. We put the gator in the street with its head and front paws on the curb. I took twine and tied it around the neck and ran it along the gutter around to the front of the Theatre to the CAB sign out front. I made a loop in the other end of the twine and slipped my foot in and we waited.

THEATER POLITICS IN 1965!

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 had just be passed a few months earlier, but had not migrated that far South by the Summer of '65. That meant that the movie theater was still segregated, with the whites sitting on the main floor and the blacks sitting in the balcony(which, by the way, were the best seats). The entry and exit to the balcony was the side door.

Around 10pm the movie was over, as the volume of chatter would indicate. You could hear the mass of young people coming down the steps and the creak of the metal fire door swinging open. I was looking over my right shoulder and just as I saw the door swing open, I get several jerks with my foot in the loop of twine that in turn giggled the head of the long-dead alligator.

Dead or not, it caught the attention of the group. I saw one kid with his arms wide apart backing up and sweeping everyone back into the building, exclaiming as he went, "IT'S A GATOR, IT'S A M*****F******GATOR!" the door slamming with a loud report, especially loud in that alleyway. Almost instantly the door opened again, just a little, and heads started popping out all around the door almost like a scene from a cartoon. I giggled the gator a second time, again the door slammed shut, barely missing the opportunity of decapitating several young children. Screams erupted and you could hear and see wild eyed children jumping over the back candy case to the front candy case and running out the front door.

I swiftly slid my foot from the loop and Dwayne and I walked to the front door, asking, "What's going on, what's happening?"
The Police had been called and were not too far away. You could hear that old style siren that takes time to wind up and is still winding down 5 minutes after they arrive at the scene.
Assistant Chief Dick Staley and his partner, Norman Smith jumped out of the car, both with shiny .357 caliber S&W's drawn, pointed in the direction of where the children were pointing and screaming. Both officer were about to kill the gator even deader when Dwayne and I wandered up, peered over the heads of the smaller children, to ask, "What is that thang, Dick?" At that point Dick and Norman holstered their cannons, Dick ordering Norman to disperse the crowd, while he called me and Dwayne to the side, "I know you two sumbitches had something to do with this and if I prove it, I'll put you both under the jail"
We could have gone back to Jabley's and sat down and continue our BS session, but, I just couldn't--I just couldn't.
"Dick, is there any way you could sell me that gator, it would make a great pocket book for Mother." Not before or after when I worked on the Police Dept. with Dick, had I seen him get that red or that mad. He probably came close to having a coronary right then. "Git your damn ass out of town now, the lot of you, and I just hope you scratch of or run a stop sign!"

They never did solve the case of the Damn Gator!

THERE COULD BE A GOLD RECORD IN YOUR CONVERSATION!

Have you ever been sitting around, just talking about nothing in particular or important, when out of the Blue, you hear a statement or phrase that makes you think, "Hmmmm, that would make a great Country song,"?

Well of course you have! Warped mines think alike!

Here are some of mine:

That white wedding dress ain't the only lie she told!

How can I miss you if you won't go away?

I don't know whether to kill myself or go bowling.

I keep forgettin' to forget about you.

I wanna whip your cow(I do not even know what that means)

I wouldn't take her to a dawg fight, cause I'm afraid she would win.

I'm just a bug on the windshield of your life.

If you don't leave me alone, I'll find someone who will.

If you are leaving me, can I come to?

I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here.

DONNA BEALL PATE YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

The morning of December 2, 2013, a friend of mine that I worked with at the Troup County Board of Education, posted that on this day 6 years ago, she woke up and decided it was time to go. So she went to work and served notice of retirement. No big deal you say. Well, it was a big deal, only it was like the old saying, "You don't miss your water until the well runs dry."
When I went to work for Transportation, Donna Beall Pate was that water. A little double wide trailer behind Whitesville Road Elementary School housed the hub of all bus transportation for Troup County. Donna would be there 1st thing every morning always wearing more hats than her tiny frame aught to be able to carry. I never knew her official title, as most of us just tried to get the job done back then. She was John Thompson's secretary, time keeper, dispatcher, events scheduler, and I am sure on many occasions, janitor. She would answer the angry phone calls from the parents, which were mostly stupid, she would field questions from angry drivers, which were mostly stupid, all the while doing her part to keep the buses running and getting kids to school.
She saw to it that drivers got paid, even though many times they failed to turn in the paperwork on time(if ever). That was one of the big wake up calls to 'field trip' drivers when Donna retired, the new 'accounting queen' flatly would not pay if she did not have paperwork.
I seriously doubt that she will, but only Donna can tell you of all the drama that went on when we moved to the current location with lots of room to put lots of desks to fill with lots of unneeded jobs. Mark Linstrom was now the director and believed in having many levels of command, which is another way of having buffers and passing the buck. The Lead Driver Program was a good idea in theory, but any time you promote someone, give them a title, well if they were any good to start with, that sure ruins them. The only one that was immune to this was ole Bob Duffey. I loved that man. He always told me that I knew how to do my job better than he did and if I needed him to call him. He stayed out of my way and let me run my job. He also "jumped the director's case" on my behalf when I had a run in with another lead driver.
Back to Donna, her leaving put a tear in the cosmic time continuum of transportation life. There were those that were quick to want the job, what could be so hard about writing numbers on a time form?? When the realization of what our beloved Ms. Pate actuality did(and not get paid for) hit the fan, well, at one time, I counted 3 people doing the job and not very well at that.
While it is true that no one is irreplaceable, it just takes a few extra to replace some people.

You were missed the day you left Donna.

HOW IN THE WORLD DID WE LIVE WITHOUT A/C?

Summer is fast approaching and of those that were wishing the cold would go away are only days away from cranking the air conditioning down to the lowest point. Janet has already gone into semi-summer-hibernation(if that is possible). That poor girl can not take the heat. While sitting here at the computer, trying to ward off the onset of frostbite, I started thinking of our childhood days in Hogansville. I know there were some families with the ability to afford such a luxury, I just can not call any names.

I think we all sat through some of the worst movies ever made just to enjoy the cold air in the Royal Theatre. When I was a pre-teen, I would do my chores on Saturday morning, wash up(Mother would not let me go to town looking like a 'hobo'), get my 25cents, and take off in a steady trot to the Royal. By the time I got there I was so hot and sweaty, it felt like the North Pole when I walked up to the counter to get a very large nickel bag of popcorn and a 10cent big orange drink with lots of ice. Who cares what movie was playing, comfortable seat, cold air, your best friends sitting with you, popcorn and soda. What else could a person want?

TOM DENNEY'S ICE HOUSE was the second place that came to mind on this cerebral journey. You could get the BIGGEST, COLDEST, WATERMELON for little money. I want to say we bought some for 50cents, but I can not swear to it, but knowing the Cook Family Finances as I do, I would say that was about right. Also, if you were polite and friendly, Doc Black, would take his ice pick and expertly knock off a long sliver of ice from a block of ice and hand it to you. There are many of you that have never seen 'block ice' or an ice house that will not get that thrill.

McKIBBEN FUNERAL HOME is an early place of coolness that I remember. I still think many people came to 'sit with the dead' because it was cool more so than their closeness to the departed. I once asked Mother if we could go to the Funeral Home to see someone and she asked who was it and did we know them. I told her no. it was just cool there. That woman blew a fuse as she did not take such things lightly.

I think the first car we owned with A/C was a 1964 Chevy Nova. I had rolled the 1962 Nova and Daddy bought a much nicer one(an for some reason would not let me drive it, hmmm). After your first car with that luxury(?), you can never go back. I have owned 'piece if crap' trucks that I had to strap the door shut with an old belt, BUT the A/C was blowing as cold as the North Pole. Some things just move from the luxury column to the necessity column pretty quick.

I do not remember the date of your first window unit at our house on Power Plant Road, but an image of Mother coming home and walking over and standing directly in front of it, with the look of pure contentment comes to mind. You could only afford to cool one room, maybe two, at a time, and then not all day long. I remember when I worked for Daddy, he sent me home a few minutes early on particularly hot days to turn on the unit and crank it up on high so that Mother would have a cool room to come home to. The first time I saw a house with Central Air, I thought, how wasteful! Now even my laundry room has cold air. How times change.

Now you can't have school if the building is not air conditioned and almost all school buses are as well. These poor children! When I drove the bus for Alternative School, I refused to drive an air conditioned bus. That was part of their punishment from me----a hot as hell school bus! Behave and you can go back to riding a cool bus.

The days of buying a car or a house that does not come standard with a good cooling system are gone. Our children and certainly our grandchildren have missed out on just one more life defining event in their lives----looking for a place to get cool!!