OLD DUGGY

GOING TO THE PICTURE SHOW

OLD DUGGY — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 03:13:25 GMT

The town of Carbon Hill Alabama (population 3200 when I was a kid) was the home of the Pass Time Theater. Not nearly as elegant as big city movie houses, it was never the less a fine edifice to us local folks. The Pass Time had pop corn, Coca Cola and most of all, air conditioning. Saturday afternoon admission for a kid was 10 cents. Pop corn and a Coke would raise the total cost to 35 cents.
Saturday was the high point of the week. People from all the outlying areas came into town for supplies and to just catch up on gossip and such. I'd say the towns population doubled on Saturday. All of the towns businesses were up and going at 7am. Most folks tended to buy their dry goods and hardware items during the early hours. The perishables would wait until just before heading home.
A popular part of the day was the noon time drawing. Each merchant in town gave a numbered ticket with each purchase. A ticket with the same number would be put into the drawing barrel. At or about high noon everyone gathered on a vacant lot next to the Alabama Power building. After several good cranks on the ticket barrel to mix the tickets, an audience member would draw the winning ticket. The prize was usually 50 dollars and you had to be present to win. It was a big deal back then.
From the second week in May until the second week in September there was no school. Me, my brother Lowell and cousins Boyd and Mitch would come to town and stay with our grand parents. We could make money by collecting empty whiskey bottles. We would then sell the bottles to a local bootlegger. We could easily earn about 3 dollars each. If we got lucky enough to find a bunch of half pint bottles. our walking around money could run up wards of five dollars a piece. The half pint bottle was much preferred by the moon shine "connoisseur ". Easy to hide and fast on the draw, worth 10 cents dirty or clean. The Whiskey Bottle Saga is a story in itself. I might also add that me and my brother gave most of our earnings to our mother. She claimed 2 dollars each was enough for two young boys. The rest went to help with household expenses.
Our first stop on Saturday morning was the Ben Franklin five and dime. Everyone called it the ten cent or dime store. Calling it by its real name would just draw a blank stare.
The reason for going to the dime store first was twofold. Extra big ice cream cones and a selection of cheap toys the store stocked. We decided no ice cream until later. You have to remember that this was the early 1950's. Japan was turning out junk toys as fast as they could get coffee cans for metal. Actually my favorites at that time were those little clear glass trucks and cars. Each was filled with tiny red candies. They cost ten cents each. I'd usually buy maybe three of the things, while keeping in mind the other expenses this day would bring. On Saturdays when we had extra cash we'd hike on down to Mrs. Bowen's cafe. It was a special place to just about everyone in town. Mrs. Bowen was a cranky old woman but sweet at the same time. We'd all claim to be her kin. She respond by saying kin or not you aint eating free. Truth was that she helped anyone that asked.
After leaving Mrs. Bowen's place we'd walk back up town and hang around the Public Well. The Well was a landmark of sorts. It really was a well. It had for many years supplied water for the horses and mules that brought folks to town. At this time in history the animal traffic was starting to taper off but it wasn't done just yet. Heck we even had one old gray Ox that showed up now and then. The Ox was named Buddy and was owned by George Engle. My family had rented a house from George at one time. I had my first meetings with Buddy during that time. He was just a1500 pound marshmallow.
We'd hang around the Well until about 10:30AM. Next event was the drawing up by the Alabama Power building. We had enough time to visit our aunt Tootsie. Her real name was Margret, she was my dads baby sister and a truly sweet woman. Her house was just across the street from the elementary school. A really nice neighborhood. Lots of pretty old Oak trees with equally pretty older homes. Exactly the kind of house and neighborhood I wanted when I got grown. (getting grown in southern dialect meant becoming an adult) Of course you knew that didn't you?
Well before you knew it was fifteen minutes till noon. Me and brother along with my cousins would head down town. The crowd was a big one. It was at least one hundred and fifty folks. Liberty and DC bib overalls and Brogan shoes on the men folks. The ladies wore their home sewn dresses and their go to town hats. Everyone smelled like Life Buoy soap. Something that always struck me was the happy murmur of the crowd. It was comforting just like the night sounds of an Alabama summer. It was enjoyable.
The drawing was usually short, thirty minutes at the most. The winner would go up on the makeshift stage and get his or her money. The crowd would then break up and head off to where ever their next stop was. My bunch would head off to Ben Franklin store to get the biggest ten cent ice cream cone you ever saw. Come this time of day the temperature would be approaching 90 degrees. Enough to cause you to break a sweat. With ice cream in hand we would cross the road (U.S. 78) and go to the Public Well. We'd see who could eat that much ice cream before the summer heat turned it into a gooey mess. It was just a labor of futility. Good news was that we had plenty of water to wash the ice cream off our faces and hands. As you'd expect all the activity and such would usually result in a full bladder. The rail road depot was handy to the Well but you had slip past the station master. Mostly it was less hassle to walk down to Grady's Gulf station. Grady and his wife run that station for as long as I could remember. Both my cousins would later get their first jobs from Grady. They are both now successful business men but they still remember working for Grady. Matter of fact I reckon nearly every kid in town got his start from Grady. Both Grady and his wife were good people.
Before you knew it, it was show time. We liked front row seats so we got there early. The Past Time Theater was located just up the street from the power company building. Oak street ran between them. The entire south side of the theater was parallel to Oak street. The theater owners home was on the other side. It was a large house with a screened in porch and a Gold Fish pond in the front yard. The fish pond always fascinated me.
As I said earlier we liked to set in the front row. The surest way to get the front row was of course to get there first. If you got in the door first it could mean waiting an hour before the program started. The trade off was that you were in an air conditioned building. Not a bad trade in July and August. .
Saturday at the Past Time was pretty much a constant and predictable proposition. One cartoon, one chapter of what ever weekly serial was running at the time and then the main event. The "B" westerns from Republic Pictures were the bread and butter movies at the Past Time. People showed up from all over to watch the likes of Johnny Mack Brown, Lash LaRue and Bob Steele to mention just a few. My favorite was Red Ryder and Little Beaver. Like I said before, the admission was ten cents, popcorn and soda pop would kick the outlay up to thirty five cents. Not a bad deal by any means
Television and to some extent drive in movies spelled the end for all but the most famous movie houses. The Past Time closed its doors in the late sixties if memory serves me right. After years of neglect a tornado damaged it beyond repair. The city knocked down what was left. I'm not sure what happened to the property. A sad end for the old place but I reckon it happens to all of us eventually.
Do you have a picture show in your past?

http://www.youtube.co=UflTR1OSCkQhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?

Front porch swings and Cottonwood Tree's

OLD DUGGY — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 17:26:08 GMT

The weather in Alabama during the month of August is usually very hot and very dry. A time known in the south as "dog days". Farmers had to work their crops during any kind of weather. Wet, dry, hot or cold it didn't really matter. One great relief was that once the farmer got his crops "laid by" he could set on his porch and wait for harvest time. Of course the whole thing depended on getting rain. Hopefully the rain would bring no bad storms or tornadoes with it.

Air conditioning was something the local movie theater had. Most of us never even gave thought to having it in our house. At that particular time of my life the heat was much more tolerable. I reckon having been born there, I was more acclimated to the regions summer heat.
A vast majority of homes in our area boasted large front porches. More often than not each porch had a porch swing. Some houses with long wrap around porches had two swings. I feel its safe to say that the front porch swing was as southern as grits and sweet iced tea. I spent many an August day trying to catch a cool breeze as I sat in the porch swing. This isn't meant to imply farmers spent all of July and August just setting around. Farming is a year round daylight until dark proposition.
Actually my dad and my uncle Bill didn't just farm for a living. They were on the road a great deal hauling lumber for the Early Lumber company. Uncle Bill owned three tractor trailer rigs. All three had flat bed trailers. I can't recall how much lumber each rig could haul. As I recall, the lumber loads paid pretty good. The real trick was to get a load coming back. Independent owner operators couldn't afford to run empty or as they called it "dead heading". Thus the reason my dad and my uncle got into the used car business. The used car thing is a story in itself. At any rate my dad was away quiet a bit of the time.
Uncle Bill had a good sized yard. I'd estimate from memory about 1/4 of an acre. There was the normal assortment of flowers and bushes. All my folks kept pretty yards. In this particular yard there was only 2 trees. Both trees were in the southwest corner of the yard, One Locust and one Cotton Wood. Us kids had played under the old Cotton Wood for as long as I can remember. Not good for climbing or hanging a tire swing, the old tree's only redeeming feature was the shade it could provide. Well I reckon kids, because they didn't know any better, looked at the old tree differently. To them its was a perfect place to play and that was that.
All of these old memories seem to have a way of popping up as I make my way through life. Kind of like reliving my childhood. Lord only knows the number of June Bugs and Lightning Bugs we caught in that yard.

Rodeo, sort of

OLD DUGGY — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 15:55:21 GMT

I spent my early years in a rural farm community in western Alabama. Nearly all my neighbors were kin. Even though there was the occasional difference between the adults, we kids got along really well. The old adage about "Blood" being thicker than water was taken very serious by all of us.
My uncle "Buck" farm encompassed about sixty acre's. I think he kept about forty acre's tilled and planted. My three cousins worked side by side with their dad to make the farm produce. My uncle Buck also worked in the Brook Side Coal Mine. He'd farm all day and work in the mines all night. It showed on uncle Buck, but he seldom missed a shift at the mine. Although uncle Buck and aunt Nell had five sons, most of my time was spent with the three oldest boys. The two younger boys came along late in everyone's life. The rest of us were in our mid to late teens when Bobby and Steve were born.
Uncle Bucks three oldest boys were named Charles, Hubert and Jerry. Charles and Hubert were twins and about four years my senior. Jerry was two years older than me. The boys lived within about a twenty minute walk of the our place. We visited back and forth all the time. We had to cross the Tucker farm to make the trip. His watermelon patch lay directly in our path. He would let us take all the small melons we wanted. The big ones went to town to be sold from his old pick-up truck. Lordy mercy, we ate so much watermelon it's a wonder we didn't explode.

Bucks boys were as different as night and day personality wise. Jerry, the youngest, tended to be quite unless you knew him. He was really a thinker and tended to keep his own council pretty much.

Hubert was the jolly and happy type. He was always up to something or the other. I don't recall ever seeing him lose his temper.

Charles was very smart and gifted with the ability to grasp an idea or principle and turn it in to a working object. If Charles needed something he'd just build it out of what was on hand. Then to see the thing actually work would "blow me away".

All three of these boys were outright farm kids. Honest, hardworking and independent. All of us were still just kids at heart.

Saturday was go to town day. Nobody went every day like we do now. For some reason Buck decided to leave his boys and me at home and take aunt Nell instead. He gave us some work to do and told us he'd be back around noon. He also told us we'd better stay out of trouble. Not an unreasonable request if you valued the skin on you behind.

Turns out that Jerry had wanted to go with his folks and my being there had prevented that from happening or so he thought. He decided to "fix" me by getting me in some trouble. He and the other boys led me and my brother down to the barn lot. Jerry said "I dare you to try and ride that little bull" that's "Staked out" next to the barn. Before I could make up my mind, my kid brother jumped on that little bull and off they went. Lowell held on for dear life and the little bull went crazy. When Lowell finally got loose he told Jerry it was his turn. Somehow the tables had turned on Jerry.

Thus we enter the world of Murphy's law and other little wrinkles that help our development into adulthood. Hubert was all for Jerry "bellying up". Charles is more sensible and warns of what might happen. Jerry on the other hand had "cast the die". He didn't have much choice.

Old Jerry runs and jumps on that yearlings back and lets out a big holler. The bull's-eyes got big as saucers. You have never seen anything quite like what followed. The ride was short and violent. The bull runs toward the center of the lot and then does a one eighty degree turn and heads the other way. Uncle Buck had driven a Ford model "A" rear axle into the ground. He was using it to anchor down the tether line for the bull. The bull, in his haste to be somewhere else, manages to jerk the axle out of the ground. It becomes an airborne missile of sorts. Want to guess where it landed? Yep, right on old Jerry's head. Knocked him out cold. Bled pretty good too.

Why didn't we listen to uncle Bucks warning?? Old Murphy kicked our "butts" that day and so did uncle Buck. No formalities at his house. There was enough "whop-ass" to go around.

We were lucky that my aunt and uncle arrived home when they did. Their arrival coincided with the axle to Jerry's head incident. Old Jerry got a trip to town after all. The rest of us stood and took our punishment like a man.

Why a "Country Boy" can survive.(previously posted)

OLD DUGGY — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 19:44:12 GMT

I guess southern people are or have been the "blunt" of more jokes and "put downs" than any other segment of our population. I'll admit that some of the "hazing" is justified while a lot of it is unfounded or out dated. If you lived in a rural area of the south certain things were expected of you. Some of them pretty strange to the casual on looker .

Consider for instance the Muscadine. This cousin of the Grape grows wild in the south and is in high demand. Jelly, jam and wine. The demand exceeds the supply. Any "redneck' farm kid can take you to a place where Muscadines are heavy on the vine. I say can take you but he won't. The location of the fruit will be his life long secret. He may out of necessity share the location with a trusted friend. The reason for such an arrangement is the fact that the Muscadine vine tends to tangle itself in the branches of some pretty tall tree's. Two people have a better chance of getting the grape like fruit. When you find the vines full its best you harvest the fruit without much delay because wild animals love Muscadines. The average harvest from a good days picking is around two gallon . I have known folks that could manage to gather over twice that amount in a day but rarely. The big purple grape with the tough thick skin is a scarce commodity.

My cousin Charles was a good Muscadine man as I ever saw. He'd walk right up on the damn vines while the rest of us just got in each others way. He'd go off into the woods and come back after while with a of full two gallon "milk bucket" and some little animal that he had found during his hunt for the Muscadines. One year Charles brought some baby "Flying Squirrels" home after a trip to pick the fruit. I'd never seen one until then. Cuz(Charles)managed to keep them baby squirrels a live and later release them back to their natural living environment.

The number of things that nature provides for us makes up a long list. Most people forget or get out of touch with all the bounty that's there for the taking. The rural farm and country kid in days past learned certain things as a right of passage. The country kid was pretty much a self sustaining individual at an early age. He was taught to be and allowed to be self motivated. I find it hard to convey what I'm trying to say. I don't want to sell anyone short while praising someone else. Having lived in both worlds as a youth I also know of the problems and demands of being a "city" kid. Some of which I'll address later.

Before I move us on to other things I need to "touch base" on a couple of more country experiences. Most everyone that lived on a farm or in an old country style house knows about "building a fire" for heat or cooking. I don't know who starting calling it building a fire instead of making a fire but they did and it don't matter anyhow so long as the job gets done. Most everyone burned wood rural Alabama. Oak and Hickory were the two most used woods. Once you got them to burning they made a good hot fire that didn't burn itself out real fast. The trick was to get it to burning. We kept special cut wood for that purpose. We called it "kindling". The kindling was just dry thin pieces of wood that burned easier than a big chunk of firewood. However the real secret to a good fire was the "Pine Knot". Any kid worth his salt could find a good supply of these easy to light, hot burning chunks of Pine pitch wood.

Fish bait. The "Red Worm" has been the staple of "creek bank" fishing bait for as long as anyone can remember. A shovel and a tin can would put you in the bait business. Of course there was a better bait but it came at a higher price. The all American wasp nest and the little wiggly critters inside. Biggest problem was that mom and pop wasp might have a different plan for their off springs. I was always amazed at how many times just a few wasp could sting you in short period of time.

Christmas Times A Comin.

OLD DUGGY — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 15:50:09 GMT

Christmas is beyond a doubt my favorite holiday. My Baptist up bringing taught me that first and foremost the holiday was the celebration of the birth of Christ. Of course like any other child, I was also intrigued with the myth of Santa Claus. I don't know how other regions separated the spiritual from the mythical but kids in rural Alabama learned that the holiday celebrated the birth of Jesus. Santa Claus was a part of the celebrate, not the reason for the celebration. The fact of the matter was that the years first celebration of the season was the church Christmas party. As I recall, it was held on the second Friday night of December.
It was a great party. Every child in attendance got a gift. Usually a small box of candy. The box was very similar to an animal cracker box. It was dark blue in color and contained probably eight pieces of soft candy. That blue box also had a picture of the three wise men following the star of Bethlehem. Its been years since I have seen one of the little boxes yet I remember them quite well.
My uncle Jim was the perennial church Santa. The church had greater needs than a fancy Santa outfit. That being the case, my uncle had to improvise. He made a bazaar Santa but I'd still give him an A+. Would be nice if he were around this Christmas. Bless you uncle Jim.
Christmas time in my minds eye, besides being the birthday of Jesus, is a history of this nations good fortune. Sadly that same good fortune has caused us to over look the real reason for the holiday. Christmas and the magical atmosphere of the season is lost on adulthood. How many of us will proclaim the feeling of being happy when its over..

Merry Christmas to all............

Larry Ennis

Coming Home

OLD DUGGY — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 20:54:31 GMT

A few days ago my wife and I stopped at a new "old restaurant" here in town. I label it as such because I can remember at least three other restaurants that have come and gone from this spot. This spot as I call it is actually a nice old depot building that served many years its intended purpose until the L&N Rail Road stopped hauling passengers. Now it's fallen prey to fast food joints and not enough parking space.
While we were eating I notice a very nice reproduction of a painting called "Coming Home". The rendering showed a mule pulling a wagon down a country road. The picture was such that the observer was seeing the wagon in a going away view. There was what appeared to be an old man and an old woman in the wagons seat. Both with their bent backs to me. The wagon was crossing a little stream, what we'd call a branch where I come from. There was a old hound dog trotting along beside the wagon. In the wagon was a long box wrapped in an American flag. Hence the title "Coming Home". A sobering reminder that freedom is not free.
The reason the picture really resonated with me was because of the number of military funerals I attended when I was a kid.
It was early 1946 and lots of local boys were coming home from the war. Far too many were returning in flag draped metal boxes. I sensed that our community had paid an awfully steep price for the safety and betterment of this world. The sound of rifle fire salutes, rang out from every country church grave yard in Walker County. A reminder of broken lives and broken dreams.
I was especially struck by the presentation of the carefully folded American Flag that had draped the casket. How much patriotism would that flag elicit from the grieving next of kin? Was it a fair trade for the life it represented?
It has long been a tradition of the American people to serve when every duty calls. Tom Brokaw labeled the people of World War Two as a special generation. Has America defaulted on the debt it owes these fallen hero's?

After publishing this piece it occurred to me that I'd failed to pay tribute to the many Americans that served their country in the wars following WW II. Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq and most of the mid-east. A great debt is owed to these good folks as well.

Them Johnson kids.

OLD DUGGY — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 19:14:13 GMT

Anyone who has read this blog knows it is about my childhood. My childhood memories are vivid back to 1945.

Well, any how, my first school was the Prospect School in Prospect Alabama. The school taught grades 1 to 9. There was no plumbing or central heat and cooling. Hot summer days were handled by opening all the windows. A practice which actually seemed to work. Cold weather was handled in each room by a coal fired "Pot Bellied" stove. It would run you out when it got stoked up. It would glow red even on a bright sunny winter day. What usually happened was that someone would open a window or two. The result of that form of climate control was some being toasty warm while the rest froze their butt's off.
I first came to know ML Johnson while in Mrs. Smith's second grade class. ML was doing his third tour as one of Mrs. Smith's pupils. I guess it could be said that old ML knew his way around the second grade better than most anyone else.. He was a good old boy, just couldn't seem to learn to read. Instead of being a scholar, he was a "Jim Dandy" room custodian. He claimed that he was just marking time. Was gonna quit when he turned 16. I thought to my self, damn ML, you gonna be the oldest second grader in all of Alabama.
ML, in addition to being in my class, also rode the same school bus that I did. ML kind of picked me out to be his buddy. That innocent situation came with more than a little baggage. His mom and dad weren't real big on personal hygiene. ML and his sibling's tended to reflect conditions at home in their own personal appearance not to mention the ever present odor of urine. Never once during the school year did I see any washed clothes hanging on their clothes line. Wasn't at all unusual see the smaller Johnson kids squatting in the front yard to relieve themselves. Another "Oh my gosh" Johnson antic was for Mrs. Johnson, on warm days, to set on the front porch all leaned back so you could see up her homemade dress. More than likely she wouldn't have no drawers on. Memorable times to say the least.
So there I was. Friends with a kid that had never had a friend, at least not a school friend. ML turned out to be not so dumb as he led folks to believe. Like I said old ML was just marking time. He said his grandpa was a rich peanut farmer in south Alabama. ML figured to go down there and work on that farm for his grandpa.
Earlier I mentioned that ML brought a lot of baggage into our friendship. He had a brother and a sister in our class. The two were twins. Both were named Bobby Gene. Believe me when I say it was a little confusing. These two Johnson kids had done two years in old lady Mildred Ivy's first grade class before she promoted them. Some people claimed she did it to get even with Mrs. Smith.
The girl twin was real quite. Never speaking unless spoken to. Her hair was cut like her two brothers, no decent clean clothing. It was pretty plain to see that her cloths were hand me downs. Old wore out oxford shoes with no laces and no socks. Her eyes cast down and her body slightly bent so as to not attract attention. She was pitiful as any person I have ever known.
The other twin was a boy. He was as mean as his sister was pitiful. I don't doubt that the boy was crazy and a bully to boot.
Our bus driver, Cecil Nix, had to set up his route so that he dropped off the Prospect kids and then got to the high school in time to let those students get to class. What few high school students we had in our area went to the Carbon Hill high school.
Because of our early arrival, some Prospect male students were assigned certain tasks to be done before the first bell rang. Myself and the Johnson brothers got the job of sweeping out both the first and second grade rooms. When cold weather arrived our job duties were expanded to include building a fire every morning in the pot bellied stoves in the two rooms. It turned out to be way too much work for the time allotted. The principle was unhappy with us and verbally expressed it in vivid detail.
ML was a good worker and gave the sweeping and fire building his best effort. His brother on the other hand was a slacker. One morning while me and ML was busting our butts trying to get the two heaters going, his brother slipped away and hid. Our principle Mr. Blake, caught him and yanked him by his ear and brought him back to where we were working. That old man damn near pulled off Bobby Gene's ear. The ear lobe was torn and bleeding. The principle asked if we had them heaters going. We told him we only needed to get the water cans filled to be done. The water can's were set on top of the heaters and kept the air from being too dry. Each can would hold about a gallon of water. Mr. Blake told Bobby Gene to go outside and fill the two cans. Wasn't too long before Bobby and another slightly nuts character name Charles Cheatwood showed up. Each of them were carrying a can, one for each heater.
The first bell rang at 8am. It was a signal for kids in grades five though nine to start their classes. The bell also was to tell the rest of us to line up and wait for the next bell. Years later I'd reminisce and think of how we'd became conditioned to obey something simple as a bell with out question. Brain washed? Maybe yes , may no.
Our bell rang and we started filing into the building. We were greeted by a terrible stench. The smell of boiling urine. It seemed to just cling to us. Mrs. Ivy was bent over being sick. Mrs. Smith was opening windows in both room in an attempt to either let the smell out or the fresh air in. Both stoves were red hot. Nobody was about to even try and get to the hot cans. The principle came to see what the fuss was all about but didn't say too much. He knew without even asking.
Funny how well I remember even after sixty five years. Something will trigger these memories and they will just gush out of my subconscious. Where are the Johnson kids today? I hope they're doing okay.

A WORK IN PROGRESS

OLD DUGGY — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 22:12:28 GMT

I'm constantly looking for typos and other mistakes while writing these tidbits. That being the case, don't be too surprised when you find such mistakes. I will eventually make ever thing right.

A picture of yours truly at age two.

Red Wagons

OLD DUGGY — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 19:40:38 GMT

The Radio Flyer coaster wagon is bound to go down in history as a part of American culture. Although the little red wagon isn't nearly as popular as it was in times past, the wagon still sale's quite well. I reckon that the utilitarian nature of the wagon keeps it alive in this digital age.

My use of the little red wagon was widely varied. Depending on what little brother and I fancied on a particular day that wagon might be a Mack truck or it might be a stage coach. Lordy Mercy, that Radio Flyer was a fine piece of iron.

Dan's Dream

OLD DUGGY — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 19:35:09 GMT