By William S.Oxford

Our early days at MLG & W were quite different from today. Most of us were from the country where baths were limited to going to a creek when our farm duties permitted (maybe twice during the summer). No one noticed body odor because, in all likelihood, we all smelled like Wolverines. Most of us at MLG & W showered when the workday was over and we returned to what was called the barn. Very few houses had a second bath in that day and most of us were boarding with another family, so it was the most convenient arrangement to take a change of underwear and socks and shower when we got in at the end of the day. The showers were located in the basement of the barn along with individual lockers. There were also rows of benches between locker rows.

Showering was an experience in and of itself. With about a hundred men showering on any given workday afternoon most of us learned early on to let any dropped bar of soap lay on the floor. We also prepared ourselves for some clown to reach in and turn off the hot water midway through the shower, or even to turn off the lights from time to time.

We also prepared ourselves for an almost every payday occurrence. We were paid by check on the 15^th and last day of the month at the start of that workday. Since our work took us out in the city or county, the crew foreman would go by a bank for check cashing. This caused problems from time to time as some of the Linemen would become confused and forget the path home. One the worst cases of payday confusion was Perk Symkens. His wife had a workable solution for this problem. She would show up regularly on paydays and march down stairs where about 100 men were showering and take the money out of his pocket. Not all of the showering men were able to get under the benches but a surprisingly large number could. The slower ones were relegated to hiding behind a face cloth. You would be surprised how much of a man’s anatomy can be hidden behind a face cloth. We got plenty of practice on this drill as about twice weekly some clown would yell out here comes Esmereldie and before thinking what the day of the month was the scramble would be on.

There was another occurrence that stands out in memory. We did not go out in inclement weather unless in an emergency. Our day was spent for the most part down in the locker room, playing checkers, card games, or dice games. If the men had any money some would buy a bottle and take a nip now and then. One such day there was about 5” of snow on the ground and to really complicate matters we were paid the first thing that morning. Herb’s Whiskies was located next door and most of the checks were cashed there. Herb did not cash the checks as a community service, cashing one required purchasing a bottle of something. After the purchase most of the men were reluctant to pour the contents out. You guessed it, by noon it was a mess in the locker room.

Our barn was situated across Beale from the Memphis Street Railway barn where mostly women worked. The linemen had raised the locker room windows for ventilation in spite of below freezing temperatures outside. Their voices were easily heard across the street and their language was objectionable to the ladies working in the bus barn. Some of the linemen accused others of having canine ancestors. Others were called rectums with fecal material present. At times a card dealer was told to stick the dealt card in a place that would be most uncomfortable. In that day accusations of having an unusual sexual relationship with your own mother had not come into the vocabulary.

Inevitably the ladies across the street called over to our office and objected to the language. Our supervisor was an excitable little Irishman by the name of McClusky. He immediately dispatched the office supervisor (Johnny Burns) to the locker room. He sent the wrong one, Mr. Burns had been known to take a little nip now and then, mostly now. The Linemen promptly got him drunk and instead of quieting them down, he joined in the rowdiness and in the process he fell and broke a leg. He was known as the best at paper work that most office workers had known and considered indispensable to MLG & W. They would have to make do without him for the next 6 weeks, however, until the leg healed enough for him to resume his regular duties. None of the linemen could muster up the courage to tell Mr. McClusky of the mishap, instead they took him to Methodist Hospital in a private car and let someone at the Emergency Room inform Mr. McClusky of the accident. Word was when he found out he did not need a telephone to finish the conversation with Methodist Hospital. He could be heard all the way up to the hospital.

One cold Mid-January Saturday morning about 45 years ago The Old Goat showed up to go rabbit hunting. As usual it was about 4:30AM and he announced his presence the usual way by setting down on the truck horn. Also, as usual, all the neighborhood lights came on (he had been asked more than once to have the horn repaired, that it must be a malfunction, as no one would be so rude and dumb as to wake all the neighbors in such fashion). I staggered outside, more asleep than awake, and asked why the early morning start. Although neither of us had the appropriate license, the planned hunt area was Forest City, AR, just an hour drive from us. He felt a need to get out in the field and wake them up.

Our first stop was to go by Hank’s house and get him up. None of us had eaten breakfast so we stopped at a truck stop in Arlington for ham and eggs. The lady at the counter was also the head cook and chief bottle washer at that time, as no other help had shown up. The Old Goat, true to form, immediately started griping about the poor service and was told he could just drive on by the next time as she was doing her best.

We crossed the river and proceeded West. About 1 mile inside AR on I-40 we were side swiped by a florist delivery van driven by a drunk driver. He was an employee of the florist company. He was driving East in our West bound lane, also he was not supposed to be using the van for personal use. Given the hour and day of the happening, he most likely had been out all night in it.

No one seemed injured so we proceeded on to the hunt. The hunt for the most part was uneventful, except for Hank getting hung up in some briars. His “help me” pleas fell on deaf ears, as a grown man should be able to extricate himself from something as trivial as briars.

I was sitting in the middle of the truck seat when we got hit but there was not much impact and I did not experience any injury and did not believe either of them did either. It came as a shock to learn both of them had checked into a hospital Saturday night claiming a whiplash injury. I accused both of them of doing a quick study on whiplash symptoms and not to use me as a witness if there was litigation. It would have been a gross mistake to put me on the witness stand, as in my opinion, they both were faking it.

The Old Goat put his truck in a body shop to have the damaged area of his truck repaired. He used our pickup for the week his was out of service. His business required transportation so we lent him ours but made out a bill for mileage for him to submit to the florist company. We never got any part of whatever reimbursement he got for the mileage.

Very soon after this I changed hunting partners, as my two sons had gotten big enough to hunt with me.

William S. Oxford

Recently some politicians have reported to various prisons to begin sentences for taking bribes. All were well know in our area, one in particular was a co-worker for a period of time. Another was a person whose name has appeared in the news from time to time because of temper outbursts. He is also being tried at present for taking over $800,000 in kickbacks for state contracts. Someone once said that an honest politician is a contradiction.

Just a few days ago the Governor announced there would be no inflation adjustment to the salaries of state employees, there was simply no money for the raises. However, there is, and always has been money for bribes and kickbacks and always will be. If anyone thinks that these convictions will change the way public business is conducted, there is a bridge for sale, cheap, in the want ads of this paper. Sorry employees, crooked politicians needs must be met first.

William S. Oxford

Haskum’s sons, Short Trip and Dog Meat, decided to go possum hunting one night, but had to go it by themselves as Haskum had to stay home because of a bad cold. They were in their teens and most boys of their age knew the lay of the land like the palm of their hand, but they were not up to par in all areas.

To begin with they wandered on to posted land. It was an Italian truck crop farmer, by the name of Angelo, who was milking by lantern light. Next to the milch cow pen was a mean Angus bull by the name of Jesus. The boys thought it would be funny to shoot Jesus with a pellet gun. They did not believe it would do any serious injury to Jesus. The shot could not have hit Jesus in a vulnerable spot, the testicles. The bull let out a bellow that was much louder than any whistle sound the City Of New Orleans train ever made. He tore through two fences and almost ran over Angelo and proceeded on to a farm pond and waded out belly deep in the water. During the confusion Angelo had thrown the bucket of milk away.

They decided after this they had better try hunting in another direction. Soon they came to a small settlement and started nosing around as they had not seen any possums to this point.

They had taken a few feet of string, a rock of rosin, and an empty 15 ounce tin can with them on the hunt. This was the makings of a rosin string. The object was to tie the string to some point on a house, coat the string liberally with rosin, and run the string through a small nail hole in the bottom of the can. Then pull the string tight and travel the can up and down the string. The variety of sounds were only limited by their imagination.

The first likely looking target for their mischief was widow Stemgalt. None of the houses had indoor plumbing in this era. Mrs. Stemgalt had stepped outside to use the bathroom, (plum thicket). While she was relieving herself the boys got their rosin string hooked to a protruding nail on the side of the house and pulled the can down the string.

The St. Louis Zoo does not have any animal that can let out a blood curdling scream like the sound of their rosin string. Mrs. Stemgalt jumped up, did not make any attempt to pull up all her clothes, ran over a couple of plum bushes, ran through a screen door, ran into the bedroom , jumped into the bed, and pulled the covers up over her head.

When news of this circulated, as it inevitably would, most knew what had happened. Rosin strings were not unheard of in this era. However, few people suspected Short Trip or Dog Meat had the wherewithal to make something like this happen.

Half Track, Knuckle Head, Rocky, and Willy were a fun loving foursome. Willy was the nerdy type, diminutive in stature, and to a degree the butt of the other’s jokes. Half Track and Knuckle Head were anything but nerdy, in fact their addition capacity was limited to the number of their fingers. Rocky was somewhere in between.

They played a game that was their version of Scissors and Paper. Two or more players on a certain count would hit their left wrist with one or two fingers of their right hand. If they both hit with a like number one would win. Conversely if one popped down one finger and the other two then the other player would win. The winner got a free hit on the loser’s shoulder.

Willy’s intellectuality bred some resentment, especially with Half Track and Knuckle Head. He had habit of telegraphing his intentions by moving the fingers he intended to strike against his wrist. As a result his shoulder was constantly sore, to the delight of Half Track and Knuckle Head.

One Sunday in church, Rocky and Willy were struggling to get through the Sermon and were not giving the pastor their full attention. To break the boredom, Rocky gave a signal to Willy asking about a quick game. Willy, being bored, was more than willing. Keeping their hands low so as not to attract any undue attention, they each hit their left wrists with their choice of fingers. Willy was the victor for the first time since anyone could remember. Overjoyed, Willy proclaimed in a volume that could be heard across the church parking lot, “Damn You Rocky, I Got You That Time”

William S. Oxford, Michie TN

One cold morning a few years back Haskums McGoozald went hunting with Mudcat Mahoney. They each took their two sons, Mudcat’s two were Half Track and Knucklehead. Haskums two were; Short Trip (so called because his elevator did not go quite to the top floor); and Dog Meat ( so named because he was one slice of dog meat {bologna} short of a full sandwich).

The day got off to a bad start right away. All four of the boys ordered a double order of ham and eggs at Joe’s greasy spoon and their dad’s budget was strained at the very outset. Next Haskums slapped the waitress, Gertrude Lufenia, on the hinny and got slapped. The worst part of that was he knew Short Trip and Dog Meat would set a track record when they reached their house getting in and telling his wife Esmereldie Pearlene.

They reached their hunting grounds in the Hatchie bottoms about 8am and turned the dogs out on the frozen ground. The temp had not reached 10 yet. Pretty soon the dogs brought a rabbit by and Haskums shot it while standing on a stump. He did not stay on the stump long as the recoil of his shotgun turned him a flip over backwards into a treetop. Mudcat thought this was hilarious and doubled over laughing, giving no thought to the chance that Haskums could have been injured.

His mirth was short lived. As they were leaving this spot, Mudcat cautioned the rest of the party to dodge a seemingly small puddle of water in the field road. He had on rubber boots and stepped in the hole and went all the way to his armpits. His clothes were frozen by the time he got out of the water. The trip had to be concluded at that point.

William S. Oxford, Michie TN

On March 19, 2008, I read an article in The News Leader. It was a story about Bible Hill, TN and the storm of 1952. The caption read within the picture, “Bible Hill never looked the same to me after that”. The report continues, “As we approach the first day of spring, many recall that fateful day nearly 56 years ago when a small community was devastated by a powerful tornado. It was the first day of spring in Bible Hill on Friday, March 21, 1952. The afternoon seemed normal enough as locals went about their daily activities. It was not until the sun went down that this quiet community suffered its greatest catastrophe. Lives were lost and property destroyed, but those that remained would help rebuild a church, store and community that is still standing today.” The story of the 1952 Bible Hill tornado brought back to mind a related story. Shortly after the storm, Uncle Sam called and my duty landed me at then, Fort Gordon, GA, near Augusta. A few months after the storm, while reading the afternoon paper, The Augusta Herald, there was a story about a house in Bolivar, TN, being completely destroyed by this same storm system, killing the father and mother, but sparing their two children. A pair of pants with a billfold containing $300 belonging to the father had just been found in a treetop near the Yellow Springs community by someone by the last name of Gibson and returned to the children. William S. Oxford_ Michie, TN

My brother-in-law, George, was among the congregation at West Frayser Baptist Church in Memphis when at the beginning of the Pastor’s sermon a wasp crawled up his right pants leg. George was able to contain the wasp after about the third sting. He finally bottled it up in a wad of the pants leg and held it there throughout the sermon. With the entire Bible to choose a text from 1 Cor. 15:55 was chosen. O death, where is thy sting? George said it took all the fortitude he could muster to keep from jumping up and shouting, “It’s in my right britches leg about 2 inches below the knee”. After an interminable length of time, the sermon finally came to a close and he made a mad dash for the exit still holding the wasp. His intention was to get lost in the crowd and not have to shake hands with the Pastor, as he knew full well what the consequences would be if he freed the wasp. No such luck, the Pastor was looking for himand came through the crowd to personally greet him. George quickly offered his left hand but the Pastor would have none of it and reached down and took George’s right hand. Standing, loosened the pants leg but the wasp did not immediately resume stinging as it was not pressed against George’s leg. The Pastor had noticed that George had jerked a couple of times during the sermon and wanted to know if the sermon had moved him. George replied it was the most he had ever been moved in a sermon, in fact he tingled all over for a time. He also stated that at no time during the sermon was there any hint of sleepiness. He finally broke free from the pastor’s handshake, raced to the men’s room and parted company with the wasp. William S. Oxford Michie, TN

The upcoming coon hunt brings to mind what has to be the best trained pair of Blue Ticks ever. Smokey and Blue.

One of my first jobs was as a high voltage lineman, a very tough and dangerous occupation. Most of the linemen were young, benevolent and close knit. Also, a lot of them suffered from faulty memories. They could not remember if they were married or single. This memory lapse caused a lot of them to become single again.

“Nameless” fell into his memory lapse category except Smokey and Blue bailed him out. To fool his wife, he would take the dogs with him on his almost nightly forage. There was a ditch near his house that ran water all year round. When “Nameless” got to the ditch he would take the dogs out of the car trunk and roll them around in the water and mud, take them home dripping wet and bingo he was off scot free.

After a while, all he had to do was to open the trunk lid and the dogs would jump out on their own, go down and roll over in the water a few times, and then go back and jump in the trunk of the car.

I daresay there will not be a better trained pair of hounds at the fairgrounds this year.

William S. Oxford

Michie, TN

When our children were 2, 3, and 5 they stayed with me in the balcony during worship service so my wife could sing in the choir. The congregation preferred this arrangement as it kept me out of the choir. The service was never dull what with them occasionally sneaking in a slingshot and shooting the pastor with great northern beans or throwing darts at the music director; even at times cutting one that could be heard all across sanctuary.

Our daughter had received a Chatty Cathy doll for Christmas that would say, among other things, “I’m hungry” when the audio string was pulled. Ironically, it was spoken in the best of New Jersey accents. On this particular Sunday just after Christmas, she took it to church with her. Just after the pastor got through reading the Scripture and began the sermon, she reached for the audio string and to my horror she beat me to it and gave it solid pull. It spit out a very loud “I’m,” before my grabbing the string.

The sermon was of interminable length, what with me trying to hold the string. The string would inevitably slip at times and a very loud “UH” would ensue. The “UHs” had utility, however, when the pastor started to talk of tithes and offerings a gentle slip of the string and the ensuing noise would get him off that subject.

William S. Oxford