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.
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