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From The Arbor New Year In Bodock
Land
It is cold this morning as I write this. Me and Mimi once said, after living three years in Nebraska one winter, that if we survived, we would never complain about winter in our beloved South. I’m having to bite my tongue as I write this. It is 16 degrees this morning with wind chill index near zero: a balmy day in Nebraska where the locals would be griping about having to turn the heat on in their homes. But that’s pipe freezing, battery killing, three dog night weather in Bodock Land. But every cloud has a silver lining. Granddaddy would have talked about the cold killing bad bugs, and Uncle Aubrey says we wouldn’t appreciate the summer without the winter. And most of us have good memories of the sound and smell and heat of a wood fireplace, and getting our britches too hot on one side and burning our legs when we walked away. My New Year resolutions are simple and mostly the same as last year and that is to be a better servant in His Kingdom, be a better husband, daddy, granddaddy, friend, and neighbor, and to make the world a little brighter and happier for those around me. I want to lose a little weight, too, but that’s up to me. And I want to learn how to make homemade pickles and sauerkraut, and how to rework sausage like my daddy-in-law Ralph Graham used to do. They had the perfect balance of sage and red pepper and black pepper. The Bodock Post is one way we Bodock’ers try to make the world a little brighter. We share humor, our faith, and stories of long ago. My world is a little brighter when I read your stories. We trust you will enjoy this month’s edition of the Bodock Post and you will enjoy the many articles from several contributors who have shared stories from their lives in the red clay hills of Bodock Land. Perhaps this is the year you will be inspired to send us one of your stories to share. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
The Peddler Came In A Store On Wheels
A custom that I remember from the 1950s was the peddler. A lot of people up here on top of Sand Mountain in Northeast Alabama didn’t have transportation all the time, my grandmother included, so every Tuesday the peddler would come and stop by each house. His peddler truck was a mouth-watering wonder. We just never knew what he would have on his shelves. He carried candy, bananas, bread, and other staple foods, in case you ran out. Many of the ladies on his route didn’t have cash, so they swapped him butter and eggs for what they needed, so he sold fresh-churned butter and eggs for cakes. My own grandmother saved up her brown eggs the chickens laid every day and swapped them for what she needed. He carried almost a complete line of Watkin’s products, liniment, vanilla flavoring, almond flavoring for lady fingers, coconut pie mix, pudding mix. He also had Rose Bud salve, White Cloverine salve, and if I remember correctly, Evening in Paris perfume in the cobalt blue bottle.
I would be given a few eggs to swap for candy, and I agonized over what to get. Maybe it would be the wax lips you could chew or the wax Coca-Cola bottles with the Kool-Aid in them, the maple candies, orange slices, a Zag Nut or the red hot jawbreakers. I would usually get 10 jawbreakers for my eggs because they would last several days. They also had the added benefit of unstopping my sinuses. The visit from the peddler was one of the delights of my visits to my grandmother’s house. He brought things that were necessary, gave a little social interaction to the day, as the days in the country were long. I would sit on the porch on the day I knew he was coming and wait for him all morning, trying to decide what candy I would get. My grandmother would often get one of the huge peppermint sticks the peddler carried. She would make a yellow cake, home made from scratch, whip up 7-minute white icing and put that peppermint stick in a clean flour sack and hit it with the hammer. She would take the crushed-up peppermint and put it on top of the white icing on the cake, and there you would have a peppermint cake. I, of course, could not wait for it to cool to dig in. So, on peddler day, I knew I would have a peppermint cake and that was another reason to wait for him on the porch. He brought a lot of joy to a little girl. The days of the peddler are over. We have great huge malls, every need at our fingertips, but I would not sit on the porch and wait to go to the mall with the enthusiasm that I waited for the peddler. He brought a soul-satisfaction to my day as going to a mall never could. Our children don’t know what they missed. ~ By Sheila Crump, Contributor
Biographical Sketch: Sheila Crump was born in Baltimore, MD, but shortly afterwards moved to Alabama, which she considers home. Home presently is atop Sand Mountain an area that housed the poorest of the poor in the 1940s and 1950s. Sheila states it is like a little enclave of folks who never went down the mountain and had little means of support. They grew cotton, pigs and farmed and had gardens to see them through the winter. Now there are chicken processing plants and a large fire hydrant industry, but not a great deal more.
Just Charge It Is
Thrift Archaic
Here we are at the beginning of a brand new year! A new page has been given us, as it were, to write on with broad, bold strokes, if we so choose. I trust we do a better job of it in 2011 than we did in the preceding years.
Possibly, it is because I am getting older, but seems that there is more unrest, more corruption in government, more dissatisfied people, more folks standing with their hand out, in our great country than has been seen before. Is it just me? Most everyone wants everything NOW, and do not care how they get it, as long as they get it right away. The media, and especially TV, has set a fire in many people’s innards that seemingly cannot be extinguished. They have set a desire for bigger, better, more expensive gadgets and trappings than we ever knew before. It has become so powerful that it is telling us about these fantastic new "widgets" that we never heard of before, and then they come back at us and convince us that we cannot possibly live without them. And in the same breath, say, "Call now and have your credit card ready." Technology is running so fast now days that us older folks cannot keep up. What is an iphone anyway? The "BlackBerries" we knew grew on sticker bushes with chiggers hiding among the branches, now people talk, text, take and send pictures, and do all sorts of things with them. Do these BlackBerries make a good cobbler, I wonder? A popular TV program says, that a kitchen is not worth cooking in if it does not have granite counter tops, a six eye commercial gas range, a huge side by side refrigerator, stainless steel dishwasher, disposal, warming drawer, separate ice maker, instant hot water, and the finest sculptured wood cabinets on every wall. I observe young couples being shown these very nice homes and just walk away because the houses do not have all the latest and greatest gadgets in the kitchens, baths and elsewhere. They say the kitchen and bath would have to be ripped out and new ones installed before they could possibly live here. "It is so 1980s," they say. Well, I don’t know about you, but a kitchen or bath of that age is most likely still very functional and in some instances more desirous than the new ones. Also, there is a strong feeling on my part that many of these young ladies do not know the difference between a frying pan and a spaghetti strainer (my humble but accurate opinion). It seems they might be spoiled brats to begin with and what they really need is a big slab of humble pie to go along with their 1980 kitchen. Many of you readers remember, as I do, when our mother and/or grandmother cooked on a wood burning stove and the only cabinet for food preparation was a "side table" with a shelf or two above. There were no other appliances. There might be a "pie safe," wash stand, and if funds would allow, an ice box. The only eating surface was a table built of rough planks with an inexpensive oil cloth covering. There was no piped-in water, no plumbing, and in most cases, no electricity. I often wonder what one of these modern house shoppers would say about those early kitchens. Let’s don’t even talk about the lack of built-in bathing facilities or the outhouse with its Sears & Roebuck catalogue nailed to the wall. Am I suggesting going back to those days, NO! But many of us could, and amazingly enough, we would not die from the experience. Amazing as it seems, people lived and survived, raised families and according to thousands of accounts, were happy doing so in the above conditions. Money was scarce, luxuries were non-existent, and anything extra was cherished, appreciated, and well cared for. We may have an entire generation, possibly two or three, that are so spoiled that they turn their noses up at the mere hint of "less than perfect" or at least what they have been brainwashed into believing is perfect. I see forty cent 2x4 studs ripped out, thrown into a dumpster, and hauled to a land fill. Then these new owners replace the wall with four dollar studs that do not make the situation any better, sometimes worse, for nothing more than to fluff someone’s ego. Black and white tile on the bath floor will not give you "jungle rot" any more than the new expensive "mauve" with grey grout will. Get out of my way while we get the latest innovations. We’ll charge it on our credit cards and hope our grandchildren won’t mind paying off the balance of our debt when we are gone. Will the new buyers in 2030 be saying, "Oh, that is so 2010ish, let’s strip it out for something new." I’m not trying to pick on those who would re-model an old, decrepit kitchen, bath or other space. I am saying that many good and useful things are "thrown out with the bath water" just so a newer, later model "whatchamacallit" can be installed. This is expensive and wasteful! So, at the onset of this New Year, 2011, let’s write a bold message on this new page that says we will act more responsible, make better decisions, spend money more wisely, and go back to instilling in our children, good morals, responsibility, good work ethics, the appreciation of what they have, and Christian values. Let’s teach them that government does not owe them a living. If there is no other New Year’s Resolution made for 2011, let it be to follow God’s teachings and teach them to our children; then this will be a better year ahead! Happy New Year! ~ By Ralph R. Jones, Managing Editor
Short Year
Surprising Words From A Child
Anna, my oldest granddaughter, is now twenty-three and engaged to be married. The wedding date has been bounced around a bit, but I think it’s finally come to rest on July 9, 2011. It is not that long off, but if one wants it to hurry up and be here, it may seem longer than it really is. The concept of time is a challenge for many of us, and the following thoughts relate to my granddaughter’s formative years back when she was only nine years old. The following account first appeared in Ridge Rider News in January of 1997: I heard my granddaughter say a most remarkable thing on the day before Christmas Eve, and I admit to having been caught by surprise, hearing a nine year old exclaim, "It doesn’t seem like it has been a year since last Christmas!" I found myself remembering how long the days, weeks, and months of my childhood seemed at the time I was trying to survive them. From birthday to birthday or from Christmas to Christmas was the time equivalent of eternity. I suppose her statement speaks as much for a busy lifestyle as it does for her precocious perception of the passage of time. When I was nine years old, television was a babe that I had not seen, State Highway 41 [from Pontotoc to Okolona] was still a graveled road, and my paternal grandparents were some old people, whom I did not get to see very often. They lived on a dirt road near Thaxton, MS, and though they did not own an automobile seemed to get along just fine with a team of mules and a wagon. Our visits to see them required us to pass alongside an imposing gully that continually eroded portions of the roadbed. My mother feared the gully almost as much as she feared being near a body of water while helplessly confined inside an automobile. My mother’s imagination had us all plunging to our deaths each time we passed by the gully. In rainy weather, it was a possibility that my young mind could also fathom, since the road’s surface was a combination of slippery red clay and sand. In retrospect, I have to believe that our slipping and sliding along the way was, at times, intentionally nursed by my father who took subtle delight in my mother’s reactions to impending danger. [I think I inherited a propensity to do the same.]
My immediate family consisted of one older brother along with a couple of folks I called Mama and Daddy, and there was one newcomer to my family. A baby sister [Sarah] had been born less than one month after my ninth birthday, a third unplanned birth for my parents. I don’t think anyone ever actually told us we were unplanned babies, but you sort of have to figure that sound family planning would not have the births of four children staggered over the space of twenty years at intervals of six, fifteen, and nineteen years, after the firstborn. The only known advantage to such helter-skelter spacing of children is each child gets to enjoy, for an extended period, the pampering and petting afforded the youngest. It is noted in The Lamentations of Sarah, a yet unpublished work that exists only as an oral epic, that Sarah, the only girl-child born of my parents, was pampered the shortest time of her siblings, a mere four years. It is an unhealed thorn-in-the-flesh that she bears as a personal cross, and it matters little that our mother spoiled each of us with love and kindness to the extent of near rottenness. In the Lamentations, Sarah declares that Mama loved James, the youngest, best. Though I understand her logic, I dispute the statement and am of the opinion that Mama loved me best. By comparison to the family of my childhood, Anna’s family is huge. In fact, in the few short years of her life, she has amassed the likes of a clan, tribe or community of relatives. One set of grandparents has divorced and married new spouses, effectually doubling her paternal grandparents. Her parents have divorced and likewise acquired new spouses, which resulted in even more grandparents, all of whom, of course, wish to dote over her. The net result is an exponential increase in the number of relatives that I have yet to sum. Surely, the whirlwind schedule she follows during summer vacation and holiday times, the every other weekend visits to her dad’s home, and the visits made to other relatives, must compress her year into a few months of my childhood years. If, to my grandchild, a year is now so brief, I can only wonder how the Blonde Wonder of my life will perceive the passing years when she turns fifty [or even twenty-three]. ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher Southern and Wintry
Could Be Most Any Winter's Day
There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you...In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself. ~Ruth Stout
It's Southern cold, not cold cold. It’s a damp that freezes Ma's bones and makes her hands cold as ice. But she keeps on working as that is all she’s ever known. She fixed biscuits and cornbread every day of her married life. We lost Pa last winter. They had never been apart in almost sixty years of marriage. We miss him a lot. Ma made homemade buttermilk biscuits while we slept in till almost 6. I heard the rooster crow and then the oven door open a little while later. She must a got up afore dawn. Mimi and Belle, her pomapoo, are still snuggling under the feather light insulated comforter. I need a heavy quilt, or two. When Mimi and Belle get up, I’ll slice and fry up some fatback I been soaking all night. I’ll slice off the rinds and fry them for the granddarlings’ candy when they come later for dinner. I’ll fry some odds and ends of country ham, too. Pa would have made the best homemade redeye gravy. Ma said she would, but I told her not to worry as she was already busy and we had more than enough to eat. We’ll have real butter and homemade pear preserves and sop some ‘lasses and butter with biscuits, if I can get it all down. There’s a lot of planning and work and love in a homemade jar of anything. They drink hot coffee. I never developed that taste. Momma said I was the only one of her six that Daddy couldn’t get to like sweet milky coffee. She thinks it’s ‘cause I was premature and a bottle baby. Brenda Sue came along one year later. We’ll not linger over breakfast. The kids and they families will be here and hungry by eleven, and there is a heap of cooking left to do. The cornbread dressing and sweet tater casserole are ready to put in the oven as soon as the baking hen is done. I could smell the sage and onions all night. We like it that way. The kids are bringing modern food they like: fruit salad, green bean salad, broccoli and cheese casserole, and some store bought desserts. I must admit I have learned to like all that. Mrs. Edwards makes a good pecan pie, not as good as Mimi’s, but passable. Mimi made a sweet tater pie and Ma made a yellow cake with chocolate icing for the granddarlings. Before last year, while Ma and Mimi were busy cooking, me and Pa would get out and stir a bit. When we were both younger, we’d follow old Whitey into the field to hunt bobwhites. We killed a few. We killed a few squirrels, too. But, as Momma used to say: "We killed a bear, but Pa shot it." Such is the bounty the Good Lord gave us in the Holly Springs National Forest. I don’t want to go by myself now. The dogs stirred out of their straw-filled doghouse to get their ears scratched and stare in my eyes to say they want a hot biscuit, which they will get after we eat. After dinner, they’ll get what we call the hen carcass: bones and skin and scraps, and swallow it nearly whole. The chickens are too cold to do any laying or lying. The wind blows their tail feathers back as they hunt and peck for a stray seed, all the while making that contented slow clucking. I shell a few ears of corn for them with the heel of my palm. I remember when I could do that without making a red place. My hands were hard then. No hogs to feed. We butchered the last two last weekend. An old colored man always comes around to help for the heads and innards. That’s cheap help. The meat is salted away in the salt box in the smokehouse. We had plenty of cracklings so we gave him the skins too. We were all pleased. There are a few straggly turnip greens and mustard greens in the garden. The frost humbled them, but Uncle Aubrey says that just makes them sweet. I’ll pick some tomorrow for dinner. Mimi says we are going to eat light for a few days. She and Ma like cold chicken sandwiches, but I don’t, so she’s making chicken and dumplings to go with the greens. She cuts up the small turnips, adds a ham hock, and sweetens the pot just a little. I’ll be having Tommy Emmons’ homemade pepper sauce and a little ketchup over mine. Momma used to make chowchow. I need to learn how. The broom sedge and sirisia grass and kudzu in the pasture are done for the year. Uncle Aubrey says if I’ll get a couple of goats at First Monday, they’ll eat kudzu roots and all. He saw starving Japanese do that in WWII and says he’ll never forget that sight. Mimi just let Belle out for her morning constitution, so we’ll do what Momma called: "Taking a long walk down a short hall." She said that was polite talk in a boarding house. It’s time to go in and fry up the bacon and ham. The granddarlings will be here not too long. They’ll be playing kickball and shooting at a target with Pa’s 22. If they want to, I could show them where me and Pa used to gather muscadines and hunt squirrels, and show them the old roads through the National Forest. But they have their cell phones and iPods. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor Christmas Memories
Past And Present
As a kid, Christmas was always a glorious time of year. Mom, Dad, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles and cousins always gathered together at one house then another all season. There were food, presents, and a good time, especially for us kids ‘cause we didn’t have to do anything but play and eat goodies. Christmas Eve would always be back at home though with Mom and Dad and quiet anticipation of Santa Claus. A wild eyed little boy was I just waiting knowing I had to go to sleep before Santa would come. Does everyone remember how hard that was? The next morning I would hit the floor running. There would be an empty glass of milk and cookie crumbs everywhere. Mom would always leave the Christmas tree lit the night before so Santa could see to get around and when I rushed into the living room that next morning, it just made all the new toys shine even more. I can still close my eyes and see nearly every one of those mornings. Those were the days. As the years went by Santa always came and the goodies seemed to better and better each passing year. There was a Lionel train set that actually puffed smoke from the engine and had a whistle that blew, the Tonka toys, man they were huge and tuff because they were still made from metal back then. I remember the Radio Flyer red wagon and a Schwinn bicycle and the carpenter’s tool belt with kid sized tools in it, so that I could build things like my Dad did (he was a carpenter back then).
We always watched the classic Christmas movies (they weren’t classics back then) and on Christmas Eve right before bed, Dad would always read the Christmas story and he would make all these gestures with his hands and make his voice go up and down to make the story seem like it was happening right before my eyes. It was wonderful. Now, I have grown up in some ways and have watched Christmas through my children’s eyes and read them the Christmas story just like my Dad did. We still gather for the Christmas meals and festivities even though the groups are smaller as family seems to be scattered and don’t want to travel during the holidays ‘cause they have family gatherings of their own and everyone is making new traditions of their own. My life has now taken an even better turn as we have grandchildren. Oh what a blessing it is to see Christmas eve in a new light. J.T. is eight years old and Paige is three years old and the glow in their faces would charm anyone. They run through the house looking at all the trees that "Mammol" has decorated. They each have their own tree in their bedroom and in the playroom. J.T. has a stuffed animal tree and his collection of nutcrackers that have to be repaired each year after the war games are finished and Paige has the Little Princess tree covered in little porcelain dolls with her collection of dolls stacked around the bottom. These years with them seem to be so much fun, I guess because life has slowed down and I have more time. I also now get to play with toys again ‘cause I help J.T. build large Star Wars Lego toys and I get to have tea time as Paige cooks for me on her playschool stove and serves me on the little tea set. I have lived much longer than I ever dreamed that I would, considering my younger days and I am forever grateful to God for taking control of my life. I am one of the most blessed and richest men alive on this earth. My wonderful wife, Ms Janet, two boys Timothy and Jeremy, and two grandchildren J.T. and Paige are all the riches that a man could ever need and I am thankful for them. Thank you Lord for this gift of family! ~ By Tim Burress, Contributor
Great Depression
Surviving 1929 Through The Early Thirties
After a period of jubilation following the close of World War I and often dubbed the roaring twenties, good old U.S.A. suffered a jolt such as its people had not known. In 1929 the banks closed. People were not able to get the money they had in checking deposits, or savings. Employment dropped, homelessness and hunger were rampant. Health care was about nonexistent. People in public service such as school teaching were paid in script which they could trade for necessities, but at a discount of its stated value. Despite all of these disadvantages, I was fortunate to live on a farm where we were mostly self sufficient. We owned the land and house, so we were not homeless. We had cows, hogs, and chickens which assured us of plenty of meat, eggs, milk, and butter. My ever provident parents had an orchard that provided us with all the fruit we needed and some to give away. They had a garden that furnished us with all the vegetables we needed and loved. Since there were grist mills around, we shelled corn and carried it to the mill and came away with all the good home grown meal we needed. Fortunately we all loved corn bread, hominy, and grits. A neighbor worked in the fall cooking sorghum juice into molasses and was paid in molasses. We exchanged supplies we needed for many gallons of molasses. We ate the syrup on cornbread, biscuits, and pancakes. We made gingerbread cookies, and dried apple cakes sweetened with molasses. We even made molasses custard pies. On rare occasions my dad could buy a block of ice, mama would mix up milk, sugar, and eggs and boil it. We placed it in a hand turned freezer, we could not eat a whole freezer of cream, and we invited neighbors to join us for an ice cream social.
However many farmers did not have all we had. If they were renters, they usually had no orchards. The landowner sometimes did not want them to grow so much food, so a visit to the Jackson home was a treat many people enjoyed. Clothing was another story. With no money to even buy cloth to make into clothes we wore the same clothes until they were threadbare. We were fortunate to have one dress we could wear to church. School clothes were hard to come by. I remember one year especially when my ever provident mother attended a bankrupt dry goods store sale, she had five dollars to spend. For her five dollars she came home with out of style and damaged clothing to fashion us enough clothes for a year, we were glad to get them, and wore them without complaint. The house needed repairs, the roof leaked and some of the windows needed to be replaced. With a family of five we needed more room. These things, however, had to be put on the back burner. Despite these needs, we did not suffer from the cold of winter or the heat of summer. The two big bedrooms were separated by a dogtrot which was enclosed. We had abundance of wood on the farm, and fireplaces in each bedroom. I well remember entering the house to a roaring log fire. In summer the front door of the dog trot could be opened and windows at the back could be opened. Since we lived on a hill we could nearly always feel a breeze. My sister just younger than I, and I both finished high school during the thirties. College looked almost impossible. Pontotoc, our home town, had a junior college run by Presbyterians. My parents made a deal to furnish the college food – pork, chicken, butter, and vegetables – to pay for my tuition. After the two years I was able to get a scholarship and a job from the government (NYA work scholarship) which paid most of my expenses to attend Lambuth College in Jackson, Tennessee. Frances however did not start to college until I graduated. So much for surviving the Great Depression: How did we fare so well? First of all our parents wanted us to be educated and sacrificed to enable us to do so. Second we encountered a number of favorable circumstances. Most important of all, the Lord, the enabler of all things provided what we needed to do all that we needed. ~ By Imogene Jackson, Contributor Biographical Sketch: Miss Imogene Jackson is a native of Pontotoc County Mississippi. Born of loving, farm parents before the Great Depression, she completed high school, a Presbyterian Junior College (both in Pontotoc), and received her teaching degree at Lambuth College in Jackson, TN. Miss Jackson went on to not only teach English and Literature in Pontotoc for many years but to endear hundreds of students, faculty and parents to herself. She is remembered as a compassionate and highly effective teacher. Now retired, she lives in the Huntsville, Alabama area Corrupted Compass
Many People Need Direction
A compass is a most valuable instrument for airplanes and ships. Simple as it is, it is almost always correct. Occasionally, there are things that get the compass’ attention and draw the needle astray: Large metal objects, electronics, and large deposits of "loadstone" (magnetic ore) in the earth. The compass may point the wrong direction, may oscillate wildly, or may even spin. In other words, it becomes useless, until the item causing its confusion is removed. When I was flying a plane, my trek often took me over the southern part of Arkansas directly over a large magnetic deposit. There on the aeronautical charts is a note that tells pilots to expect a wide variation of the compass reading. It seems that many people today have lost their true direction. Some have had their compass to swing to the left or right, while others seem to be spinning around with no direction at all. So many of the basic rules and morals of society seem to have changed.
Things sure have changed over my lifetime. Some of you would say, "Well duh, they did invent electricity somewhere along the way and there is this new modern thing called an automobile…." You are getting way ahead of me here. I was thinking of things that people would not think of doing when I was a lad but which are almost accepted procedures today. The compass needle has swung off course. Our church has a six day Christmas program each year. It is a large church and we often have four to six thousand people there on any given night. For many years I was fortunate enough to be in many of these productions, however, all good things come to an end. My knees have become cantankerous, and it is difficult for me to get up and down. One of the parts I played, a Magi, had me kneeling before the young Jesus boy. I bowed out of the production a few years ago. I told them it would be embarrassing for the character I played to have traveled thousands of miles across burning desert sands to bow humbly before the King of all Ages and then have to be helped back to my feet again by my entourage. They allowed me to retire gracefully. The church leadership did not let me go so quickly, however. They thought that since I could still motivate to "walk security" during the productions was not too much to ask. There are three floors, amounting to possibly twenty acres of space that we try to keep a lid on during these programs. We are dispatched in several two-man teams, given a two way radio, and assigned to different areas to patrol. You might be amazed at what happens off stage. One of the minor things is cell phones. They are prohibited from use during the performances because of the light and sound they produce. Yet we have to remind people countless times to shut them off because darkness and silence is essential to the performance. Also electronic devices may cause interruptions in communications both on, and off, stage. Most microphones on stage are wireless and are sometimes affected by these other cordless devices. Teenagers will often seek out a dark secluded corner or classroom and try to perfect their huggy-bear and smacky-mouth antics. I’m not too old to remember how much fun it was to snuggle, but church was off limits. The other night, we heard this "drum beat" that was not coming from the stage. Tracking toward the sound, it turns out to be a young girl "practicing" her skills on a set of drums left in one of the youth assembly areas. After hearing her play, she really did need the practice. There are many rest rooms in the building and one thing youngsters seem to enjoy doing is stuffing the commodes full of paper, and then flushing them; evidently for the kick of seeing them overflow and flood the bath and the floors below.
My partner and I thought we had a "flasher" the other night. He had on a long black overcoat, and was walking aimlessly on the uppermost floor of the building. The coat had a slit up the back and it was evident there were no pants underneath. Since it was an extremely cold night outside we thought every man in his right mind would have on a pair of trousers. Deciding to see what he was up too, we followed him at a distance. He must have sensed us following, turned a sharp corner, and disappeared. If he was a flasher, we must have scared him off, no one ever saw him again.
Coming to church drunk is about as low on the list as I can think of. Yet while we were following our flasher, others were chasing down two inebriated people on the level below. They were detained for the police. I often wonder where some of these people grew up, and why their parents, schools, and churches were not able to teach them the basics of good manners, morals, and proper behavior. If there was no "security" present at these events, there would be mayhem around every corner. As a popular cigarette commercial says, "You’ve come a long way baby." We have indeed come a long way, but many were on the wrong heading. Was there a distraction to their compass or were they never issued a compass at all.. ~ By Ralph R. Jones, Managing Editor Orange Christmas My
How Christmas Has Changed
Knock, knock. Who’s there? Orange! Orange who? Orange you glad Christmas is over! That’s pretty lame, I know, but Knock-Knock jokes were the rage of my teen years, and oranges have been a part of Christmas traditions in my family as far back as anyone remembers. My dad’s favorite cake was a seven layer orange cake, especially if his mother made it. My mother claimed the ones she made for Dad were not as good as those of Mrs. Carter’s. Those sugary, gummy candies we know as orange slices, well, that was my dad’s favorite candy, and if not, it ranked right up there with those chewy circus peanut candies.
For Americans born a hundred years ago and especially for those who lived the sustenance-farming lifestyle, childhood Christmases were far different than what most of us experience today. Santa didn’t bring a lot of toys, clothes or candies to children of that generation. Money was spent for necessities, and in many instances there was not enough to cover the necessities. Large families were needed to support an agrarian society, so clothing was often handed down from one child to the next. Supermarkets were nonexistent, and fruits were a luxury. Thus, Christmas for many children meant they could expect an apple or an orange as a present. Wouldn’t the current generation be disappointed if that was all they found by the fireplace or under the tree on Christmas morning? Dad grew up in a family of four children with parents that provided shelter, food and clothing, but little in the way of Christmas presents. I remember him telling that many times all he got for Christmas was an apple or an orange. And, when one thinks about it, living in an age when fresh fruit was not readily available, such a gift was appreciated, even cherished. Anyway, I imagine Dad would rather most of the family orange supply go into the orange cakes his mother made. In my childhood, Dad was able to provide my siblings and me with some toys, as well as nuts and fruits, on Christmas morning. Based on Dad’s childhood, I lived in the lap of luxury, though I never thought so at the time. It seemed to me my friends received far better gifts than I did. But, Terry was not one of my childhood friends. Terry is someone I came to know in my early thirties. Terry grew up with few good Christmas memories, and his most memorable one involved an orange. "One Christmas, Santa left my brother and me an orange," he once related to me. "My brother beat me up and ate the orange." The first few times I heard him tell that story, I misunderstood it. I thought he and his brother had fought over the orange. Instead, his brother woke up before Terry, so he got the orange and ate it. Persons who know Terry know that he is prone to exaggeration, but I think this is a true story. However, I imagine there were other gifts, too, for Terry and his brother. Santa has not shimmied down the chimney as I write this article, but I fully expect an orange or two in my stocking on Christmas morning.. ~ By Wayne L. Carter, Associate Editor & Publisher Bubba
Bodock Signs That Are Humorous
Humorous material abounds and is often found in unlikely places, such as these signs of advertisement and/or services.
Recent LateNight Humor You know who's really glad Christmas is over? The people who work at Starbucks. They've been listening to Christmas music nonstop since July 4th. - Craig Ferguson A 103-year-old British grandmother is believed to be the world's oldest Facebook user. Just goes to show, you're never too old to waste what little time you have left. - Jay Leno This year, at New Year’s Eve in Times Square, they're going to put Snooki in the ball that they are going to drop. The problem is, then they're going to let her out.- David Letterman Cuzin’ Cornpone Our loveable, often laughable, friend appears only here in The Bodock Post.
Cuzin’ Cornpone A Bodock Post Exclusive Our loveable, often laughable, friend appears only here in The Bodock Post.
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Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each
new year find you a better man. ~ Ben Franklin
