The Great Whizzer Rat Race!

I always like to be early. To church, to work, to appointments... I have always said "If I'm ten minutes early, I'm ten minutes late". My family is well aware of my proclivity for promptness. And one time at least, it provided some great entertainment.

In the spring of my sixth grade year, we moved from the country, to the big metropolis of West Plains. I finished out the year at the rural school, Junction Hill Elementary and then began my seventh grade year at the West Plains Junior High. It was quite a change. I went from knowing everybody in the whole school at Junction Hill to knowing one person in the Junior High. And, since we weren't considered full fledged "High Schoolers" and therefore could not claim the mighty "West Plains Zizzer" as our mascot... I went from being a "Junction Hill Hornet" to being a "West Plains Whizzer!" (And no, that is not a misprint...)

It seems I always got to school early. I didn't ride the bus because I caught a ride with my brother Ralph as he went to the High School. But there were always other "early arrivals" at the Junior High, waiting at the security gate that kept us from crossing the "overhead walkway" and getting to our lockers.

On one particular morning, I arrived and found one of my friends, Frank Caldwell, waiting for the gate to open.. Trouble was never too far from Frank. He had a hair trigger temper, would not back down from anything and when he got into a fight, he had the most peculiar way of making a fist I have ever seen. Things were quiet this morning and we just shot the breeze until the principal came out and opened the gate.

We walked over the walkway, past the Coke machine and turned left down the ninth grade hallway. Now, why we went down the upperclassmen's hall and not directly down the stairs to the seventh and eighth grade hall, I'll never know. It must have been destiny.

We were about halfway down the hall, near the water fountain at Mr. Majors classroom, when I stepped to the side and glanced into a trash can. Why I did this, I'll never know. But boy did I ever get a surprise!

The trash can was completely empty... Except for a huge, gray, long-tailed, and very terrified RAT!

I have since contemplated how the rat got into the trash can. Did he jump into the trash can from the floor? Did he climb the wall or locker and jump into the trash can? How bout jumping from above the ceiling tile?... Geronimo!!! Or... Maybe he climbed up and jumped from... the water fountain. Not a good thought...

We didn't take the time to consider these things because I think an idea hit us both at once.

Rounding the corner behind us, at the end of the hallway, was a large group of girls... Girls that were talking, giggling, whispering and weren't paying a bit of attention to anything happening farther down the hallway. They should have been.

Frank and I grabbed the "Rat-can", one on each side, stepped to the center of the hallway, drew back and gave the ole rat the heave-ho down the hallway right toward the unsuspecting young ladies!

It took Mr. Rat a few feet to stop spinning around and get his feet under him. But when he did! He took off like a... a... scared rat! Running right toward the clump of girls filling the hallway...

I would loved to have been there when Moses parted the Red Sea. Or, when the Jordan River rolled back at Joshua's command. But Brother!, That morning in the ninth grade hall, when the young ladies saw a rat the size of a small dog heading toward them... I saw a parting that was almost as dramatic!!!

Not only did the "waters part" but there were sound effects... Screaming - shrill hysterical screaming, books and purses hitting the floor, the sound of hands and feet beating on locker trying to climb them!! It was complete pandemonium!!

In the meanwhile, Mr. Rat galloped between the sea of girls and continued on down the hallway toward the library. By this time, Frank and I had thrown the trashcan down and were in hot pursuit! We rounded the corner just in time to see the rat's tail disappear into the heater right across from the Coke machine! 

And thus ended the "Great Whizzer Rat Race!!"

"Can I Borrow Your Pocket Knife?"

I never tired of hearing my Dad tell humorous stories about his work. Most of them were not the knee-slapping, ROFL (rolling on the floor laughing) type of stories that you would expect. Usually, they were just simple incidents involving, simple people, that had a wealth of uncommon sense and homespun humor.

In the 1960's, Elmer Riggs Construction built the concrete base for the new water tower on "Standpipe Hill" in West Plains. Elmer (Popo) was my Grandpa and at this time, Dad was part of the crew that worked for him. If you go south on Aid Avenue from Court Square in West Plains, climb the big hill past the "High Rise", you can't miss the big blue water tower at the top, on the west side of the street. It sits in "Gene Jones Park" on the highest point in West Plains.

Dad always carried a pocket knife. A sharp pocket knife. I can still picture him sitting at the kitchen table, legs crossed at the knee, with his pocket knife and little whet stone, sharpening in his peculiar circular fashion. His whet stone always had the center wore out like a dish because of how he sharpened his knife.

Dad's fellow workers came to know that he always had a sharp knife. So... Occasionally, during the course of a day, one of them would ask to borrow his knife for some task. Dad would oblige but many times, the knife would come back in worse shape than it left... Dull and dirty.

One morning before he arrived at "Standpipe Hill" for work, Dad found an old pocket knife. From his description, I really can't figure out why he would pick it up. It was rusted, the handles were missing, the blades were broken... something best left just lying where you found it! But... for some reason, he picked it up and put it in his pocket.

While they were working, it so happened that one of Dad's co-workers asked "Leamon, can I borrow your pocket knife?" Now... I'm not too sure but this could have been the reason Dad picked up the old knife in the first place. And this was the moment he had been waiting for!

Dad reached into his pocket, pulled out the old wreck of a pocket knife and handed it to the fellow...

From my recollection, this is how Dad recounted the man's reaction: "He stared at the knife for a little bit and without saying a word, started to dig around in the coins in his pocket. He pulled out a penny, stuck it into the slot where the blades go and then rared back and threw it off down the hill into the brush!"

Dad was a little shocked at the man's reaction but at the same time, curious. He could understand throwing the knife off down the hill but why put a penny in it first? Good luck? Tradition? Prevent bad luck? So, Dad proceeded to ask him, "Why did you put a penny in it before you threw it away?" The man's answer was classic...

"I put a penny in it because I wanted to say I was throwing something away!"

So... If you ever get down to where you don't have "A Penny To Your Name", you might want to start looking in this patch of woods for and old decrepit pocket knife... with a penny stuck in it....

"Blackedeyed Peas And Hawg Jaw"

I am just a day late on my traditional New Years meal. I stopped by Cash Saver this morning and bought some Hawg Jaw (hog jowl) and a couple of cans of blackeyed peas.

I fried up all of the hawg jaw and put some of the drippings in the blackeyed peas for flavor.

Tami had bought a bottle of Blueberry Grape Bubbly (non-alcoholic) for Christmas but somehow, we didn't have an opportunity to partake. This seemed like the perfect time for "Culture, with a side order of Grits"! 

We devoured all of the Hawg Jaw, Blackeyed Peas and Bubbly! So... Our luck is secured for 2017 and my dear old Mother would be right proud!