RRN Online Volume 21

October 03 '96

Volume 21

The Bobwire Fence Carrollton Nonconformist

Given the times in which we live, it is refreshing to know or know of someone who is a rugged individualist, perhaps eccentric, but definitely one who displays characteristics that oppose the so-called norm. Conformity is drilled into preschoolers by their parents and others, not necessarily with intent to stifle creativity, but to perform along behavioral patterns of accepted norms. Once a child reaches the kindergarten age and begins formal schooling, the child is systematically stripped of his individuality until his free and creative spirit is suppressed to near extinction. Sheer delight fills the heart of the child as new experiences and ideas are encountered. The joy of learning soon fades into the abysmal drudgery of schoolwork. It is as though school systems reprogram children to accept their fate and yield to the guidelines and demands of the administration ¾ an administration that may not necessarily have the child’s best interest at heart when forming curricula and polity. Throughout the important formative years of development, children are constantly being molded into vessels of conformity.

It is little wonder then that nonconforming adults are rare. Granted there are remnants of individualism in each of us, but most of us prefer conformity to conflict. Therefore, being not that much different from the other guy, living in a home that is not too different from the others in the neighborhood, and driving an automobile that is scarcely distinguishable from that of a neighbor’s, save a few options, speaks more for our conformity than our eccentricity. Basically, we all strive to conform to societal norms.

Having shed some light, though perhaps nothing new to the reader, concerning how it is that we become conformists, I would like to describe an individual that I never met. He is known to me only by a fence that he creatively fashioned into an exhibit of folk art. His home was located about a 1/2 mile down a narrow gravel road approximately 1/2 mile east of the Carrollton, MS exit on US Hwy. 82. The owner of the fence died this past summer.

I first heard of the fence, from a friend at work, Kim Goslin, less than 2 years ago. Her family moved from Indianola to North Carrollton, the result of a business relocation decision. When Kim arrived at work one day and described in detail and with such exuberance her impressions of an unusual fence located near Carrollton, I determined to see it for myself. Barbara and I stopped by one Saturday morning as we were returning to Pontotoc just to "take a gander" at the fence. It was all that Kim had described. The fence was a 3 or 4 strand barbed wire (colloq .bob-wahr) fence. A gated entrance to the home was bordered on either side by about 150 yards of fencing decorated to the hilt with old car tags and old pieces of farming equipment, primarily mule drawn plows painted in pastel shades of blue and pink. Practically every fence post was topped with a plow, and interspersed between the plows were neatly ordered vertical rows of car tags from the top strand to the bottom strand. Hundreds, possibly thousands of tags were visible, especially if you counted those that painted the side of an old shed adjacent to the mobile home. Near the gated entrance hung a placard designating this place as home to Jewel Thomas and Lula Mae, replete with a 1973 date of establishment.

Not every post had a plow. A few contained some other odd and unused relic, such as a toy tractor or a child’s discarded rocking horse. Opposite the fence, a red and black mailbox rested on the end of yet another plow. The plow was either a scratcher or cultivator and was affixed to a large iron cultivator wheel that had been welded to a discarded automobile wheel. At some point in its colorful past, both a child’s wheeled horse and plastic rocking horse sat proudly upon the plow. These were dislodged over the passage of time, but honeysuckle vines ensnared and kept them still high above the mailbox. The unkempt pasture beyond the fence added to the rustic and primitive allure of what must be described as art. There was enough order and visible purpose in this man’s creation to dispel any first impression that someone had just junked-up their property.

I would invite you to visit this site, but that which remains today, is merely a shell of yesterday’s glory. Apparently, it is as Kim speculated, "Why, after he died, his wife couldn’t wait to get rid of that junk. I’ll bet she was sick of looking at it." That could be true, for what are the chances of two eccentrics being married to each other. My guess is someone simply offered the widow a fair price for the plows. While I do not know the circumstances of its demise, that which gave the fence its uniqueness is gone. There are no plows, no rocking horses, and no car tags that I could see as I drove by a couple of weeks ago. The fence remains, but now it is just another barbed wire fence. Whoever ravaged the work of the eccentric artist, raped the beauty of the creation, and left the rough wooden 1x8 mounts still atop each post. Now, stripped of all adornment, the boards hang forward with a downward slant in a posture that seems to portray their shame. The car tags on the side of the shed facing the gravel road remain as silent witnesses of the recent desecration.

When I last saw the remains of the fence, the widow of the eccentric had just been to the mailbox directly across from her driveway and was walking back to her home. I slowed to a point of stopping while halfheartedly wanting to ask her what had happened to the fence. But as she turned to see who might be stopping for a visit, I lost my courage and drove slowly toward Carrollton. I was overcome with a sadness that is hard to describe. I had promised myself on prior occasions to shoot a few pictures of the fence, but now that would not be possible. That which I esteemed for its uniqueness, will now be just a memory ¾ a memory that I can but share dimly through word or pen, while a single photo would have spoken volumes.

Unsolved Mysteries

Shortly after purchasing our house in Pontotoc, in the mid-Seventies, we decided to replace the chandelier in our living room. As I recall, it had a broken lamp globe that would be hard to replace with one of the same style. It seemed more prudent to simply select another one that better suited our personal tastes. The one we selected had a wooden center section from which 6 antique brass arms extended and held the glass globes that sported an etched effect. To this day, it has endured the sometimes raucous behavior of my own children with their friends, my granddaughter and her friends, and the occasional adult parties. It emerged unscathed from a kitchen originated grease fire and a couple of living room repaintings.

I have had to replace a couple of dimmer switches, but the fixture has never needed any repair or attention aside from the routine dusting or cleaning. It struck me rather odd (pun not intentional) that on several occasions over the past year my head would receive a hard, yet glancing blow as I walked beneath the fixture. Had I somehow grown taller in my middle-aged years? Were the heels of my shoes higher than usual or had the continual rearranging of living room furniture finally found the correct combination to precisely direct my steps, centrally, under the metal spike finial attached to the bottom of the fixture. I even considered that my stride might have more bounce. I could make no sense of the situation. A casual inspection of the fixture yielded no clues. The metal chain appeared to be fully extended as it had been since the day of its installation.

Recently, after knocking myself senseless for about the umpteenth time, I paused and studied the fixture once more, silently threatening it with physical destruction. It was then, for the first time since the head knocking began, that I noticed the chain did not go all the way from the fixture to the ceiling. Yeah, yeah, ....something besides my elevator did not go all the way to the top. An electrical wire provided the fixture the necessary support to keep it from falling to the floor. The hollow eye-bolt that secured the chain to the decorative metal junction box cover, and through which ran the electric wire, had been unscrewed allowing the fixture to slip about 8 inches below its intended height.

Just how the eye-bolt became unscrewed, remains a mystery. I have a sound theory, but if this mystery is like its many predecessors such as the disappearance of tools, hunting knives, grill lighters, forks and an occasional sock, then the truth may never be known. For the record, I submit the following plausible explanation. An individual or individuals capable of reaching the chandelier, did at some point discover the fixture would spin when set into motion about its axis. Teachers have observed the fascination that growing children have concerning how high they can reach. About the time of the teen years, boys exhibit a strong inclination to slap the wood above the entrance of a doorway, even if a jump is required to accomplish this feat. Many carry this fascination with them as they reach new heights physically. The entrance to my carport contains remnants of handprints left by dirty hands that were impulsively slapped against the white painted wood trip. These prints have survived numerous rinsings with Clorox and will probably not completely disappear until new paint is applied to the affected areas. Therefore, I conclude the chandelier spinner, did over a period of time, loosen the screw with his (or her or their) impulsive actions until it fell and was left suspended by the electrical wire.

It is reassuring to know that some mysteries are resolved by diligent investigative work. The mystery of the light fixture hitting my head is such an example, though the investigation was haphazard at best. I must have looked at the light fixture at least as often as it hit my head, and I never saw, until a couple of weeks ago, why it was giving me such grief. I just never gave up hope of a satisfactory resolution to the problem. It did, however, require that I look "outside the box" of past experiences and view the situation in a different light (still no pun intended).

Theory Revisited

This weekend I decided to test my theory as to how the light fixture came to be lowered. After spinning the chandelier several times, first in one direction and then the other, I have concluded that it is unlikely this method would have produced the resultant loosening of the bolt. The energy of the spin appears to be absorbed by the links of the chain as they twist horizontally along a vertical plane, and the energy is subsequently released as the links untwist. Some minute amount of energy may be applied to the bolt from such a twist, but appears to be insignificant. I do not recant the plausibility of the theory, but after observing the spin effect, I have concluded this method alone did not loosen the bolt that held the fixture at the proper height.

I risked hurting my son’s feelings at lunch today by asking him if he knew how the light fixture came to be lowered. His normal response is usually something like, "Why are you asking me? You think I am responsible for everything around here." His remarkable response was, "It fell when I bumped it with a guitar." I asked how many times he bumped it and he declared, "Just once." I also asked if he had ever given it a spin, and he replied that he had not.

I still do not know how the light fixture became loose enough to fall when bumped by the guitar. It remains an unsolved mystery.

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