September 2012

Volume 49

This issue of The Bodock Post marks the beginning of a new year for our humble publication. We’ve completed four years of monthly articles and are embarking on our fifth year. We have been blessed by a large number of contributing writers over the past four years, and Ralph and I are always on the lookout for more writers to supplement our meager efforts. In fact, since inception, we’ve had thirty eight contributors. If you’d like to become number thirty-nine, see our contributor guidelines at http://rrnews.org/bp/submissions.htm.

Perhaps, Mother Nature has taken pity upon us and sent us some relief from the severe heat we’ve experienced since late springtime. Perhaps, it is her way of saying, even as the coming presidential election heats up, "this, too, shall pass." I am, by no means, sure of her intent, but I’m ecstatic over the relatively mild temperatures of mid-August. However, experience has taught me such mild weather in Northeast Mississippi is the exception, not the rule, and is always short lived.

Though it’s still August, as these lines are penned, area schools are back in session, football has returned to high school gridirons on Friday nights, and our Mississippi Universities all expect a better football season than the last one. I’m not sure that’s possible for my Alma Mater, Ole Miss, but according to Alexander Pope, "Hope springs eternal in the human breast."

There’s not much I miss about the job from which I retired, but one of the nicer aspects was the ability to travel much of the southeast and see different agricultural crops in various stages of growth from planting to harvesting. If farmers haven’t already started doing so, it’s about time to defoliate cotton fields in the Delta and start up the mechanical cotton harvesters.

When I was traveling the countryside, I rarely saw fields of cotton with human workers pulling cotton sacks down the rows, but such was a common sight in my youth. My parents knew the hardships of sustenance farming and, by the time I was born, had left the farm in search of paycheck in the city, read town. I grew up exposed to life on the farm but without having to live on a farm. Yet, I have an appreciation for all who did grow up on a farm or continue to farm, today.

Ralph Jones, co-editor of The Bodock Post, has written another series of articles which "the post" will kick-off starting with this issue. Each article is about a particular road or highway. Most of the roads are found in Pontotoc or Pontotoc County. Ralph will provide descriptions and clues to help our readers guess the name of the road each week, with the answer provided at the very end or the last page of the monthly issue. Additionally, for readers familiar with Burma Shave advertising signs, each article will contain the rhyming lines of vintage Burma Shave signage.

The Autumnal Equinox or what is more commonly know as Fall officially returns on September 22^nd, but in mid-August it provides us a preview of coming attractions or more specifically less oppressive daytime temperatures. Incidentally, the 19^th annual Pontotoc Bodock Festival will be held on September 28^th and 29^th. Heretofore, the festival has been held during August, but after numerous requests, the organizers of the festival changed the dates in hopes of more moderate temps for attendees and vendors.

In this issue, we welcome the return of writers, Anne Lott, Charlie Baldwin, and Russ Russell; each has a story you’re sure to enjoy.

~By Wayne L. Carter, Editor & Publisher

Last year, I met a young girl at a newly formed Writer's Club for our parish. Near the end of our first meeting, Kylie, my new friend, handed me a piece of paper. I unfolded it to read what she had written. She sat across the table from me during the meeting concentrating on something I thought was probably unrelated to our group discussion. Boy was I wrong. She had really been listening to my description of The Red Plate and the note she handed me was a recipe. How wonderful is that?

The name of her recipe was "Spicy Love", a catchy little title for a peppery bite, which is a wonderfully zesty nibble with the green freshness and heat of a jalapeño pepper and the creaminess of blended cheeses. Plus this appetizer has an unexpected ingredient, and it's wrapped in bacon. Oh my!

I decided Valentine's Day would be the perfect day to surprise The Horn Player with a delicious little nosh, and this hot pepper explosion would be totally appropriate. And the title of Kylie's recipe surely fit the love-themed holiday.

Kylie didn't offer any ingredient amounts and truthfully you don't need any, because it's all a matter of how many folks you're treating with this hors d'oeuvre. Here's what I did.

4 Jalapeños

4 ounces creme cheese

1/2 (heaping) cup grated cheddar cheese

1/2 (heaping) cup pan sausage

4 slices bacon

I split the peppers and cleaned the inside by removing the seeds and seams. I rinsed them in cool water and turned them cut side down on a towel to drain while I prepared the remaining ingredients.

In a small skillet I cooked the sausage and crumbled with a fork during the cooking. I didn't brown the sausage, just simply cooked it until done.

Note: I used the homemade sausage from the meat counter found at our local grocery store, Mac's Supermarket. It's so much better than any other, but you may choose whatever you like.

In a small mixing bowl, I allowed the creme cheese to come to room temp. I added the cooked pan sausage and mixed the two ingredients well. Lastly, I sprinkled the grated cheddar over and stirred to incorporate well.

With a small spatula or butter knife (that's what I used) I spread the cheese/sausage mixture into each of the peppers and wrapped them in bacon securing with a tooth pick.

Note: I cut each bacon slice in half. That was quite enough for each pepper.

I baked them in a 350 degree oven until the bacon was done. Ta da! Kylie's Spicy Love.

The evening with Kylie and the Writer's Club attendees was inspiring; the best part was meeting this gorgeous young lady with a recipe to offer. These were super easy and The Horn Player did indeed like his surprise of Spicy Love

As you know, roads come in all sizes, shapes, and styles. Since I drive quite a bit, they have become fascinating to me. Why our federal government, state agencies and cities, towns, and municipalities make roads the way they do fascinates and oftentimes amazes me.

As I was pondering roads that I have known over the years it brought up names of many roads that I had not considered in some time.

You might like to reminisce along with me about some of these old roads and their names. Over the next few issues, the Bodock Post will give some remembrances of roads in Pontotoc County, in Mississippi, and other places that are of significance.

Your task is to read the description, hints, and clues, to determine the name of that road. The answer that I’m looking for each month will be listed on the last page of that Bodock Post. Happy traveling!

Each segment will contain at least one "Berma-Shave" sign/slogans for your enjoyment. These signs were to advertise Berma-Shave Products between 1924 and 1953. The shaving cream was for a man’s shaving comfort, but to us kids cooped up in a car on a long trip, it was a treat and boredom-breaker. Oh how we looked forward to the red, roadside Burma-Shave signs with their white letters.

Does your husband

Hate to shave

Grunt and grumble

Rant and rave

Shoot the brute some

Burma-Shave

Name that road ~ An Early Paved Road

A once popular road traversed by many people extended east and west out of Pontotoc and extended all across the county over to Oxford on the west and to Tupelo on the east and well beyond each of these two cities. Cars were becoming popular and even the graveled roads that had taken the place of the dirt roads were not nearly as glamorous as this new road.

This was one of the first paved roads in Mississippi. It was made of concrete and was approximately ten feet wide. It was only one half of the roads actual width. The other half remained gravel. Most cars drove on the concrete slab regardless of which direction they were traveling.

With so few cars and them traveling at very slow speeds, it mattered little which side you drove on. When an oncoming car appeared, one or both vehicles simply moved over to the gravel side to allow safe passage.

Many years later both sides would be paved; and even later, an entirely new highway was built to the north of the "Old" road. Even as I was growing up it was already an old road.

As I remember it, one drove down Highway 9 towards Randolph and Bruce, but took the right fork at Springville to go on to Oxford.

What was this lop-sided road called? <Click to read answer>

How easy it is to take one’s health and wellness for granted. Often, it takes something major, like a heart attack, to drive home one’s mortality. While some folks don’t survive their first heart attack, for many of us it’s a wakeup call that our good health is more fragile than we realized. Then, there are cancer scares, even cancer itself, that serve notice we lack immortality. An automobile accident may leave one with injuries, the nature of which also heightens an awareness of the fragile nature of one’s health.

I’ve been through the cancer bit, and with two heart attacks behind me, I’ve plenty reasons to not take my health for granted. Through the years, most of my health concerns have been diagnosed and treated successfully. Oh, I’ve lost a lot of teeth, but enough of the remaining ones have crowns and bridges that I can consume most foods I care to eat, and the spectacles on my nose enable these aged eyes to see almost as good as before eyewear became routine for me. But, it would be losing hearing in my right ear that shook me harder than all the rest.

The deafness in my right ear came upon me quite suddenly. On May 19^th, four days after getting my second stent for a heart artery, the hearing in my right ear shut off as instantly as a room darkens when the light is switched off.

As early as the first of May, I had experienced mild vertigo, and that which I presumed was a sinus condition that contributed to a stopped up ear. One day my left ear might be stopped up; the next day it would be the right one. I saw a nurse practitioner, who gave me a steroid shot and a Medrol dose pack, the combination of which soon cleared up my ear problem. But, less than a week later, deafness struck.

I made a return visit to the nurse practitioner, but this time she sent me to an ENT (ear, nose and throat specialist). After examining me the ENT told me I had the classic symptoms of SHLS (Sudden Hearing Loss Syndrome), for which there is little that can be done. High doses of steroids seem to work about as well as anything, and he prescribed another round of meds for me.

On my first visit, my hearing was checked in both ears. The left ear was normal, but I understood no words piped into my right ear. Two weeks later, in a second hearing test, I could make out about 30% of the words spoken into my right ear. A third visit and testing yielded 60% word recognition in my right ear.

Throughout the weeks and months since mid-May, I have been frustrated in not being able to clearly understand someone talking to me. Since my left ear is now dominant, many of the sounds I hear seem to be coming from my left side. Even if my cell phone is to my right, I instinctively look to my left when it rings. There’s a constant ringing in my right ear that I can only describe as the sounds hoards of locusts and/or cicadas make in the trees during summer months.

In restaurants, I ask Barbara to sit to my left or directly across from me, all to facilitate my hearing her better. I do pretty well understanding others unless multiple conversations are occurring simultaneously and nearby. My greatest fear pertains to personal safety on the highway where I run the risk of an accident because I might be unable to determine the direction of the sirens or horns until a collision was unavoidable.

In my first visit to the ENT, he mentioned that people with Sudden Hearing Loss Syndrome split fairly evenly into three groups: those who regain part of their hearing, those whose hearing returns completely, and those whose hearing does not return. Initially, the ENT also had said my complete hearing loss could not be helped by a hearing aid but has since remarked a hearing aid would improve my overall hearing.

I even had an MRI done on my head. There were no tumors or any indication of stroke or other impairment to produce a loss of hearing.

Three months have passed, and I’m happy to say most of my hearing has returned. My fourth hearing test indicated I had 68% voice recognition in my right ear, which is good news. The bad news is I’m not a candidate for a hearing aid at this time, because one’s hearing loss should exceed 40% for a hearing aid to be considered.

As my ENT physician explained it, "I’m afraid a hearing aid would be more of an aggravation than a help to you."

Right now, my doctor thinks there’s little more he can do for me, unless my inner ear worsens, in which case there’s a possibility of inserting a tube into the ear and injecting a medicine, the name of which, didn’t stick with me. And, I was advised to reduce my salt intake. Though, with my love affair with bacon and/or sausage for breakfast, I doubt sodium levels will go down much.

Today, the hearing differences between my right ear and my left ear continue to trouble me as I try to converse in a noisy environment like a restaurant or to talk to someone at home in a room with a TV turned on. In six months, I have my hearing tested again. Who knows, by then, I may be comfortable with my discomfort?

As I think back to my younger years one thing I realize is how important the old barn was to country living. Very few things happened on the farm that was not influenced by the old barn.

One of the most important features was the second floor or "Hay Loft" as it was called. This is where the hay was stored to be used to feed the animals during the winter season.

I can well remember going with my cousin and field hands to gather up the hay that had been baled and left in the field. Each bale weighed around 75 pounds and we used something called a hay hook to help us pick them up. The hay truck would back up to the old barn and the stronger workers would toss the bales up into the loft door. The others would go up and help stack the bales. Thanks to gravity, getting them down into the feed troughs was easy.

The troughs were down one side of the barn and the cows and horses knew when feeding time was and would come up to get the hay. There was never any clean-up required because what was left would be eaten tomorrow.

The next room was open to the outside and was where the horses and mules were kept overnight and fed daily. All the "tack" was stored on pegs around that room.

The next room was the largest and housed all of the farm equipment. There were plows, disks, fertilizer dispensers, seeders, hay mowers, and hay balers. Anything else that was used in farm work, including hand tools, was also stored there.

On the other side of the barn was a small room where potatoes were stored. They were covered with lye to protect them and were used by the family year-round. There was limited storage in the old house so there were many jars of canned vegetables, jellies and jams stored on shelves in that room.

There were rooms down both sides of the barn’s hallway. These were used for every kind of storage a farm could need. Of course, one of these areas was open and contained nests for the hens to lay their eggs which were collected daily. A couple of the nests were off to one side and used when it was time for hens to "sit" on their eggs to hatch out baby chickens.

Near the chicken nests was a room with field corn which would be shelled and used to feed the chickens and other animals. That area had to be watched carefully as all kind of varmints would try to get the corn. Most farms had cats living in the barn to assist with that. In fact we had a wild domesticated cat that actually had long fangs hanging outside its mouth.

It was unusual, but our barn had running water so we could keep the water troughs properly filled. This also allowed us to have a pigpen next to the barn and to keep a muddy area where the pigs could properly wallow.

As the years have taken a toll on us, they’ve also taken a toll on most of the old barns. I live in a very rural area and love to drive through the country side and re-live the old days. However, one thing that saddens me is seeing so many of the old barns neglected and falling down.

To some Elvis has never died; some say he still lives incognito and works at the Burger King down the street from Graceland; but on August 16, 1977, thirty five years ago, at the age of forty-two, his heart did stop and all brain activities ceased, just as in all mortal people who come to the end of their life. However, if you happened to be around Memphis during "Elvis Week" and especially on August 16, Elvis seems to be alive and well. The crowds of people come from all corners of the world to pay homage to "The King" on this special day.

Camera trucks, TV crews, reporters, and thousands of people from near and far gathered to commemorate the life of Elvis Aaron Presley (1935-1977) at his mansion, lovingly called "Graceland," on US Highway 51 in Memphis, Tennessee. The street renamed because of the famous icon, will forevermore be known as "Elvis Presley Boulevard."

However, as Elvis became more popular and moved to Whitehaven, the once quiet street became a place to visit, to see Graceland, and possibly catch a glimpse of Elvis. Because of this popular place to live, the road had taken on a more commercial venue. Shopping malls, shopping plazas, super stores, fine dining establishments, and all sorts of fast food restaurants had sprung up along this stretch, northward from the Mississippi state line to a creek named Nonconnah that skirted the south edge of Memphis. By the early 1970s the lane count on this once country highway had increased to four, and in some places five and six. Whitehaven was an ideal place to live, good people, churches galore, great schools; the community had its own water district, police force, and fire department. The location was within reach of jobs, transportation, and some of the finest healthcare/hospitals anywhere. When Elvis moved in and was becoming so famous, that only added to the charm of our community.

The memory of Elvis still exists, and Graceland is not as before, but even more grandioso. A shopping plaza across the highway from Graceland once had your run-of-the-mill stores and shops. There was an upscale "Forum Hair Salon" owned and operated by my friend John Powell; a fine restaurant, "Beef and Liberty" where we once took clients to impress them. I also had a home building client, Bill Gay, who had his offices there; not to mention dress shops, shoe stores and the like. But, this set of buildings has been systematically purchased and converted into establishments featuring only Elvis paraphernalia.

The home we lived in for many years is on Old Hickory Road, behind Graceland. Many of the neighborhood youngsters played in the woods behind Graceland before Elvis became so famous and had to have a security fence installed. One of our sons, Ray, delivered the daily newspaper to his house for a while. When Elvis was in town; he, his band, and friends from high school would play football out on the front lawn of Graceland. Those of us who lived nearby really did not spend much time thinking about our neighbor; it was just more or less, "Oh, that’s where Elvis lives."

Where these fine homes once stood along the highway north of the shopping center, now exhibits Elvis’ airplane, the "Lisa Marie," Elvis museums, "The Heartbreak Hotel," theaters of Elvis, souvenir shops of every kind and description stand decorated in pink and black, adorned with neon signs and lights. Parking lots for thousands and thousands of vehicles cover much of the area behind the shops.

Since retiring from my home design business of over forty years, I have taken a part-time job driving for a bus company, Cline Tours, Inc. It is my happy privilege to take tourists to places of interest around the city and across the country. When escorting tourists around the Memphis area, Graceland is at the top of the list.

One group that our company drove was a group from France who had come for "Elvis Week." There were over two hundred French people who visited and used our company for transportation. Their only aim was to visit Elvis’ home, grave site, his birth place in Tupelo, Mississippi, and all the places with any significance to Elvis. Only five or six of the entire group could speak English, and most of those did not speak it very well. However, we had a wonderful time together. The group of fifty or so that I was assigned for three days were such nice folks. Only one or two on my bus spoke any English and that was very broken. We made the best of the situation with hand gestures, body movements, facial expressions, and other universal signs.

One day’s trip was to visit points of interest around Memphis; his former home in Lauderdale Court Apartments, his house on Audubon Street, Humes High School where he attended, and "Sun Studio" where he recorded, and others.

I was just a part of the bus as far as they were concerned until we reached the second stop on this trip at Humes High School. The group leader in broken English asked if I had ever seen Elvis in person. I responded that I had indeed seen him on several occasions over the years. Talk about an "about face;" this group changed before my eyes.

All of a sudden I was a celebrity. Everyone seemed to want their picture taken with me. From then on I could do no wrong. The leader asked me to tell the entire bus everything I knew about Elvis. As I spoke, he translated it into French. They applauded, laughed and in general treated me like a celebrity.

Since we lived so close to Elvis on Old Hickory Road we knew that Elvis had a secret escape route from the mansion. Sometimes Elvis and a friend or two would sneak out through the garage of his mother and father’s house on Dolan Street in a pink and white stripped Jeep and come up our street. If you did not know the vehicle you might miss him altogether.

The Elvis fans from France spent "big bucks" for the trip and seemed to totally enjoy their stay. I so much enjoyed watching them have a good time. Although their trip would take them on to Denver, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, and other scenic places; many cried, others blew kisses, and most were sad to leave such a memorable place as Graceland the home of Elvis, "The King of Rock and Roll."

Long live the memory!

Why is it that every blessed time we travel to Disneyworld, it rains as we leave North Mississippi?

The first trip we ever took to see Mickey Mouse was in 2002. As we left the house on Ole Belden Circle, there was a tempest brewing and it bathed us all the way to Atlanta.

Yes. I agree. The idea that someone would drive to Atlanta (practically due east) from Tupelo in order to get to Orlando, Florida (most certainly SOUTHEAST) seems a stretch. Folks say it’s faster, but it doesn’t follow any rule of logic...at least in my mind. Everyone we talked to who had gone to Central Florida agreed, "There is no better path to Orlando."

Brothers and sister, I am here to convey the truth. In my opinion, NO! There is no more stressful and congested path to take to Orlando, Florida than the one through Atlanta, Georgia.

The rain at least rinsed Atlanta off for us. The city, upon first observation is quite dirty. It was not very welcoming, so in looking for the positive, we could truly be thankful, at this stage of the trip for the rain.

We have a family friend who recently moved to Atlanta to accept a teaching job in the city. His photos have proven that even an imposing, often dark place like Atlanta can still be clean and inviting, even luxurious!

Leaving Tupelo when we did, we had hopes we would miss the infamous "Atlanta Rush Hour Traffic." Here is another myth we debunked on that first trip to the Magic Kingdom, there is no such thing as missing "Atlanta Rush Hour Traffic." You only catch it at slightly less or slightly more heavy phases. All Atlanta traffic is "Rush Hour." Plotting a trip that even bypasses the city proper throws you into some slow-crawling stage of "Atlanta Rush Hour Traffic."

Once we escaped the gravitational pull of Atlanta and sailed due south to the Georgia/Florida Line, all was well until the rain caused a wreck about two miles north of the border. It took us nearly an hour to ooze past the wreck and into Florida toward Lake City.

What had slowed both lanes of traffic seemed at first glance to be a minor explosion of someone’s fifth-wheel travel-trailer and truck. Strewn across the pavement and the grassy, tree-laden median was what I would describe as a two ton swath of clothing, insulation, plywood, dishes, bedding, groceries, electronics and their respective remote controllers. Also tossed into the mix was a dotted line of flaming road flares dropped by the Georgia Highway Patrol to help traffic avoid the worst of it in the dark.

This was a formative moment for my wife Deana. Since seeing the smeared camper that was tossed through the asphalt and trees, she has become a firm believer in Recreational Vehicles...of the BUS variety, not the trailers. The devastation was tragic even to those of us merely driving through it, unrelated to the occupant victims.

As has become our tradition on our occasional trips to Orlando since, we stopped at the Lake City Cracker Barrel Restaurant. There, in comfortable retreat we could relax and recount the wonder and sadness of the wreck while recovering and building the anticipation of our pending arrival.

It was on this first trip that we all cheered as we stopped, admiring the brightly colored gates with the arch that reads, "Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth!" and is surrounded by our friends Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Donald, Daisy & Pluto.

Now we have left Tupelo in the rain yet again ten years later to deliver oldest daughter Megan to Mickey’s trusted, four-fingered, oversized, white gloved hands. Our born-artist is going to be a college intern there and experience what it is like to work in an environment where there are no boundaries except the limits of what you can dream and how to build it, where there are no "employees," rather, "cast members," and development people are called, "Imagineers."

The clouds, for once, finished their deluge before we left Mississippi. The wispy throes of what were once dark, gray, and angry-looking billows left after the storm looked so low in the morning sky that you might reach up and touch them. In this new chapter of her life, I’m certain Megan will.

I suppose this writing is more about the times and places than it is about "Long legged Charlie." One would almost have to understand the time in history, which was somewhere around 1953, to 1956, to really appreciate the story.

Though the most of the tough times of World War II and shortly thereafter were just about over, we still lived in a small farm farming community in a time of not much money. Our school was called Thaxton, and was one of the many small community county schools located in that part of North Mississippi. It would be some twenty years later before the schools would be combined, and when the most of the small schools were eliminated.

During that period of time we travelled little outside of our own little world. For that reason the school ball teams were a "big thing". As I think back on it now, I am sure there was very little money that could be spent for sports activities. That along with the fact that we had small classes is probably the reason that we had no football teams.

We did however have basketball and baseball teams. The basketball teams were the big thing. The games were played inside in gyms during the long winter months. Baseball was just a spring game and we really had no baseball diamonds as one would think of these days.

Since we lived in farm country, all of the clear and level ground was taken for the growing of crops and we could not use them for ball fields because of the uneven rows. That left only one area of level land large enough for a ball diamond; cow pastures. The men of the communities would usually level out an infield for the bases, but the outfield was pretty much left as it was. That meant holes, weeds, and a few other things that were deposited by the cows. In other words, if you were unlucky enough to play in the outfield, you were very careful to watch where you stepped, and were pretty much on your own.

The most of the small schools furnished no uniforms for the baseball teams. A couple of the larger schools did wear uniforms, and cleats, but for the most part we wore whatever we had. I played three years on the high school team wearing only a pair of blue jeans; no shirt and no shoes. It may be that’s why I became a fairly good short stop. It only takes about one time of working the front end of a double play to realize that you had better tag second base real quick and get off that bag when you are playing "barefoot" and the guy sliding in is wearing cleats.

This brings me to my good friend who I will fondly call "long legged Charlie." He was a grade ahead of me in school and was a tall boy for the time and place, probably a little under six feet. The thing about Charlie was that he had long legs, and could really run fast.

This particular baseball game that I write about was in one of those "cow pasture" ball fields. The field kind of sloped downhill just past the bases. So if you hit the ball pretty hard it had good speed once beyond the baseline. There was a large old oak tree in deep center field. There were no fences to determine home runs, but if you were lucky enough to hit the ball as far as the oak tree, and you were fast enough, you just about had yourself a home run.

I usually batted third in the line-up, not because I was a good hitter, but because I was so small that I usually got walked at least two or three times in a game. On this particular day I indeed was batting third, and who was batting in the clean-up spot? It was none other than my good friend, "Long legged Charlie!"

Even though I was small, I was still pretty fast, but on that day, not quite fast enough! I don’t remember if I got a hit, or was walked that day. In any case, I was on first base when Charlie came up to bat. He took a big swing and hit the ball over the fielder’s head. I saw the ball headed toward that big old oak tree in center field, and I took off running. As I was running at full speed between second and third base I saw "Long Legged Charlie" headed for second. He was running so fast that he had pulled his cap off and was holding it in his hand to keep it from blowing off his head.

As I rounded third and headed for home I could see that the fielder had recovered the ball and was throwing it home. It was going to be close. I would have to slide. I was giving it all that I had and headed toward home plate when I heard footsteps behind me.

Then I heard a voice say, "You better run boy, or I’m a’gonna pass you".

The catcher was attempting to catch the ball when I slid under him dislodging the ball. The catcher and I were all tangled up at home plate. I was safe, and so was "long legged Charlie" who slid right in on top of us

Around Ranolph and Sarepta, my maternal grandfather, Warren Phillips (Poppa to most of us) was a country veterinarian of sorts. He was quite knowledgeable of animals and their illnesses. You would often find him reading books on animal husbandry and the people in the community used him as a substitute for the vet they did not have. Cows and work animals were his specialty, I suppose.

Cows usually had udder problems at one time or another and Poppa could help cure a disease called "mastitis" and other common ailments. Vard Bishop, who bought and sold cattle in the community had a sick cow and asked for Poppa’s help. After examination that old country vet said she had one of the worst cases of mastitis he had ever seen and told Vard what to do to cure it. Vard did not believe him and got a "real" vet from Pontotoc, twelve miles away, to come look at the cow. His prognosis was that she had exactly what Poppa had said. Granddad said he didn’t pay me anything, but had to pay the vet fifteen dollars for the visit. Poppa did not "doctor" Vard’s cows anymore.

Horses and mules had a different set of problems, strains, pulled muscles, bruises, etc. Often a good rest and some good "hoss" liniment would do the trick. However, sometimes work horses and mules would develop a condition he called the "Sweeny." There was evidently a disk in the shoulder that had worn thin from hard work. Most likely, it caused pain when pressure was applied by the animal. The animal would stand with his toe pointed toward the ground and not applying any weight to that limb. When this happened, Granddad would say, "I can fix your mule for a dime."

This procedure required surgery. He would make an incision in the shoulder of the animal at a very specific place, find the worn disk, insert a sterilized ten cent coin in just the right place, and then pack the incision with grease. When the incision healed, the animal was good as new. I have helped in this operation several times. I wondered if this was a real condition or something that just happened to work. One day I asked a licensed vet about the "Sweeny" and he assured me it was most real and what my grandfather did was indeed a way of fixing the problem.

Pappa often took me to help a cow deliver a calf when she was having trouble. The "breach" birth of a calf sometimes resulted in the death of mother and offspring. Poppa would take me along and we would turn the unborn calf, and/or sometimes unwrap the umbilical cord from its neck, and give the cow the opportunity to deliver at that point. Sometimes she had fought so long and hard she did not have the strength to try anymore, so we would "pull" the calf. After a period of rest she was good as new. I suppose the new offspring thought that all calves were born that way.

"Ma," my grandmother, and Poppa usually lived way out in the country and there was always the possibility of hydrophobia. We just called the dogs that got the disease, a "mad dog;" since they did go crazy in a way. Other animals, fox, raccoons, squirrels, even cows, and other farm animals could be infected as well. It was deadly to animals and humans as well. The family dogs often got it from a wild animal and sometimes passing it along to the other animals around the farm and community. In that day, there was little you could do for an animal when they contracted the ailment other than destroy them.

When news of a "mad dog" in the area circulated, Poppa would grab his long barreled "Blue Ribbon" brand, twelve gauge shotgun and with the neighborhood men went searching for these infected creatures. I asked him one time wouldn’t he rather have a rifle than a shotgun for this purpose, his answer, no. He said with a shotgun, he could shake the barrel a little and kill more of these brutes with one shot. He had a little humor in him.

My grandparents had a barn full of stock; horses, cows, chickens, pigs, etc., now we have buildings full of tractors, mowers, trucks, and other machines. Each scenario was/is to make work easier and to put food on the table. I do not advocate going back to mule power for our muscle, but when was the last time your tractor brayed and nuzzled you as you entered the barn? When was the last time your mower grunted happily when his back was scratched? When was the last time your truck squealed with delight when you added gas to the tank?

There is a romance with live animals that we have lost with their passing. No machine, no matter how good they do their job, or how inexpensively they do it, can compare to being welcomed to their barnyard by a friendly, loving horse, mule, cow, or whatever. We have advanced in technology, but not in a better way, necessarily.

Recently, my daughter, Rayanne Adams, and my granddaughters, Merilese and Katherine, all from Plant City, Florida, spent a couple of weeks with us. While here, Rayanne found plenty of time to plan the menu and decorate a meeting room for my seventh birthday party. Rayanne enlisted my sister, Sarah Brown, to help with food preparation.

Early in the planning stages, Barbara told me a birthday party was being planned for me but provided almost no details other than Rayanne and Sarah were putting it together. I asked how big a party they were talking about and received only a vague answer, something about inviting about a hundred people.

As time for the party drew near, Rayanne enlisted my help to create a room divider for the party. Larry Ferguson and I fashioned three stands for three unfinished wooden doors to be used for the divider. Rayanne was pleased with our work.

I suspected more work would be required on my part, and sure enough, I got to help Rayanne purchase food and supplies for the party at Sam’s Wholesale Club in Tupelo. Personally, I would have been happy with a birthday cake and ice cream, but my family wanted more than that, while something less than a full sit-down dinner menu.

As the day of the party neared, I began to notice items were disappearing from the house. I missed framed pictures here and there, but these were insufficient clues to the actual number of items Rayanne had systematically squirrelled away from my house unbeknownst to me.

The party was held in the Thomas Room of Pontotoc County Habitat for Humanity on Saturday afternoon, August 11^th, a few days before my actual birthday. The theme for the party was ‘Through the Decades.’ About forty square feet of bookshelves were lined with photographs, books, musical instruments, diplomas, and memorabilia of a lifetime depicting the decades of my life. The magnitude of the display was a complete surprise to me, as I had envisioned a few pictures might be displayed on a table near the cake.

The cake was beautiful, as cakes for men go. It was a triple tiered creation by Cathy Ferguson with white layers and beige colored icing. Rayanne and Sarah further enhanced the cake with iced cookies – edible icons representing educational institutions, churches, hobbies, and careers – making the cake a showpiece for the occasion.

Days prior to my party, I asked about entertainment.

"Oh, you’re the entertainment," Barbara responded with a big grin.

While that was not the case, at the party, I learned Barbara had lined up various individuals to offer remembrances of me, with each assigned a particular decade of my life.

First up was Barbara, who read a letter of a childhood memory from my older brother Fred, who was still recovering from surgery and unable to attend the gala.

Next, Linda Wingo recounted her high school days with me, remarking that she was impressed with the" starched and ironed" look I maintained throughout life.

My Longtime friend, Jim Hess of Vicksburg shared fond memories of me from his tenure as Minister of Music at First Baptist Church in the early ‘80s. He also mentioned the impact made on his family by a monetary donation I gave to help him at a time when his younger daughter needed surgery in faraway Atlanta, GA

My granddaughter Anna Butler recounted creating a memory pile of sticks to burn with her "Daa" when she was only five years old.

Anna elicited laughter from the crowd stating, "At the time, I thought Daa was the smartest man in the world, and now twenty years later, he still thinks he is."

Finally, Ralph Jones of Germantown, TN, noted he barely knew me in our school days but easily remembered my older brother, a classmate of his. Generally, Ralph had nothing but nice things to say about his association with me as a friend and co-editor of The Bodock Post.

While most of the guests of the party were residents of Pontotoc and Pontotoc County, some came from Tupelo, Oxford, Belmont, Vicksburg, Germantown, TN, and Plant City, Florida. However, all party guests enjoyed a variety of skewered fresh fruit, party dips, ham/turkey/cheese croissant sandwiches, along with a strawberry shortcake bar, and birthday cake and ice cream.

My family gave me an Ole Miss rocking chair from Cracker Barrel restaurant, which I’m saving for my golden years.

These Hospital Chart Bloopers are interesting, to say the least.

1 . The patient refused autopsy.

2. The patient has no previous history of suicides.

3. Patient has left white blood cells at another hospital.

4. She has no rigors or shaking chills, but her husband states she was very hot in bed last night.

5. Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a year.

6. On the second day the knee was better and on the third day it disappeared.

7. The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears to be depressed.

8. The patient has been depressed since she began seeing me in 1993.

9. Discharge status: Alive but without permission.

10. Healthy appearing decrepit 69-year old male, mentally alert but forgetful.

11. Patient had waffles for breakfast and anorexia for lunch.

12. She is numb from her toes down.

13. While in ER, she was examined, X-rated and sent home.

14. The skin was moist and dry.

15. Occasional, constant infrequent headaches.

16. Patient was alert and unresponsive.

17. Rectal examination revealed a normal size thyroid. (Wow, that is some examination!)

18. She stated that she had been constipated for most of her life, until she got a divorce.

19. I saw your patient today, who is still under our car for physical therapy.

20. Both breasts are equal and reactive to light and accommodation.

21. Examination of genitalia reveals that he is circus sized.

22 The lab test indicated abnormal lover function.

23. Skin: somewhat pale but present.

24. The pelvic exam will be done later on the floor.

25. Patient has two teenage children, but no other abnormalities.

Another Bubba, Bubba The Baptist

Each Friday night after work, Bubba would fire up his outdoor grill and cook a venison steak. But, all of Bubba's neighbors were Catholic....and since it was Lent, they were forbidden from eating meat on Friday. The delicious aroma from the grilled venison steaks was causing such a problem for the Catholic faithful that they finally talked to their priest.

The Priest came to visit Bubba, and suggested that he become a Catholic. After several classes and much study, Bubba attended Mass.....and as the priest sprinkled holy water over him, he said, 'You were born a Baptist, and raised a Baptist, but now you are a Catholic.'

Bubba's neighbors were greatly relieved, until Friday night arrived, and the wonderful aroma of grilled venison filled the neighborhood. The Priest was called immediately by the neighbors, and as he rushed into Bubba's yard, clutching a rosary and prepared to scold him, he stopped and watched in amazement.

There stood Bubba, clutching a small bottle of holy water, which he carefully sprinkled over the grilling meat and chanted: 'You wuz born a deer, you wuz raised a deer, but now you is a catfish.'

The following is attributed to Maxine, but it’s not been verified.

As I was lying in bed pondering the problems of the world, I rapidly realized that I don't really give a rat's hinny. 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 lives for 450 years.

And you tell me to exercise? I don't think so.

I'm retired. Go around me.

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

Name That Road, Answer: Hwy. 6

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 © 2012 ~ The Bodock Post.

Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word