Back around the turn of the last century, the Brannen's frequently attended the local county Fairs. Many times they entered the competitions, showing their horses and mules and cattle. Sometimes they raced their horses. It was often the biggest event of the year. Carried on for a couple generations.
One year Bob Horde, a close family friend, had bought a prize horse and was ready to race him in every event that he was eligible. Even bought his wife some expensive ladies riding attire so she could compete in the ladies' events.
Before the final night's big event, the Ladies Fine Harness Category, Bob Horde took Puzzler out to warm him up. Well, Bob was drunk and when the crowd saw him they cheered and went crazy. That excited Bob and Puzzler and they really put on a show, until Bob passed out and fell forward on Puzzlers hips. That scared the horse and he crashed through the side rail of the track and ran back to the stable area.
My Grandad ran back there to help out and when he ran into the stable, there stood Puzzler fighting the gag reign, Bob still slumped forward on the horses hips, and two older black men who worked the stables. They too were drunk, one sitting on a bale of hay pretending to play the fiddle with two stalks of fodder while the other one danced.
I think my Grandad saw it all in his life.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Can't you drive her?
About a hundred years ago, my Grandfather and his brother Jack hitched up a brand new, fancy buggy and headed for church on a Sunday morning. They had on their best suits and were looking sharp in their Father's fancy, expensive buggy.
Down the pike came their Uncle Jimmy. He was a hardbitten old Irishman. His wife and children had all died from tuberculosis and he hadn't much left to live for. Just his whisky and his prize horse, a trotter named Spokane. They say that Jimmy used to spend the weekend on the road, racing with anyone who came by. So when he pulled up alongside my Grandad and his brother, the race was on.
Jimmy and Spokane had already raced a few other buggies and old Spokane was worn out, or he would have won easily. But it turned into a very close race. With Grandad and his brother Jack (who had the reins) ready to turn into the churchyard and win the race, Uncle Jimmy cut them off. They wrecked the buggy, tore it all up, skidded through the crushed stone, shredding their clothes and bloodying their knees and elbows. They came up fighting mad.
Uncle Jimmy circled around and drove right up to them. "What's the matter, buddy, can't you drive her?" he said to Jack. Put the bud to Spokane and away they went.
Down the pike came their Uncle Jimmy. He was a hardbitten old Irishman. His wife and children had all died from tuberculosis and he hadn't much left to live for. Just his whisky and his prize horse, a trotter named Spokane. They say that Jimmy used to spend the weekend on the road, racing with anyone who came by. So when he pulled up alongside my Grandad and his brother, the race was on.
Jimmy and Spokane had already raced a few other buggies and old Spokane was worn out, or he would have won easily. But it turned into a very close race. With Grandad and his brother Jack (who had the reins) ready to turn into the churchyard and win the race, Uncle Jimmy cut them off. They wrecked the buggy, tore it all up, skidded through the crushed stone, shredding their clothes and bloodying their knees and elbows. They came up fighting mad.
Uncle Jimmy circled around and drove right up to them. "What's the matter, buddy, can't you drive her?" he said to Jack. Put the bud to Spokane and away they went.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Tough Teddy Tenesco
Biggest personnel inspection I ever stood, or ever heard of while I was in the Marines was in about 1977. Right after Force Troops was redesignated Force Service Support Group they held an Inspector General's Inspection. What a sight.
The troops (myself included) stood the inspection in Summer Service "A" with web gear and rifles. Something is slightly warped there. But if the IG wanted to see it, then we would be there. Trying to properly wear an H-harness and cartridge belt over a blouse made for a mess. Add the canteens, magazine pouches and 1st aid kit and you really had something straight out of "Plan 9 From Outer Space".
But we did it. Almost all of us.
There was a rather small Corporal in the Battalion Supply Platoon who only had a couple weeks until his EAS. Normally, short-timers are excused from large scale inspections; but not this time. So Corporal Tenesco (AKA Tough Teddy) was highly outraged by having to buy a bunch of new uniform parts to stand the inspection. He was so mad that he didn't ever take the time to clean up his deuce gear or rifle.
Sure enough his Company was selected to be inspected by the IG himself. The rest of us immediately started sweating. This was the first big inspection for a lot of the young troops and they were nervous. Some of us older troops were nervous as well. Not so much about ourselves, but about our junior troops.
So the IG marched over to start his inspection, preceded by about 3-4 ne'er-do-wells, he started down the first rank. The second man to be inspected was Tough Teddy Tenesco. Not necessarily in this order, but he had a few discrepancies. Unshined shoes, worn out shoes, trow too short, blouse too tight, chevrons not properly located on the sleeves, dirty cover, sloppy tie, filthy deuce gear, dirty/rusty rifle. About the time the recorder was half way through the list of discrepancies, Tough Teddy broke ranks and ran about 5 yards out in front of the platoon. He threw his rifle down on the blacktop, hard enough to make it bounce 5 feet high. Threw down his cover, stripped off his deuce gear and blouse. Looked back at the IG and at his Bn, Co, and Platoon Commanders and screamed to the sky "fuck 'em all". He then ran away.
We never saw or heard of Tough Teddy Tenesco ever again. He was eventually declared a deserter and became a federal fugitive. But in the hearts of those of us who knew him, we all knew he was the only Marine who told the truth that day.
The troops (myself included) stood the inspection in Summer Service "A" with web gear and rifles. Something is slightly warped there. But if the IG wanted to see it, then we would be there. Trying to properly wear an H-harness and cartridge belt over a blouse made for a mess. Add the canteens, magazine pouches and 1st aid kit and you really had something straight out of "Plan 9 From Outer Space".
But we did it. Almost all of us.
There was a rather small Corporal in the Battalion Supply Platoon who only had a couple weeks until his EAS. Normally, short-timers are excused from large scale inspections; but not this time. So Corporal Tenesco (AKA Tough Teddy) was highly outraged by having to buy a bunch of new uniform parts to stand the inspection. He was so mad that he didn't ever take the time to clean up his deuce gear or rifle.
Sure enough his Company was selected to be inspected by the IG himself. The rest of us immediately started sweating. This was the first big inspection for a lot of the young troops and they were nervous. Some of us older troops were nervous as well. Not so much about ourselves, but about our junior troops.
So the IG marched over to start his inspection, preceded by about 3-4 ne'er-do-wells, he started down the first rank. The second man to be inspected was Tough Teddy Tenesco. Not necessarily in this order, but he had a few discrepancies. Unshined shoes, worn out shoes, trow too short, blouse too tight, chevrons not properly located on the sleeves, dirty cover, sloppy tie, filthy deuce gear, dirty/rusty rifle. About the time the recorder was half way through the list of discrepancies, Tough Teddy broke ranks and ran about 5 yards out in front of the platoon. He threw his rifle down on the blacktop, hard enough to make it bounce 5 feet high. Threw down his cover, stripped off his deuce gear and blouse. Looked back at the IG and at his Bn, Co, and Platoon Commanders and screamed to the sky "fuck 'em all". He then ran away.
We never saw or heard of Tough Teddy Tenesco ever again. He was eventually declared a deserter and became a federal fugitive. But in the hearts of those of us who knew him, we all knew he was the only Marine who told the truth that day.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Short Stick
When hanging tobacco in a barn, you position "rails" (movable barn rails) so that the ends of a 5 foot long stick (holding the tobacco) will rest on the rails. Sometimes you would get a tobacco stick that was a little too short. So you would get a little broken piece of stick and place it across the ends of a couple good sticks and hang the short stick there. When one of the workers up in the barn would encounter a short one he would holler out "short stick" and someone like me, hanging out and watching the evolution, would run and fetch a little "short stick" and throw it up to whoever had called for it.
Once upon a time, one of the uneducated Darkies was helping house tobacco and encountered a short stick. He called out and someone on the ground threw him up a short stick. He wasn't smart enough to adjust it properly and called out for another short stick because the one he was trying to hang was short on both ends.I wasn't around for the original joke, but the first time I ever helped to house tobacco I heard it over and over again. I was just a kid, so fetching "short sticks" was my job.
Once upon a time, one of the uneducated Darkies was helping house tobacco and encountered a short stick. He called out and someone on the ground threw him up a short stick. He wasn't smart enough to adjust it properly and called out for another short stick because the one he was trying to hang was short on both ends.I wasn't around for the original joke, but the first time I ever helped to house tobacco I heard it over and over again. I was just a kid, so fetching "short sticks" was my job.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Horseman
In a small town in Argentina, there lived a famous horse. Bragado was his name.
When Argentina was first forming as a nation, there was conflict around the country. The government had an army that brought law and order to the population of Argentina. The army all rode horses, of course that was the mode of travel in those days. The army pretty much took all the horses they wanted from the people who owned them.
When the army was installing a local government in that small town I mentioned, they saw the beautiful horse - Bragado. They told his owner they wanted him for their General to ride. The owner said he was not for sale. So, of course the army demanded the horse. The owner saddled up Bragado and raced away. He was such a superior horse that he easily outdistanced the army. For days they tracked and followed him. Finally cornering the Horseman and Bragado. They demanded he turn over the horse to the army. Instead he turned and rode off a high cliff. Both horse and rider were killed.
The rest of the townspeople took a lesson from the Horseman and ran the army out of town and formed their own government. Most of Argentina followed suit. They renamed the little town after the great horse.
I had the pleasure to stay at a ranch there, El Malibrigo (The Saddle Blanket).
It was just outside the town of Bragado.
When Argentina was first forming as a nation, there was conflict around the country. The government had an army that brought law and order to the population of Argentina. The army all rode horses, of course that was the mode of travel in those days. The army pretty much took all the horses they wanted from the people who owned them.
When the army was installing a local government in that small town I mentioned, they saw the beautiful horse - Bragado. They told his owner they wanted him for their General to ride. The owner said he was not for sale. So, of course the army demanded the horse. The owner saddled up Bragado and raced away. He was such a superior horse that he easily outdistanced the army. For days they tracked and followed him. Finally cornering the Horseman and Bragado. They demanded he turn over the horse to the army. Instead he turned and rode off a high cliff. Both horse and rider were killed.
The rest of the townspeople took a lesson from the Horseman and ran the army out of town and formed their own government. Most of Argentina followed suit. They renamed the little town after the great horse.
I had the pleasure to stay at a ranch there, El Malibrigo (The Saddle Blanket).
It was just outside the town of Bragado.
Good Bye Eyes
Uncle Sam Maglone (my great-great-great uncle) was a heavy drinker. His wife tried everything to get him to slow down, but nothing worked. One day she had the idea to have the family doctor threaten him with health problems.
The next time Sam went to the doctor he complained that he might need glasses because he couldn't see as well as he used to. The doctor jumped on that and told Sam it was the whisky. He told him that if he didn't stop drinking, he would go blind.
Uncle Sam thought it over for a minute and replied, "Well, it's good bye eyes then."
The next time Sam went to the doctor he complained that he might need glasses because he couldn't see as well as he used to. The doctor jumped on that and told Sam it was the whisky. He told him that if he didn't stop drinking, he would go blind.
Uncle Sam thought it over for a minute and replied, "Well, it's good bye eyes then."
The Sled
One Sunday morning, old man Daughtery told his wife to get ready for Mass. He told her he had to ride over to the O'neals (the neighboring farm) for a few minutes.
He didn't return for several hours, when one of the younger O'neals drove him home on a farm sled pulled by a couple horses. He just rolled him off the sled and left him there in the front yard.
Well, soon enough Mrs. Daughtery spied him laying there and rushed out to see if he was OK. He was really drunk. She was very angry and headed to get her buggy. Old man Daughtery asked her where she was going and she replied she was going over to the "dirty O'neals" and give them a piece of her mind.
The old man replied "You'd better stay away from those dirty O'neals, you see the condition I'm in."
He didn't return for several hours, when one of the younger O'neals drove him home on a farm sled pulled by a couple horses. He just rolled him off the sled and left him there in the front yard.
Well, soon enough Mrs. Daughtery spied him laying there and rushed out to see if he was OK. He was really drunk. She was very angry and headed to get her buggy. Old man Daughtery asked her where she was going and she replied she was going over to the "dirty O'neals" and give them a piece of her mind.
The old man replied "You'd better stay away from those dirty O'neals, you see the condition I'm in."
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Untied Hand
I did not witness the following event, it was before my time. I did know the people involved though. It is a simple story of one seemingly harmless act. But the bottom line of the story is how his action truly defined the man. I guess we could all look at our lives in retrospect and see how some very simple actions really tell the in depth story of our lives.
It was Winter and on the farm that meant time to "strip tobacco". Up home we raised Burley tobacco and cut the whole stalk and hung it in the barns to dry and cure. After a couple months you got the tobacco down and stripped the leaves off the stalks and sorted it out by grades. When you had about 15 or so leaves of the same grade (enough that you could just barely still hold them in your hand) you took the last leaf and wrapped it around the stems of the rest of the leaves and bundled that "hand" together. The hands were put in piles of 100 pounds and that was how it was sold at the tobacco market.
So, anyhow, my Dad was home from the Navy on leave. He wanted to go hunting, but the farm work took priority. After they had worked a couple hours, my Grandad was not getting much productivity out of my Dad. So he relented and told Dad to go on hunting. Dad said he didn't know where to go, since he had just flown in from overseas. So my Grandad turned to an old friend of his named Raymond Prince. Grandad asked him if he could take my Dad someplace to kill some rabbits.
Prince didn't say a word. He set down the loose tobacco leaves he was holding and grabbed his coat and out the door he and Dad went.
Prince (as my Grandad always called him) was a poor man. Worked for other farmers all his life. Most of the meals for his family was produce from his employers' gardens and meat that came from his hunting. He worked because he had to, but he hunted because he loved it.
When the opportunity arose to hunt instead of work, he didn't even bother to tie off that last hand of tobacco. He was gone hunting.
It was Winter and on the farm that meant time to "strip tobacco". Up home we raised Burley tobacco and cut the whole stalk and hung it in the barns to dry and cure. After a couple months you got the tobacco down and stripped the leaves off the stalks and sorted it out by grades. When you had about 15 or so leaves of the same grade (enough that you could just barely still hold them in your hand) you took the last leaf and wrapped it around the stems of the rest of the leaves and bundled that "hand" together. The hands were put in piles of 100 pounds and that was how it was sold at the tobacco market.
So, anyhow, my Dad was home from the Navy on leave. He wanted to go hunting, but the farm work took priority. After they had worked a couple hours, my Grandad was not getting much productivity out of my Dad. So he relented and told Dad to go on hunting. Dad said he didn't know where to go, since he had just flown in from overseas. So my Grandad turned to an old friend of his named Raymond Prince. Grandad asked him if he could take my Dad someplace to kill some rabbits.
Prince didn't say a word. He set down the loose tobacco leaves he was holding and grabbed his coat and out the door he and Dad went.
Prince (as my Grandad always called him) was a poor man. Worked for other farmers all his life. Most of the meals for his family was produce from his employers' gardens and meat that came from his hunting. He worked because he had to, but he hunted because he loved it.
When the opportunity arose to hunt instead of work, he didn't even bother to tie off that last hand of tobacco. He was gone hunting.
The 4th of July
Several years ago, my Great-great Uncle Jimmy owned a farm that bordered the Fleming Pike. The state/county would make deals with the land owners along the roads that were to the benefit of all parties. The government would dump big rock all along the road and pay the land owners to break it up (referred to as 'napping') and keep it spread out along the roads.
One terribly cold day in January, the local Judge was out riding the roads to see if they were being properly maintained by the land owners. He came to Jimmy Brannen's property and an old black fellow was napping rock along the road. Judge Parnell stopped to talk to him for a minute and the old black man asked him if it was the 4th of July. The Judge was surprised by the question and said no, and asked him why he thought that. The old man said there was so much traffic on the road that day he figured it was the 4th of July. The Judge then said to him that he didn't seem to be working very hard and the old man replied that he didn't have to work too hard because he was working for the county that day.
The Judge road on up to Uncle Jimmy's house and relayed the story to him. He asked Jimmy how he could stand to have a man that stupid working for him. Jimmy grinned and told the Judge that if he had about five more just like that, that he would own all of Mason County.
One terribly cold day in January, the local Judge was out riding the roads to see if they were being properly maintained by the land owners. He came to Jimmy Brannen's property and an old black fellow was napping rock along the road. Judge Parnell stopped to talk to him for a minute and the old black man asked him if it was the 4th of July. The Judge was surprised by the question and said no, and asked him why he thought that. The old man said there was so much traffic on the road that day he figured it was the 4th of July. The Judge then said to him that he didn't seem to be working very hard and the old man replied that he didn't have to work too hard because he was working for the county that day.
The Judge road on up to Uncle Jimmy's house and relayed the story to him. He asked Jimmy how he could stand to have a man that stupid working for him. Jimmy grinned and told the Judge that if he had about five more just like that, that he would own all of Mason County.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Give Me My Stuff!
Once upon a time out at the Rhodes Point duck blind, I saw a good friend turn into a fiend.
Kelly Murphy and I had hunted all day and killed almost a limit of ducks. I was a few birds ahead of her, so I put away my gun and told her to kill the last couple birds. A flock came by and she missed.
I could tell she was a little agitated but she reloaded and sat back down. Another flock another miss. She was really getting upset by now, so I just got as small as I could and never said a word. Nothing flew for a few minutes and she got worse and worse. Cursing and complaining about everything involved in the hunt.
I could see she was so upset that she wasn't going to be able to hit anything, so very quietly I started gathering up our gear and putting it away. I thought I might as well save us a little time. Then came another duck and another terrible miss. She turned around towards me in a screaming frenzy and spied me putting some of her gloves and shell boxes into a gunning bag. She lashed out at me "Give me my stuff!"
I tried to explain to her that I was just cleaning up the blind, to expedite our departure. But she grabbed all her gear, like I had really intended on stealing it. She crammed it into the gunning bag and unloaded her gun and put it away as well.
Undaunted, I got my gun back out and loaded up for the next pass of ducks.
After what seemed like an eternity, a pair flew over the decoys and I ended our hunt.
When we got out into the river to start picking up the decoys, I asked her if she really thought I was stealing her gear and she smiled and said no. She was just so exasperated at missing 3 straight ducks that her temper got the best of her.
I will refrain from ever putting any pressure on her again. I also won't steal any of her stuff!
Kelly Murphy and I had hunted all day and killed almost a limit of ducks. I was a few birds ahead of her, so I put away my gun and told her to kill the last couple birds. A flock came by and she missed.
I could tell she was a little agitated but she reloaded and sat back down. Another flock another miss. She was really getting upset by now, so I just got as small as I could and never said a word. Nothing flew for a few minutes and she got worse and worse. Cursing and complaining about everything involved in the hunt.
I could see she was so upset that she wasn't going to be able to hit anything, so very quietly I started gathering up our gear and putting it away. I thought I might as well save us a little time. Then came another duck and another terrible miss. She turned around towards me in a screaming frenzy and spied me putting some of her gloves and shell boxes into a gunning bag. She lashed out at me "Give me my stuff!"
I tried to explain to her that I was just cleaning up the blind, to expedite our departure. But she grabbed all her gear, like I had really intended on stealing it. She crammed it into the gunning bag and unloaded her gun and put it away as well.
Undaunted, I got my gun back out and loaded up for the next pass of ducks.
After what seemed like an eternity, a pair flew over the decoys and I ended our hunt.
When we got out into the river to start picking up the decoys, I asked her if she really thought I was stealing her gear and she smiled and said no. She was just so exasperated at missing 3 straight ducks that her temper got the best of her.
I will refrain from ever putting any pressure on her again. I also won't steal any of her stuff!
The Church at Shannon
About a million years ago, my Grandfather was out fox hunting with an older gentleman named Mr Galbreath. They were on horseback, following their hounds. It was getting close to dark and my Grandfather told Mr Galbreath that he should head for home. He had a longer ride and my Grandfather was a lot younger. There was also a big storm approaching and Grandad worried about the old fellow.
Mr Galbreath headed for home, but the storm came on faster than they had expected. He still had a couple miles to go when the storm caught him. Drenching him with rain and lashing him with harsh winds. There was a lot of lightning in the air as well and the old man decided to seek shelter from the storm. On a hill, in an area known to the locals as "Shannon" there was an old church. Just to go by the old church in the daylight was a bit creepy. A very old, red brick building, standing all alone in the countryside. There was a large cemetery adjacent to the church with graves dating back over a hundred years. Mr Galbreath knew the old church was his only hope to get in out of the weather, so he headed there.
When he arrived at the old church, he tied his horse and tried the door. It was locked. He started around the side, testing all the windows until he came to one that was unlocked. He raised the window and climbed inside the musty old church. It was dark and eerily quiet inside, but at least he was out of the weather. He turned back around to the window to watch the storm pass and was terrified by what he saw. In the brilliant light of a flash of lightning, he saw a ghost rise up from one of the graves. Just as suddenly as he had seen it, it disappeared again in the darkness. Another bolt of lightning, and there was the ghost again, drawing closer to him. The ghost had long white hair, blowing in the storm. It seemed to be dressed in a white flowing robe that also blew around in the storm. Dark again, light again! There it was, seeming to float along the ground, heading right towards him in the window.
He was terrified. He ran to the far corner of the church and huddled down, fearing for his life. The next flash of lightning he saw the ghost climbing through the window! He was finished, he passed out from fear.
Sometime later, he regained consciousness and heard noise from the front of the church. There it was sitting at the piano, banging out horrible notes on the old ivories. He felt overcome again, but before he blacked out, he heard human voices from outside the church and saw someone walk by the window carrying a lantern.
With all his might he hollered out to "help me." More voices outside the window and more lanterns. Then he recognized the voice of one of the men. It was one of the Utter's from the nearest farm. He called out again and a couple fellows jumped through the window and came to his aid. When he pointed out the ghost at the piano, they seemed relieved. It was one of their sisters, who was "tetched". She had gone outside to use the privy and had gotten scared and lost in the storm as well. She knew of the old church and had sought safety there, just as Mr Galbreath.
She was OK and her brothers took her home. He regained his senses and rode on home after the storm had passed.
Imagine that situation. Indeed enough to kill a man.
Mr Galbreath headed for home, but the storm came on faster than they had expected. He still had a couple miles to go when the storm caught him. Drenching him with rain and lashing him with harsh winds. There was a lot of lightning in the air as well and the old man decided to seek shelter from the storm. On a hill, in an area known to the locals as "Shannon" there was an old church. Just to go by the old church in the daylight was a bit creepy. A very old, red brick building, standing all alone in the countryside. There was a large cemetery adjacent to the church with graves dating back over a hundred years. Mr Galbreath knew the old church was his only hope to get in out of the weather, so he headed there.
When he arrived at the old church, he tied his horse and tried the door. It was locked. He started around the side, testing all the windows until he came to one that was unlocked. He raised the window and climbed inside the musty old church. It was dark and eerily quiet inside, but at least he was out of the weather. He turned back around to the window to watch the storm pass and was terrified by what he saw. In the brilliant light of a flash of lightning, he saw a ghost rise up from one of the graves. Just as suddenly as he had seen it, it disappeared again in the darkness. Another bolt of lightning, and there was the ghost again, drawing closer to him. The ghost had long white hair, blowing in the storm. It seemed to be dressed in a white flowing robe that also blew around in the storm. Dark again, light again! There it was, seeming to float along the ground, heading right towards him in the window.
He was terrified. He ran to the far corner of the church and huddled down, fearing for his life. The next flash of lightning he saw the ghost climbing through the window! He was finished, he passed out from fear.
Sometime later, he regained consciousness and heard noise from the front of the church. There it was sitting at the piano, banging out horrible notes on the old ivories. He felt overcome again, but before he blacked out, he heard human voices from outside the church and saw someone walk by the window carrying a lantern.
With all his might he hollered out to "help me." More voices outside the window and more lanterns. Then he recognized the voice of one of the men. It was one of the Utter's from the nearest farm. He called out again and a couple fellows jumped through the window and came to his aid. When he pointed out the ghost at the piano, they seemed relieved. It was one of their sisters, who was "tetched". She had gone outside to use the privy and had gotten scared and lost in the storm as well. She knew of the old church and had sought safety there, just as Mr Galbreath.
She was OK and her brothers took her home. He regained his senses and rode on home after the storm had passed.
Imagine that situation. Indeed enough to kill a man.
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