By William S. Oxford

Back in the early 50s one of the lineman, (Phil Larue), a very good comedian and could put on an act as a homosexual. In fact it was so convincing that some of us to this day are still wondering. One thing was for sure, that he should have been entertaining professionally. Most of we co-workers had long since learned to watch him, as he would pat any butt that was handy or kiss any of person that he could catch unaware. He passed as a straight in any event, had a large family, in fact two large families.

Two events stand out, although there were many.

In the summer months some Electrical Engineering students interned with MLG & W to get hands on experience with electrical systems. They rotated through the Overhead Electric Dept. and usually spent the better part of one summer on an overhead line truck as part of the crew.

One of the Interns, (George), landed on the truck with Phil. When someone new landed on his crew he would behave for a few days and then unexpectedly he would put on his act with them, usually putting the rest of the crew in stitches. George was a nerdy type and more than a little shy, perfect for Phil. The tops and back of the trucks were open to accommodate truck power equipment. There were custom made tarpaulins to keep out the weather.

About the 4^th morning upon arriving at the job site Phil pretended to be having a problem with some material and asked for George to step back up in the truck and lend a hand. The rest of the crew anxiously awaited the turn of events. The wait was real short. The rear tarpaulin had barely been dropped when there were sounds of some sort of commotion inside, followed by a shout of, “get your hands off me, you queer S– O- B—-. The H— is wrong with you”. The tarpaulin was almost torn off its hangers and George came boiling out of the truck and headed off down the road at Olympic sprinter speed. So far as we knew, he never came back.

The other event involved an employee with a few years of MLG & W service but not on a crew with Phil. He was a truck driver by the name of Dick Paul.

Phil’s crew was assigned a large job that required another truck to carry the material to the job site. The truck was appropriately named the material truck and required a driver. Enter Dick Paul. The crew foreman usually rode in the cab of the line truck and the most senior lineman rode in the cab of the material truck. The material always followed the regular truck when in transit. Any happening involving the rear truck was in full view of the crew. At the end of the 1^st day Phil asked the senior lineman to let him ride back with Dick Paul, the rest of the crew knew what was about to transpire. Sure enough about I mile down the road the material truck driver’s door flew open, the truck skidded to a stop, and Dick jumped out. He could be heard shouting, “You can’t be serious man”. When order was restored and events sorted out, it seems Phil had put his hand on Dick’s leg and proclaimed his love for him. Needless to say, there was a different driver for the material the next day.

  The late forties and early fifties were tough days for linemen at MLG & W and probably linemen everywhere else. There were not a whole lot of labor saving tools in this era and safety had not become a priority. These areas did improve as time went on and as management changed. During one of these transitional periods a new superintendent, (Mr.Jim), emphasized safety and no drinking on the job. Believe me it was on uphill struggle in both areas, more especially drinking. There were instances where a groundman was asked,(and was expected), to send a bottle of whisky up the pole to a lineman. We also had a crew working on Saturdays and Sundays for emergency power restoration. This was rotated among most of the crews as most men preferred weekends off.

Against the above backdrop the story begins with one of the larger crews,(15 men), catching duty on this particular weekend. It was wasteful to have this many men engaged in what were usually outages that would require only about ¼ the men of this crew. Early in the day on this particular Saturday a whisky delivery truck struck a pole in the Germantown area. What it was doing in that area is beyond me, unless it was making a delivery in another county. As I recall, there were no liquor stores in Shelby County East of Highland. The impact was sufficient to unload most of the truck cargo. This particular crew had only about 3 teetotalers out of the 15. The foreman and driver clerk were known to take little nip every now and then if forced to (or offered). Before long the situation got out of hand. The foreman was the first to get under the weather or maybe he, being the most visible, was the first to be noticed.

The crew needed to have a major circuit de-energized for safety sake and the foreman “Bear” became impatient with the Electric Dispatchers. He referred to them on the two way radio as the gutter term for someone having sexual relations with someone of another race. All of this was totally prohibited conduct, and immediately got the new superintendent of Electric Distribution’s attention. He ordered the crew back to the work center at Beale and Walnut called the Barn.

Memory recalls that the truck had to be driven back by one of the teetotalers because of the regular driver’s condition. Mr. Jim asked the crew, one by one, to step up to a floor tile and stand for a few seconds to check to their steadiness, then asked them if they had taken a drink. Some were weaving on their feet but all answered his question negatively. About half way through the testing a pint of Old Crow slid out of someone’s coat, slid across the floor, and came to rest at Mr.Jim’s feet. This was the final straw. Mr. Jim sent the entire crew home and the next regular working day meted out some suspensions, a demotion, and busted up the crew.

Another crew was called in to finish out the weekend

William S. Oxford

More chats with deceased in Hydro, Tennessee

Lavern lived next door to us at Hydro on the North side. The rural mail carrier stopped at the house about a 1/4 mile South of us where about 5 mail boxes were grouped. We, along with Lavern and 2 more neighbors farther North, had to walk to the group of mail boxes each day to get our mail. Country life was hard work and plenty of it, so it was usually dark when mail was collected.

One evening after darkness had set in I heard Lavern coming down the road on the way to the mail boxes. Feeling a little mischievous, I got behind some bushes and let out my best version of a ghost call ooooooiiiiiiieeeeeeooooowwwwwww. She responded as predicted and lit out for home at a pace that Wilma Rudolf could not have kept up with.

After feeling bad about it for years, I happened to drive past Possum Hollow cemetery where she was buried. After making contact with her I attempted to explain what had happened years ago. She said when she reached her house that night she told her dad about the scare and he immediately knew what had happened. She also said that had he not been exhausted he would gotten out his 12 gauge shotgun and had me standing out in front of Hydro school all night and doing ghost calls at the top of my lungs.

The next contact that I would like to mention was with Pat Patton. He rented some land next to us for a year or two. He had a team of mules that were kind of spooky especially in early spring before they got worked down. This was a common problem that solved itself as the season wore on and the mules got worked down.

One day in early spring he was working them with just a grown up ditch bank between them and myself. Feeling mischievous this day also, I threw my head back and let out a jackass bray, heeeeaunceeee and heeeeauuncannneee. About the third bray I let out the mules had heard enough and lit out for parts unknown.

Pat was buried in Possum Hollow cemetery also and I contacted him on a stop there to explain. He said he knew what had happened but that it was the mules that did not know.

William S. Oxford

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