A New Years Eve Memory

Really and truly, I am not a fan of New Years Eve. I do not party. I do not dance. I do not drink. I do sleep... I like to sleep. So I plan to herald in 2017 with some hearty snoring! However... I do remember one New Year's Eve.

I could be off on the year but it was somewhere in the vicinity of 1978 and New Year's Eve was an old blue cold night. There was a little skiff of snow on and the temperature was hovering around in the single digits. It was a good night to sit inside, sip coffee and placidly watch the New Year come in.

Wrong! Somewhere around 10 PM, we decided this was entirely too tame!

First, I guess I need to explain who the "we" was. It was myself and my brother, Ralph and our pastor's two boys (who were about our ages), Gary Parks (my age) and Bill Parks (Ralph's age). And second, "we" finally decided that the best way to celebrate was to go varmint hunting.

For those not familiar with the term, let me briefly explain "varmint hunting". A varmint (in the Ozark sense of the word) is a wild animal that destroys helpless domestic or wild animals such as chickens, sheep, fawns, baby turkeys etc. Coyotes, Foxes, Bobcats and Panthers fall into the "varmint" category. Our mode of hunting varmints was pretty simple. Get situated in an area (after dark) where varmints are suspected of being. Start "calling" them with a varmint call that sounds like a dying rabbit. Every few minutes, shine a red-shaded flashlight around to see if there are any "eyes" visible. If not, shut the light off and keep calling. If eyes are seen, a split second decision is made as to what type of animal the eyes belong to and the person with the rifle tries to shoot the varmint between the eyes or pass because it is not a desirable target such as a rabbit or a deer.

A little explanation and edification: If you want to hear what a dying rabbit sounds like just click here. The call that we used way back then was a wooden mouth call that you blew into and made the dying rabbit sound.

The flashlight with a red lens wouldn't spook the varmints like a bright white light would. And let me also explain that this mode of hunting was highly illegal.....

We loaded up in one of the trucks, either Bill's or Ralph's, I disremember, and headed east down 160 highway toward Oregon County. We crossed over the county line and turned off north on JJ highway. When the highway curved to the west, we turned off east on a dirt trail and headed into the "Big Woods". This was also known as the "East Woods" and was a large tract of wild timber land that stretched from JJ highway east, almost to Thomasville.

We drove for a couple of miles on the trail until we dropped off into Mount Prairie Hollow. When we got to the bottom of the hollow, we shut off the truck and got ready to call up some varmints. This involved all of us climbing into the back of the truck, designating the "shooter", the "caller" and the "flashlight holder". After this was all settled, we got down to the business of "varmint hunting".

We called for a minute or so and then shined the light around for a minute or so. This was repeated several times until... a pair of ghostly white eyes appeared in the beam of light! The whispered consensus was that it was a fox and take a shot! But alas... before a sight could be put between the eyes and the trigger pulled, the eyes disappeared!

We were encouraged by this close "call" and kept on calling. A little while later, another set of eyes appeared and again it was determined they were fox eyes. This time, they stayed in place until the rifle was sighted and the shot was made. But the eyes stayed in place... Oops! When another shot was taken the eyes disappeared. We waited, listened and looked but it appeared that a kill had been made. We piled out of the truck and went to where the fox eyes had shone from and... found nothing. No blood. No hair. Nothing to indicate we had even got close to old foxey!

By this time, We were cold, tired and sleepy, and had lost all interest in varmint hunting so we loaded up and headed home. And besides... it was already January the 1st and we had to celebrate Bill's Birthday!

The Battle Of 3rd Street

Fort: A fortified building or strategic position

Snow Fort: An open-topped temporary structure made of snow walls that is usually used for recreational purposes. Snow forts are usually built by children as a playground game or winter pastime and are used as defensive structures in snowball fights.

A Typical Snow Fort

In the early spring of 1976, we moved from the Farley Place to a house on the south side of 3rd Street in West Plains. During that summer, Dad sold that house and bought the house across the street. So... we just picked up everything and carried it across the street to our new home!

We passed on into autumn and then winter. The winter of 76-77 will be long remembered by all of the school kids in Howell County. We came back to school from Christmas break and "The Blizzard Of 77" hit the Ozarks!

The snow accumulated to about twelve to sixteen inches and then it started snowing-sleeting-raining which piled another three to four inches on top of the snow! And then... It got cold. Not your average "cold for a day or two then warm up" kind of cold. It was bitter, blue cold that lingered for weeks. As a matter of fact, we broke the cold record with a sixteen degrees below zero reading!

During this time off school, my brother Ralph, the neighbor boy, Bobby and myself, helped Dad in his "Moving and Storage" business. When we weren't working, we shoveled driveways and sidewalks for "walking around money", went sledding on the various streets and alleys on the west side of town... and built snow forts.

There is just something about snow that brings out the artist and architect in all of us. Whether it's a snowman or a snow fort, we have a wonderful image in our mind of how the finished creation will look. It usually falls way south of the picture in our mind.

Our snow fort was in the front yard, as close to the street as we could get it. 3rd Street, at this time, had no curb or guttering and our yard was separated from the street by a ditch. The yard was a little lower than street level so the "enemy" in the street had somewhat of an advantage of being on high ground to fire into our fort.

There were a few skirmishes with neighbor kids from 2nd Street but they usually turned tail and ran. I will admit that a few "armored" vehicles that wandered down our dead-end street were fired upon from "Fort Riggs"... However, no permanent damage was done except we learned a few new cuss words!

One day, it was as if the "gods of war" dropped the perfect situation right into our laps.

The snowplow never came down our street. It was a residential, Dead-End" street and was not on anyone's high priority list. They did, however, occasionally spread gravel and salt on the packed snow. Even then, we didn't rate a truck with a mechanical "spreader" on the back. Nope... we had "Frank and Ernest" in the back of a little dump truck, with shovels, spreading the gravel and salt mix by hand.

Of course, the dump truck had to move very slowly to allow Frank & Ernest (F&E) to shovel and not lose their balance. A sloooow moving target... Just what we needed!

We plastered them! We were scooping up snow, making snowballs and throwing them like a machine gun. Well... maybe not that fast but F&E were taking a lot of incoming fire! They were dodging and ducking and trying to shovel all at the same time. We left the snow fort and ran down the yard, firing until they were out of range.

We pulled back to the fort and counted coup on the enemy... While "Coup Counting", we suddenly realized that the "Battle Of 3rd Street" was not over...

As I said, 3rd Street was a dead-end street. The dump truck with F&E in the back went down the street to the west... They would have to turn around and come BACK the way they went... Right past our snow fort!

We immediately went into a snowball making frenzy! We piled up mounds of snowballs behind our snow fort! We worked on resupply of munitions until we heard the dump truck coming back. And then we hunkered down behind the bulwarks of our snow fort and waited....

We were peeking over the top of our fort wall when the dump truck topped the hill by the Camden's house. It came slowly down the little grade past the Charles' house... And then it was almost in front of our house!

We jumped up with snowballs in hand, ready to massacre F&E!.... But F&E were not in the back of the dump truck. We quickly checked out the cab... They weren't there either. We just stood there, behind our snow fort, dumbfounded. Our battle plan had gone awry...

Did I just say F&E were not in the back of the dump truck? I need to rephrase that. We THOUGHT they weren't in the back of the dump truck!

When the dump truck was directly in front of our snow fort, it came to a sudden (and ominous) stop. Then Frank and Ernest stood up in the back of the truck... with snowballs in hand... We had wondered why it took them so long to turn around at the end of the street...

OH GLORY BE! They let us have it! They CLOBBERED us! Frank and Ernest were throwing snowballs so hard and fast that we didn't have a chance. F&E were men... Tough, laboring men with working men's muscles... Not really a match for some young teenagers!

So... we did what any sensible person would do in this situation. We abandoned the fort and performed an orderly retreat, firing as we withdrew... Actually, we turned and ran like scared squirrels!

To their credit, F&E didn't get out of the back of the truck and pursue us. It would have been a massacre if they had. They drove off, standing proud in the bed of an old dump truck, Victors of "The Battle Of 3rd Street!"

Christmas In Crider

The older I get, the more I appreciate family. And as our family grows, it gets more difficult to schedule the Christmas gatherings. This makes me have a greater appreciation for my parents, that made sure we spent holidays with the family.

Christmas Eve was always spent at my Dad's parent's house, Momo and Popo Riggs. Then the next morning, on Christmas Day, we packed up and traveled to Joel and Parzettie Fox's house.

Grandma and Grandpa Fox were my Mom's parents and they lived in Crider, Missouri. There are a couple of ways to get to Crider but the route we traveled most was like alphabet soup. After we traveled from our farm at county line to West Plains, we crossed town to K Highway and traveled west to the KK Highway turnoff. Then we drove northwesterly to AD Highway. Crider was exactly three-quarters of a mile north from the intersection of KK and AD.

The other way had almost as many letters. Highway CC west to AD and south to Crider!

From Crider, you traveled east on a dirt road a half-a-mile to Grandma and Grandpa's house on the north side of the road. The house was square, with dividing walls inside the shape of a "+" that divided it into four rooms, all the exact same size. There was a porch built onto the back and an "extra bedroom" attached to that by a walkway. Out front, next to the road, by the mailbox, was a parking area. There was a wooden yard gate and a concrete sidewalk leading up to the wide front porch. And of course, the old dog, "Perp", was there to greet us with a grin. (The only dog I ever knew that could grin!)

Usually, we were the only family there for Christmas dinner. Mom was the youngest sibling, I was the next to youngest grandchild, so all the other Fox children were celebrating with their families. There was usually a little bit of time for playing and exploring before dinner but it didn't take long for the table to be spread.

Aunt Mary Fox was always there to do what she could to prepare for the meal. People today would say that Aunt Mary was "intellectually disabled". We always used the term "mentally retarded", which I guess now-a-days is a no-no. When Aunt Mary was around two years old, she had the measles and a very high fever which affected her brain. She would talk, but not real intelligently. Her motor skills were fine so she could clean, dust, wash dishes, and sweep...Boy Howdy could she sweep and rake leaves!!

Grandpa Fox would be sitting in his old covered rocker, wearing his Key brand, hickory-striped overalls and usually smoking a cigarette (not a ready-roll but a Prince Albert roll-your-own). Grandpa was born in 1893 so by the time I came along, he was older and getting feeble.

Parzettie Rosanna Callahan Fox (Grandma) would be finishing up the meal preparations. I don't remember a whole lot about her meal preparation but there is something curious that Tami always mentions when she sees pictures of our dinner tables. The drinks are already poured... I really don't know why this is mentionable but I guess some families wait until they sit down to eat to pour the drinks!

Aunt Mary in front. From L to R, Grandpa Joel Fox, Aunt Freda (Fox) Cook, Patty (Cook) Goss, My Mom, Helen (Fox) Riggs, Grandma Parzettie Fox, Kenny Cook, Ray Riggs, Fred Cook, Bobby Cook and Ralph Riggs. I assume that my Dad, Leamon Riggs is taking the picture.

The Christmas meal was usually ham, although I have seen some turkey meals in some pictures. All the usual trimmings went with the meal; mashed potatoes, ham gravy, green beans, corn, sweet potatoes and homemade rolls. And the drinks... Coffee for some and for the rest, Parzette's Sweet Tea. And Brother let me tell you, it was SWEET tea! She made it with Lipton instant and it was almost syrup!

After dinner the women would clean up, the men would move to the living room and us kids would hightail it for the back yard. There was no end of places to explore. The old garage, the barn, the smokehouse, the shower house, the chicken house... even the outhouse held a certain intrigue.

Grandma Fox never had a large tree in my memory. It was always a tiny tree, setting on the television or on an end table with a few little gifts around it. We would get gifts for Aunt Mary but I really don't remember getting gifts for Grandma and Grandpa. We didn't receive gifts from them either but I can understand. It would break the bank buying even a small gift for the whole Joel Fox clan!

Aunt Mary by her little Christmas Tree

When it began to get late afternoon, we would get tired of the outside and wander in to listen to the men talk. Although we were usually the only family there for dinner, in the afternoon some of the Aunts and Uncles would show up. I would sit and listen to the stories that Grandpa, Dad and the Uncles would tell and I would give a "Purty Penny" to be able to recall some of those stories. Stories told in that whimsical, quaint, backwoodsy way that was humorous and captivating.

And of course, there was the television... We didn't have a television in our home (still don't) so it was a great attraction for me. Dad would usually watch football. But every now and then... we would watch the Christmas specials that were broadcast on KY3! Most of these Christmas programs are just a faint memory. But I do distinctly remember watching "A Child's Christmas In Wales."

It would finally come time to leave and we would pack up, say our goodbyes and head back east to the farm house.

Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus

In September of 1897, an eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon posed this question to the editor of The Sun, a popular New York newspaper of that day;

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?"

The reply was an un-signed editorial by veteran newsman, Francis Pharcellus Church. It began with the sentence, "VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong." And then Mr. Church gives the assurance "Yes VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus." What followed was to become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial.

Obviously, if Virginia had lived in December 2016 and traveled through Vienna, Missouri, she would not have been the hardened skeptic that she was...

The photograph above shows just a few of the Santas that were in view as I traveled north on U.S. Route 63 a few days ago. When I traveled back through in the late afternoon... There were even MORE Santas and more being set up as I drove past!

I'm not sure about New York City but Santa Claus is alive and well in the Heartland!

The photographs below are from 2010 with a skiff of snow on to enhance the "Christmasy" effect.

For The Record: It doesn't distress me that children believe in Santa Claus. Many children have "real" things adversely affecting their lives, so believing in a Jolly Old Elf certainly can't be all That bad.

Here is the editorial from THE SUN