March 2013

Volume 55

On February 2nd Punxsutawney Phil, America’s favorite groundhog, did not see his shadow. Tradition says this means we will have an early spring as opposed to six more weeks of winter had the critter seen his shadow and run back into his burrow. Perhaps, we shall experience an early spring, but it’s not going to be much earlier than when spring is marked by the vernal equinox on March 20^th. We’re only a few days from March 1, and spring hasn’t made it to Pontotoc, just yet.

I’m one of those for whom spring is his favorite season. I see spring as God’s way of reminding us of his provision for eternal life. Through the rebirth of long dormant plants I’m shown how a once-dead spiritual life can through Jesus also be reborn.

Personally, I’m a long ways from being ready for spring and the warmer weather that invariably starts all things green to start budding, flowering, and growing again. I believe I could work four hours a day, five days a week doing yard-work at my house and my sister’s house and never catch up on trimming hedges, and mowing. I’ve yet to resort to uprooting existing shrubbery, but I’ve not ruled it out either.

While I fully agree with the bard who said something similar to, "In spring, a young man’s thoughts turn to love," I know not what occurs in the minds of old men upon the arrival of spring. Maybe our thoughts are of this nature, "Well, I made it through another winter," as we look forward to the coming months.

The most meaningful of Christian Holidays, Easter, will be celebrated this year on the last day of March. As for me and my house, we shall observe the celebration in a house of worship and encourage you to do likewise, unless you are providentially hindered.

The Bodock Post welcomes the return of Tim Burress after a short hiatus. Tim’s article is about a woodworker friend that you’re sure to enjoy. Also, in this issue Tom Campbell writes about Hot Wheels, a toy some of us never played with as a child, but it’s likely our children and grandchildren did.

While Ralph and I sometimes fail to say thank you to our faithful readers, we do appreciate your interest in our humble publication. We’re not getting rich off the subscriber fees (there are none), but you bless us richly when you tell us you appreciate our writings and/or those of our contributors. By the way, we welcome submissions to The Bodock Post and encourage you to share your stories with us. Guidelines for submissions are found at http://rrnews.org/bp/submissions.htm.

By Wayne L. Carter, Editor & Publisher

I was watching my youngest, Emily, play on the hardwood with some toys recently and wondered to myself how much fun it must have been for the guy who invented Hot Wheels to watch generation after generation of children play with the cars.

Yes, you heard right...I said my youngest; Emily, my daughter was playing with the Hot Wheels collection her brother had amassed in his formative years! She even got a Criss-Cross-Crash set for a gift a few years ago that she had great fun with....sending the cars careening in loops until they crashed into each other at some point.

Hot Wheels inventor Elliot Handler was 95 when he died in 2011. He created the crazy-fast, fun, imaginatively designed die-cast cars for the company he co-founded, Mattel. I can only imagine the satisfaction it gave him to see the fun children were having with the toys he created (FYI: his wife Ruth invented Barbi), but it might have surprised him to know that both my daughters were big Hot Wheels fans!

Collectors have been making a mint on Hot Wheels for decades, but the trick to making money with them is that they have to remain untouched, inside the original blister pack, in what fellow collectors call "mint" condition. That’s the only way they appreciate in value. Unfortunately, for the kids who long to play with them, the collector-dad of the home might put the collection off limits...and to me, that’s sad. What’s the point of owning toys if you don’t allow them to be played with at all?

In the case of Hot Wheels...these toys particularly are meant to be played with! As a child, my older brother and I would run miles (figuratively speaking...that is, to scale! Ha/ha!), of track around poor Miss Peggy’s home. There was yellow track and a red c-clamp that fastened the track to a high place, creating a ramp down which the car caught speed and sailed all over.

If you were really lucky, Santa might bring you a motorized garage that acted like a coupler for the track and the 2 D-Cell batteries would make the internal foam wheels spin, & shoot the car out faster, so it would never lose much speed!

I never had the motorized "garages" that sped the cars along. I really think all I had was straight track and a loop.

Once I got the Thundershift 500 race set which let you use "stick shifts" attached to paddles to push the cars along in an oval race. Some cars just weren't made for it. They would fly out of the chute and off the track...some going halfway across the room! The heavier ones obviously, were better. But if you were playing to win, you had to be careful to pick a car heavy enough to stay on the track, but not so heavy it would cost you in speed! I kept it in Mom's attic and pulled it out when Zach was old enough to appreciate it. He and I would race and race. Even Megan would get in on it. Eventually they tired of it, and we donated it to the Salvation Army.

The aforementioned "Criss-Cross-Crash" that Emily had featured not just a single motor, but TWO to keep the cars moving in a double-figure-eight until there would inevitably be a pile-up. Her favorite game to play with the set (and I gratefully would join in), was to start with two cars in competition and then each of us would add cars to see how many we could get successfully running through the "8" until cars were demolished! It was great fun...though the grinding sound of the motorized garage had a way of irritating anyone else in the room trying to watch television...tee hee!

As children grow up, they grow out of some toys, but the Hot Wheels seem to maintain their own staying power.

They were great fun for me as a child, and my nephews and niece when they would visit. And likewise, they have built great fun and lasting memories for my own children and me all these years later.

Hot Wheels were born in 1968, and that means that the first cars I got were originals. No blister packs remain. But the cars do. I played with them so much that the paint chipped badly on all of them. It will nauseate many a collector to know that I took acetone to the cars and removed the original paint on almost all of them, but repainted them to their original glory with bottles of Testor’s Model Paints. I couldn’t be seen sporting Hot Wheels with bad paint-jobs!

In the collection, there was an El Dorado (green with a black roof), a Silhouette (gold and featuring the cool, modern acrylic bubble top), the Gran Prix Lotus (deep metallic green with the rear-mount engine and a rear pop-up hood), and my personal favorite the Gran LeMans Lotus (Rebel Red, also with a mid-engine like the green Lotus and a rear pop-up hood!). As you can tell, they made a huge impact on me, as well as my children.

The play sets might be gone, but we still have all the cars, though. Ahhhh...memories...

Dad told me stories of wildcats in Pontotoc and Lafayette Counties when he was a youngster. He said some times in dry weather a panther, cougar or some other kind of wildcat would follow a creek up into the back woods looking for water. Since he and his friend Ernest Huckaby hunted coons at night in those hills and hollows, I never questioned him too much about the blood curdling cries they had heard in the wee hours of the morning.

Even today we see more and more wild animals in populated areas. I have seen many deer and some coyotes even inside the city limits of Memphis. Different ones tell me of the damage beavers do to streams and trees in some areas nearby. We still live in a land inhabited by wild animals.

A few years ago as I came home from work a large dog-like animal, about the size of a German Sheppard dog, crossed the road in front of my car. In a long slow trot, he crossed, tail hung low, and oblivious to all the traffic on the six lane road. He cleared the road without getting hit and vanished into a stand of trees. I called our local newspaper the next day and they said it was probably a coyote and that they had reports quite often along the Wolf River. I was told they have plenty of water, dogs are not lose to chase them, no one can hunt them, and they find plenty of left over dog food in the neighborhoods.

This started me thinking about what other wild varmints might be lurking in the brush along our river. Could, in fact, a cougar or other such beast be lurking there. It brought me back to a recollection of my youth. As a boy of about six or seven, 1943-44, there was a story of a wildcat loose in the Randolph community. My grandparents lived there as did my uncle and aunt. Could they be in danger; and would I be in danger if we were visiting them?

My cousin Leon & Lou Jean Tallant also lived near there. This story really got big to me when I spent the night with them. Leon & Lou Jean had a picture of "The Lone Wolf" sitting on their dresser. You probably know the picture, a large black wolf standing on a snow covered hill, in the dead of night, overlooking a village down below. Steam was shooting from his nostrils! To me that was the very animal loose in Randolph. Chills ran down my spine every time I looked at the picture; to the point, I would not go into that room where the picture sat.

It was a serious time for not only me, but all the residents. This wild beast was heard screaming quite often at night. Meetings were terrified by the loathsome cries. A Boy Scout meeting was totally devastated by the sounds. The men of the community banded together and with their trusty shotguns and lanterns searched high and low for the varmint, but never got a shot at the elusive animal. Footprints left in a muddy spot were found, dug up, and displayed at one of the local stores. From the size of the footprint it was a large animal. The men of this rural area knew an animal of this size could be hazardous to their families and to their livestock. All I knew was that if I ventured out, especially at night, the thing would be sitting there just waiting for a tender young redheaded boy. I was petrified, to say the least.

Soon the truth became known. It was not a wild cat at all, only a hoax. A couple of brothers in the neighborhood had fixed up a contraption that made a most horrible noise and it sounded similar to a large cat’s scream. A nail keg, minus both ends, had an animal skin stretched tightly over one of the open ends and secured taught. A hole was punched in the middle of the skin and a leather cord was pulled through the hole and dangled down inside the keg. A knot was tied at the end of the cord to keep it from pulling through the hole. Using a pine-rosin coated cloth they held it tight on the cord and pulled downward through the keg. The most horrendous sound erupted from the keg. It was loud, terrible, and enough to scare the bravest of men.

As most country folks do, a certain family went to bed quite early, but their two boys who bunked together would climb out the window, gather this homemade "wildcat" contraption and create havoc. They were having a ball with their prank. However, as all things happen, the boys were caught and punished for their "crime." The wildcat of Randolph was no more.

Oh, you say what about the muddy footprint; how do you explain that? The boys had taken an old broom stick, and fashioned a large, cat like, paw on the bottom and placed it in the soft mud, close by, so someone would find it. It’s easy to believe and fantasize about what "could be" when you’re frightened.

The picture you say; what happened to the wolf picture? It sits on my dresser, a gift from Leon, and as a reminder of days gone by when folks thought there was a wildcat loose in Randolph.

A part of the Historic District in downtown Pontotoc was crushed by the bucket and claw of an excavator today (2/20/12). Prior to the house being converted into office space for Dr. Guyton and Dr. Campbell a great many years ago, it was home to spinster sisters, Ascie and Bernie Hicks. Perhaps it was their parents’ home, but as of this writing, I’ve not verified this.

My earliest recollection of the building was sitting in the dentist’s chair of Dr. Campbell (deceased father of The Bodock Post contributor, Tom Campbell). I would have possibly been eleven years of age at the time and might have been there for a checkup, though I doubt it, for in my early years, I did not go to a dentist unless I had chipped a tooth or cavity or else needed one pulled. I imagine my visit to Dr. Campbell was to extract a tooth or to fill one, either of which I would have classified as unpleasant simply because all my early dental procedures were unpleasant. I was grown with children of my own before I knew there was painless dentistry.

In later years, I would see either Dr. Howard or Dr. Patterson for illnesses not requiring a home visit by one of them. Once, after I graduated from high school, I was teaching my baby brother James (a five year-old) the rudiments of casting using a spinning rod. After thinking he had mastered the technique, I failed to note his ever-changing whereabouts. As the rod tip of my flexible spinning rod dipped behind my right shoulder, the fishing lure hung one of his ears. Fortunately, the line snapped as I tried to continue the cast. When I looked behind me, I was horrified to see the lure dangling from the top of his ear. Unfortunately, there was a good half-inch tear in the top of his ear that needed tending by a Doctor. I took him to Dr. Howard, who quickly saw him and sutured the torn ear.

Though I was a meat cutter for many years, there are two types of blood I don’t fare well with, and both belong to humans, my blood and that of somebody else. I already felt badly for injuring my baby brother and to watch him get stitches was more than I could handle. I stayed with James and avoided passing out by not watching the procedure. Needless to say, he fared better than I did.

I was in my thirties when I had a kidney stone attack. It being my first such experience, I was fooled that the pain in my side was something like appendicitis. I sat almost doubled over in the waiting room to see Dr. Howard. When the pain subsided as quickly as it had come upon me I felt foolish continuing to sit in a Doctor’s office, so I told the receptionist, Mrs. Frances Adkins, I was going home. I hadn’t gotten home good when Dr. Howard called. He wanted me to come back to the office, but I assured him I was fine and did not return. A couple of years would pass before I had another such attack, and this time my wife drove me to the hospital, where days would pass before the kidney stone made its way out of my system.

Dr. Howard died with lung cancer and Dr. Patterson later retired from his practice. The building, because of its proximity to First Baptist Church was offered for sale to the church. The church purchased the building around 2002, and, for a short time, the old offices were used for Sunday School classes. When the church no longer needed the space they were kind enough to allow Habitat for Humanity to use the building for offices and storage. Habitat for Humanity moved to a new location in 2012, and the building remained unoccupied until the decision to remove it for church parking.

Many a person can recount their memories of having been in the offices of one Doctor or the other, and I have shared only my most vivid ones. The period during which Habitat for Humanity, Pontotoc County occupied the office spaces, I found myself reliving first one memory and then another as I explored the nooks and crannies of what was once a small clinic. A corner lavatory, an inside shuttered window, the swinging door leading from the waiting room to one or more offices, all served to remind me of a bygone era, one we are not likely to see again. That era saw the transition from home visits by physicians to the clinic model that exists, today.

The clinic model leaves many of us feeling as though we’re but cattle being herded, sorted, tagged and branded, but technology may change much of that. I’m hearing of Physicians using Skype (online face to face conferencing) to ‘see’ their patients at home.

Changes will continue to occur in the practice of medicine and change will continue to affect buildings of historical significance. Those with the fewest memories of a particular place will accept the willful demolition of a historical site with far less remorse than those of us whose very lives were shaped there.

Charles was born in Clarksdale, Mississippi, in 1946 to Charles Edwin Buster, Sr. and Beatrice. Charles' father, Eddie ran a country service station and they lived with Eddie’s parents in a large but very modest house and Charles’ grandmother rented rooms to "train men" who ran the local locomotive from Vicksburg to Coahoma where Charles and his family lived.

The train ran steam engines and could not make the round trip in one day so they spent the night at the Buster house. The "train men" would sit at the service station killing time and would make things of wood that were useful around the household. One thing they built was an octagonal birdhouse with 4 levels. They also built a "loafers bench" and carved their initials in it, kind of to reserve their seat. This bench was kept at the service station until Charles’ father sold the business in 1960.

Charles’ grandfather and father both were pretty good wood workers. It was kind of like a natural thing for men to work with wood and make things that were for use around the house, so it was a natural that Charles would be also. Charles’ favorite pastime as a youth was building boxes. Charles got into trouble for cutting up some of his grandfather’s wood to build boxes for things such as a box to store his nails in to a box to plant carrots for a school project.

Charles studied Industrial Arts when he was in the seventh grade. Back then it was the standard thing to do; girls took "Home Economics" and boys took "Shop." Charles’ first project in shop was a table with turned legs. This is where he got his introduction to the lathe and soon found that turning duplicate objects was no easy task, but working with the lathe did bring him great satisfaction. Upon entering high school, Charles took a metalworking class and was introduced to the metal lathe. After graduation, Charles went to college at Mississippi State University where he was able to polish his skills on the lathe, both in the wood shop and the metal shop.

When Charles graduated from college with a teaching degree, he taught for four years with middle school kid’s basic wood and metal working as well sharing his love for the lathe. He got out of teaching in 1972 and found employment in many different areas but kept woodworking as his hobby. He built more boxes and even some furniture but mostly home repair and home construction type projects.

In 1984, at a gun show in Greenwood, Charles saw a man and his wife who had a table showing and selling double-barreled shotguns. He saw the people’s name on the sign on the table and that they were from New Albany, Mississippi. He asked if they knew his friend Jim who lived there. They did and Charles gave them his contact information and asked if they would give it to his friend. Shortly he received a letter from his friend, Jim and after swapping letters a few times, Jim asked if he had thought of getting back into teaching. He went on to say there was an opening in New Albany as an Industrial Arts teacher and thought Charles might have a chance of filling the position. Charles was hired as a high school woodworking and metalworking teacher in August of 1984 where as part of his job, he would work at the middle school with his friend, Jim, and they would be team teachers in the 8th grade program. Charles did more work in the area of teaching electricity since he had worked in the two-way radio business, had his amateur radio license, and had a better knowledge in the field than Jim. Charles is an avid "ham radio operator" and has amassed hundreds of new friends around the world as a result.

Jim and his wife introduced Charles to a young lady named Anita. While dating, Charles used the smiley face to sign his notes to Anita. As a matter of fact, Anita did not realize who was writing the notes in the beginning because they were only signed with the smiley face. Charles and Anita married in December of 1984. Anita has been a very positive part of Charles’ life and has been very supportive in his entire life, as well as in Old Southern Peppermills. Charles spends much of his spare time working on presents for his wife Anita. Two of the more interesting presents that Charles built for his wife are a mantle clock and a musical jewelry box. Charles and his friend Jim also built a playground set for the church one spring holiday break.

Charles retired from teaching after 23 years and went to work with a friend of his in the commercial two-way radio business. While teaching, Charles was president of the local branch of the National Education Association, the Mississippi Association of Educators for three years. He was state president of Mississippi Technology Education Association for three years. He was awarded Teacher of Excellence by the Mississippi Technology Education Association and also the International Technology Education Association. Charles is very active in the local council with the Boy Scouts of America where he has received such awards as silver beaver, vigil honor in the Order of the Arrow, and the Founder’s Award. He has served on national jamboree staff four times and was the director of an event for the southern region the last two times.

In February of 2008, Charles received an application packet from the Craftsmen's Guild of Mississippi. He filled out the paperwork and wrote up several items and submitted that with examples of his work for judging by the guild. He received a letter of congratulations and acceptance into the guild in mid- March and considers this to be the highest honor in his life. Acceptance into the guild is an honor in itself, but having his peers consider his work worthy of being presented alongside the work of the finest craftsmen in Mississippi is also an honor in itself.

Charles looks forward to guild events to showcase his peppermills and bracelets to a larger group of people. Charles enjoys working with wood and visiting with people as part of his hobby. His motto is "If you are not having fun at what you are doing, you are doing the wrong thing."

Charles and Anita’s backdoor neighbor, Bethany, has been a positive influence, helping promote his products. Bethany volunteers at the local museum and displays Charles’ peppermills and bracelets there. Charles and his peppermills were selected as the Featured Artist at the Tallahatchie River Fest in New Albany in 2005. He was selected as blue ribbon recipient therefore one of his peppermills will remain on display in the museum.

Charles uses a variety of woods that are both foreign and domestic in his work. Each peppermill is an original and is individually glued up from the finest of domestic and exotic woods. Every peppermill carries its own serial number, is autographed on the bottom by the craftsman with the date it was completed, comes with a list of woods that were used in its construction and their origin so you can tell your friends more about the focus of conversation at your dining table, comes with instructions on proper use and adjustment, printed lifetime warranty, and a brief history of the company.

Charles also makes mantle clocks, bracelets, domino sets, band saw boxes, cutting boards, and wine bottle stoppers. For a better look at Charles work, visit his website

http://ms.metrocast.net/~cebuster/or google "Old Southern Peppermills."

If you are a male, you probably remember getting into a few fist fights or at least a few pushing and shoving matches growing up. It just seems to come with the territory. I remember one lad who challenged me to a set of "fisty-cuffs" when I was about nine years old; I obliged him. Who won I do not remember. It probably was not much of a fight, but afterwards we became close friends.

Wars on a big scale, where there are casualties are usually different. Feelings run deep and no amount of coaxing can bring a cessation. Some men and women who fought in World War II would not purchase anything from Japan or Germany for years after the war; some probably never did. Hitler introduced and built the Volkswagen "Bug" which was later sold in the U.S. Mitsubishi Industries, which sells automobiles in our country, also built the Japanese "Zero" fighter; a formidable foe for American aviators in the Pacific Theater. It is hard not to remember the atrocities committed by those two Axis Powers; and hard not to resent them.

The Civil War was no different. However, the surrender of the Northern Army of Virginia at Appomattox Courthouse was a peaceable transaction from which we could all take a lesson. A war that was supposed to be over with in just a few months, drug on for years from 1861 until 1865; four long years with about 620,000 killed. President Lincoln had some of the top men in government trying to hammer out a peaceful solution for the war; but all of their efforts came to naught.

General Robert E. Lee, of the Confederacy, realized that he was near the end of his resources; his men were starving, they were totally drained, there was only minimal shot and powder remaining, no fodder for the animals, and the only hope was to be replenished by a train headed for Lynchburg, VA. However, that train was hijacked by Union General George Custer, and never arrived at its destination.

In the simplest of transactions between Lee and General Ulysses Samuel Grant of the Union Forces, a logical and workable plan of surrender was forged. Both armies were near Appomattox, VA. Hand written notes were scribbled on scraps of paper and passed between the Generals. A low key, but highly effective, "cessation of hostilities" was agreed upon in very short order.

The conditions were reasonable and workable. The Confederates would simply lay down their weapons, fold their battle flags, and agree not to bear arms against the U.S. Government again. The officers would not be required to surrender their side arms and anyone, officer or enlisted, could take their own horse or mule home with them. Each Confederate soldier was issued a "safe passage note" by the Union Forces as they were about to depart for home.

There are several things that we do not hear much about when this war is discussed;

First, our Southern boys were free to go back to their homes; however, the Northern boys were still in the army and had to remain on duty and in uniform until further action was taken.

Second, because of the lack of food, General Grant provided approximately 27,000 rations of food to the Confederate ranks on that April day in 1865.

Thirdly, there was respect shown to our Southern Troup’s by the Union Forces on that day of surrender. General Joshua Chamberlain was selected by Grant to oversee the surrender and make sure that it went smoothly. Chamberlain ordered his men into formation along the road leading into Appomattox, and told them to remain quiet, not to harass or belittle the surrendering soldiers.

As Lee’s Army approached, Chamberlain called out a command, "Carry Arms!" This was a most respectful military move; one that all solders of that day understood quite well. Weapons were held with their left hand under the rifle’s butt, and at their side, they stood at attention.

Upon seeing this act of respect, the lead officer of the confederacy, General Gordon, wheeled toward the Union lines, nudged his horse with a spur and the horse reared and came down in a graceful kneeling position; Gordon then touched the tip of his boot with his sword in a return gesture of respect. Gordon passed the word that all the officers should do the same.

Southern soldiers stacked their rifles and cried bitter tears as they folded their ragged and blooded colors. Once the formalities were completed the men from both sides mingled with each other. Some of the officers had attended military school together and/or fought together in previous battles. It is said that there was a fair amount of trading going on among the officers and enlisted men.

Just a few short hours earlier, these two armies would have killed one another without a second thought; now there was peace in the both camps. Men from the South began to drift off in different directions hurrying home, and hoping that there would be a home for them to return too.

Did all bitterness and hatred vanish in those brief hours? No! But as time passed much forgiveness took place.

Today our tempers sometimes flare, ill will is seen, cruel vows uttered, however, oft-times we need an intelligent/caring general to call out, "Carry Arms;" and let the opposition return the order with bowed respect. 

Some of my classmates, with whom I graduated fifty-odd years ago, and I get together once a month at a local restaurant for food and fellowship. Including spouses, we have somewhere between ten and twenty to attend our dinners. We have some classmates, living in the area, who never attend our meetings. They have their reasons, I’m sure, but I can attest they are missing a good time.

For the past year or so we’ve had the restaurant to ourselves, as the owners open especially for us, and it has afforded us the opportunity to relax and be ourselves. Sometimes we talk about the "glory days" of our high school football team or about characters we portrayed in a school play, but mostly we sit and catch up on the recent happenings with those seated nearest us.

We’ve tried several seating arrangements, and we’ve tried sitting with different ones from month to month, but no arrangement seems to suit all of us. The most fun we’ve had as an entire group was the night someone proposed we all answer the same question. That worked very well in that every person got a chance to be heard by everyone.

At our February meeting, one of my classmates got to reminiscing about growing up when discipline and respect were the rule both at home and at school. Punishment (spankings, some of which would be considered physical abuse, today) was a common occurrence, and something we had all experienced in our younger years.

One of our classmates, Gene, asked if he’d ever told us about the last whipping he got from his father.

"Janice and I were married and already had our first child. I had the head of an old tractor in a pan of gasoline behind the house and had been cleaning the engine parts. Some of the gasoline had gotten brushed into the grass. Well, my dad, came out the back door with his walking cane, popped a cigarette in his mouth, lit it with a match, and then flicked the match into the grass. There was a big whoosh and grass was burning everywhere. I yelled the s-word and started trying to put out the grass fire. The next thing I knew, Daddy was beating me on my shoulders and across my back with his walking cane, not for having been careless with gasoline but for using a word I shouldn’t have used."

Gene’s memory reminded Jeanette of a thrashing her mother once gave her, "Mama grabbed a switch from an oak tree. She didn’t bother to pull off the acorns or leaves before strapping me with the limb from my ankles to my neck. The leaves and acorns went a flying. When she finished I looked and saw blood oozing from my legs. I told her I was going to tell my Daddy when he got home what she had done to me. Mama just told me to go right ahead and tell him but when he left to go back to work I could expect another whipping from her that would be worse than the one I just got. I knew she meant it so I never told him."

I had a "my last whipping" story I could have told and might have done so, but Gene was primed to tell another happening.

"Did I ever tell y’all about one of the worst whippings I ever got?" he asked.

We replied we thought he had just told us, but he said he had a couple of others just as bad and began to relate a far more colorful incident.

"My daddy was a big man. He weighed over three hundred pounds, so it was hard for him to take a bath in a wash tub like the rest of us did. After we got indoor plumbing, he loved taking a tub bath. He would bathe whether he needed to or not, sometimes two or three times a week. He’d start running a tub of water and go get the box of Tide washing powder and dump about half of it in the water."

"We had a wringer washing machine that was kept in the kitchen. Whenever we washed clothes it would dance all over the room. One day Daddy was taking a bath and I was trying to hold the washer in place. I heard him call my name, and I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to bring him a bath towel. I didn’t know what to do, ‘cause if I turned loose of the washer I’d get in trouble, and if I didn’t take care of Daddy I’d also be in trouble."

"In a minute I heard his feet hit the bathroom floor. I looked down the hall to see him marching my way covered in soap suds. His intent was to kick my rear end, but when he swung one foot up his other foot slipped on the linoleum floor of the kitchen and down he went. I ran out back of the house. He grabbed a plow-line and started beating me in the backyard. He was still covered in suds and in full view of the traffic on the bypass."

If such were to happen in this day and age, there’s no doubt Gene’s dad would be cited for child abuse and indecent exposure.

If the subject of memorable whippings comes up again at one of our class dinners, perhaps I will share mine.

We received the following in recent emails and thought them worth sharing:

It's the Tortoise life for me

1. If walking is good for your health, the postman would be immortal.

2. A whale swims all day, only eats fish, drinks water, and is fat.

3. A rabbit runs and hops and only lives 15 years.

4. A tortoise doesn't run and does nothing, yet it can live for more than 150 years.

And, you tell me to exercise; I'm retired, so go around me!

Children’s Sermon on The Resurrection

A Baptist Pastor was presenting a children's sermon. During the sermon, he asked the children if they knew what the resurrection was. Now, asking questions during children's sermons are crucial, but at the same time, asking children questions in front of a congregation can also be very dangerous.

Having asked the children if they knew the meaning of the resurrection, a little boy raised his hand.

The pastor called on him, and the little boy said, "I know that if you have a resurrection that lasts more than four hours you are supposed to call the doctor."

It took over ten minutes for the congregation to settle down enough from their laughter for the worship service to be continued.

Our loveable friend, Cuzin' Cornpone, appears only in The Bodock Post.

It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle. 

Copyright © 2013 ~ The Bodock Post.

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