.................."ALMOST TRUE"...........by Paul Sliger..................
"Fast Running Dead Man"
Once, Uncle Taylor’s son, my cousin Reed, invited several of his business associates out to Pond Hill to bird hunt one Saturday and wanted his Dad to “find some birds”.
Uncle Taylor did not like to hunt with anyone whom he did not know since he did not trust a stranger with a gun. Taylor loved Reed so much that he reluctantly agreed to be the guide to the strangers.
The hunting party showed up and, not only were they strangers to Uncle Taylor, there were “way too many of them”, according to him.
Taylor was smart enough to walk behind everyone as they stalked the field in search of the “birds”’ All at once one of the hunters on the back row flushed a covey containing several birds and one of the novices fired at the birds. He hit the back of one of the hunters on the front row directly in front of him and the one that was shot immediately started running at full gait shouting “I’M DEAD I’M DEAD!!!” In his haste, the dead man ran over a small sapling (a young tree). He straddled it and this slowed him enough that the others caught him and stripped his canvas hunting jacket and heavy shirt off. His back was simply covered with red bumps, but not one had penetrated the skin or was bleeding.
My uncle would tell this tale over and over and would always remark that “That man could run faster than any dead man I ever saw”.
"The Painter"
Reed was the cause of a little excitement at our house on two ocasions. One night, it was about midnight wen there was someone in my Dad's front yard "hollering". Dad grabbed his britches and ran out on the porch to see Reed, Reed's wife "Gertie", and Reed's two sons, L.R. and Garland standing in the front yard. All of the males were armed with shotguns and .22 rifles. obviously ready to protect themselves and all others.
Reed began by excidely telling Dad that there was an animal in his front yard that was screaming louder than any animal he had ever heard. He never saw it but as Reed described it "It sounded just like a woman at a funeral except she wasn't saying OH LORDY.OH LORDY". Although we never knew what caused all of the excitement, Uncle Taylor, when told about it the next morning proclaimed it to be a "painter" (East Tennessee for panther or mountain lion).
"Uncle Taylor and the Northern Lights"
The most un-characteristic episode that I can relate to Uncle Taylor was the only time I ever saw him "excited"
It was about midnight again when Dad was "hollered out" (Incidentally, "hollering out" was the accepted method of getting the attention of someone who was already in bed for the night in and around Pond Hill. I never knew of anyone who knocked on the door as a method of letting the homeowner know that his presence was desired.)
When Dad had his britches on and went out on the porch to learn "what the excitement was", he was greeted by Uncle Taylor, his wife Aunt Paralee (we learned later that Aunt Paralee had angered her son Reed because she had to get her Burton’s snuff" before she would get ready to go), Reed and his wife "Gertie", L. R. and Garland, Reed's two sons. As was the custom, all of the men had weapons, so Dad knew it was serious. There was an eerie color to the sky. Facing our front porch (North) there were red and yellow streaks of light moving and fading like I had never seen before. As we all stood amazed at the sight, Taylor told Dad "Paul. I am almost eighty years old and I have never seen anything like this. Reed was wondering if it "was the end of the world"
My Dad who was, in the eyes of all of us (really the reason that they had drove to our house), the source of all truth said "I don't know Taylor. but it might be the "Northern Lights". As it turned out, Dad was correct. The Northern Lights could be seen as far South as Pond Hill. Tennessee for the first time in any of the spectators’ memory. We all stood in awe at the sight until it faded and Aunt Paralee got to enjoy an unexpected "dip of Bruton’s Snuff".
"Gone With the Wind"
As in most rural East Tennessee country communities, there were very few passenger cars in the area, and no busses or other means of "getting to town" to take care of necessary shopping and other tasks. As a result, it was common practice to get on the County Road and walk and hope for a kind soul who had a car to "pick you up".
My Dad, who was lucky enough to have a car, always picked people up. I remember well one Saturday we had been to visit my Mamaw and were on our way back home.
It was in 1940 because the movie "Gone with the Wind" was playing for the first time at the Strand Theater in Athens and everyone was talking about the picture that was playing at the "picture show".
At that time, especially in Baptist Churches, attending a moving “picture” at a “picture show” was a sin ranked just under dancing…..Christians simply did not go to the “picture show”.
We came upon Mr. Luther Edgemond walking to town. Luther had his clean overalls on and was heading into Athens to get some nails and other necessities at the Athens Hardware to do some barn maintenance. After the “niceties were exchanged, Luther began to talk about that “picture” that was showing at the Strand. He told Dad that he never believed in going to the “picture show”, but he had decided that he would go see this one. “Paul”, he said, “That picture is about the Civil War and I am shore that I can recognize Paw from the way he wore his old hat”. I do not know whether Luther ever got to see his “Paw” and his hat or not.
"Traveling With a Famous Person"
In all my experiences, I never met any really famous people. I will admit that I am a bit envious of those that tell of sitting by a famous senator on an airplane or sharing a taxi with a person who was a character actor in the movies or the like.
Perhaps the nearest I came to an experience like that was almost being in the same Air Force squadron with a spiritual leader.
When I transferred from Basic Training to my first permanent party base during the Korean “Police Action”, we traveled on a Douglas C-47, (the old “Gooney Bird”) from Texas all the way to Hamilton Air Force Base near San Francisco, California.
In my group of traveling Airmen was a short dark-skinned fellow named Anastasio Mestiwysk who, according to Anastasio, had a Spanish Mother and a Polish Father,
If you have ever been on a slow prop-driven military plane like the C-47, you know that no leg of the journey is much longer than a couple of hundred miles. A trans-continetal journey, as a result, consists of countless “legs”. In those days, at least, we had to “fall in” and have our names called each and every time we stopped and deplaned and then when re-boarded the plane. By he time we got to Hamilton Field, California, it seemed as though we had had our names called at least fifty times.
The very last time we assembled in California at our destination, we had listened to our names being called so many times that we knew exactly where our names were on the list. As the First Sergeant called our names that last time, we listened as Sergeant Long called and the men responded thusly....“Lauder”..…”Here!", “Long”..…Here!", “Morgan”....”Here!”,.…."Messler"...."Here!", ”JESUS CHRIST” (When the Sergeant saw the name "Mestiwysk"..…"Here!”, replied Anastasio, who knew the Sergeant had encountered his name..... And we all "broke up".....
"I could be Wrong"
As I have indicated, Uncle Taylor Boyd was a very favorite Uncle of mine. I must admit, as would anyone who knew him well however, that he loved to be the leader in whatever group he found himself in. There was one exception though, and that was at home where Aunt Paralee "ruled the roost". Fortunately for Uncle Taylor, real ladies in that era (and in church matters, in the church especially.
In the Pond Hill Baptist Church at that time, there was another fellow, Edgar Brackett, who was of like mind, i.e., a leader of men, and he and Uncle Taylor often clashed.
In retrospect, each of the combatants won a few and lost a few "church battles".
I remember one time my Dad, Mon and I were visiting Uncle Taylor in the midst of a "Brackett vs Tailor" church conflict. Taylor had some fairly harsh words about "Brackett". Aunt Paralee interjected "Now Taylor", she said, "I believe that Brackett is a good man". "I do to, Old Woman", Taylor replied., but I could be wrong!
"The Homing Pigeons"
In one of my comic books, there was an advertisement boasting that a fellow my age (around six) could win prizes by simply becoming the Cloverine Salve dealer in my neighborhood. After reading the advertisement in the comic book, it was clear that even in the remote section of McMinn County that Pond Hill was a part of, residents needed the results of using Cloverine Salve and were standing on their porches most of the day just waiting until a neighborhood young man would wander by selling Cloverine Salve. The ad sounded to me as though the young salesman would need to disguise his order book in order that he would not be mobbed with people wanting to place orders for the wonderful topical medication. I could hardly wait to get my first of many supplies of the salve so that I could start my trek to riches. I received my box of twenty-four cans of Cloverine Salve and headed off toward Aunt Myrtles’ house trying desperately to NOT look like the local Cloverine Salve representative. With some hesitation that I attributed to her not having sold her weekly lot of eggs yet, Aunt Myrtle agreed to buy one can. After she paid me I told her that I was glad that she did not want more since I did not want to disappoint Aunt Paralee and Great Aunt Laura should I not have enough to supply them and other neighbors who would want a can when they saw how satisfied the others were with the salve.
Well, disappointedly, the Cloverine salve did sell hardly as well as I expected. After I sold the can to Aunt Myrtle and the can to Aunt Paralee, my Dad had to buy the other 22 cans of the miracle salve because by then the Cloverine Salve Company was writing to ask for their money.
For selling twenty-four cans, I had the choice of selecting for my prize a genuine Lone Ranger belt, holster and cap pistol or a pair of homing pigeons. Well, I had read about how much fun it was to attach a note to one of the pigeon’s leg and send the message to a comrade who would be anxiously awaiting the message, so I selected the birds and mailed the salve money to a Chicago address.
This started the long process of waiting for the pigeons. They were to be shipped by Railway Express, but there was no mention of how long it would take, so I finally agreed with my Dad that it would take at least a week to get the money to Chicago and then the pigeons back to the railroad depot in Niota, which was the nearest railroad station to Pond Hill.
Dad and I began a ritual that continued for four weeks. Dad would get home from work and he and I would drive the seven miles to the Southern Railroad Station in Niota. Disappointed, we would drive back home only to repeat the trek the next day.
Finally the Railway Express agent (who knew us well as well as the reason we were there) waved to us as we drove up to the office. “The pigeons are here, the pigeons are here”, James shouted (we also knew James and all of the others at the station by then). We signed the forms and headed off to Pond Hill with the homing pigeons, happy as a lark (we were happy too).
Dad and I figured that two weeks in the new, deluxe cage that Dad had made should be enough time for the birds to get used to and know their new home and where to return to when we turned them loose. After all, birds smart enough to find their way home during war time while dodging bullets, cannon balls and airplanes surely could learn where there new home was in two weeks, so we planned the first release and invited Uncle Taylor, Aunt Paralee and Cousin L.R. Down to witness the event.
We all gathered around as I held the cage door open and each of the two birds hopped out on the porch that Dad had made. They looked around and, in unison, began their assent as we watched.
The two birds gained altitude and began to circle, At about the time that I thought they would be ready to return to their new home, the birds had gained quiet a bit of altitude and then headed due North…..toward Chicago!…never to be seen in Pond Hill again.
Dad figured that the reason that the Cloverine Salve Company took so long to ship the birds to us is that they were waiting for them to return from the young man who had won the birds just before I did and those same two birds had been given away for selling salve several times.
........if you would like to read another portion from a book that I wrote several years ago ..."Almost True", you can
by...Clicking Here
