Character Sketch: Harry Hicks

In the early 60's, Harry had a stroke which he almost fully recovered from. However, like most stroke victims, Harry lost his keen memory that had served him so well throughout his life. As a result of this problem, he would become very animated and angry whenever he tried to remember minute details or specifics of an event because, simply put, he just couldn't remember them even though they might be on the tip of his tongue.

One time, I remember sitting in Grandpa's living room as he ranted about a man in our Church group who had pissed him off. The man's name was Jim Englebright. Grandpa couldn't remember Jim's last name to save his soul. He yelled, "Engle-worm, Worm-right, Angle-worm...whatever the hell his name is...damn it to hell."

By this time, I was in tears; I was laughing so hard. He looked over and yelled, "What the hell is so funny?" And then he realized his comedy and chuckled himself.

Of course, if you were the object of his angst, you better not laugh or even break a grin because it would be like the wrath of Khan if you did. And that was very difficult indeed, because when Grandpa got mad and began to rant, he was very, very funny in the things he yelled. He could put word phrases together that would make most folks roar with laughter. His favorite swear word combination was "sour owl sh*t."

One time, he came to pick up my sister and me from our weekday Church class that was held at the church after school. Like typical kids, we messed around and were late getting to his car after our class. This made him have to wait a few extra moments for us. He was furious when we finally got to his car. As we climbed in the backseat of his Plymouth sedan, the yelling began. He started by ranting about having to come down and pick up these damn kids when he should be home watching his TV show or doing something else productive. It wasn't long before the funny word combos came streaming out and I laughed.

"What the hell is so G*d D**N funny? You better wipe that silly-assed grin off your face before I come back there and wipe it for you..." His voice boomed like the crack of a rifle and the words blew holes in my tiny, fragile ego. And I wiped the grin off my face. I made a mental note to never again be late when I knew Grandpa was waiting.

Grandpa was an old fist fighter from the early days when men could settle their own affairs amongst themselves by pounding the hell out of each other. It was "might makes right," and that is the law that many men lived by.

Harry knew his strength and he was proud of his ability to fight. He was well known around the mining camps and CCC camps as someone to just leave alone. Or, if you needed, someone you hoped was on your side when the fisticuffs or brawls began.

One time, later in his life, Grandpa was offended by a newcomer to town who ran a newly opened credit bureau. The man, Ernie Krueger, made the mistake of reporting a mistake Grandpa had made on is bank account, thus freezing his bank funds and tarnishing his honor. Grandpa had no concept of "credit." He was a man of his word and was used to settling his business affairs with a handshake. He left the house in a rant and Grandma knew where he was headed...to visit Krueger and settle this affair - with his fists.

Grandma did the right thing and called my dad. "Mike, you better get down to Ernie Krueger's and save him! Dad just left to go beat hell outta him for some kinda credit problem!"

Dad hustled into Krueger's credit bureau just as Grandpa had Krueger by the neck and was slamming his head into the wall behind his desk. "Dad, let him go! We will settle this problem..." And then dad proceded to calm his father down and talked him into letting Krueger live another day. A humble Krueger found a way to quickly fix Harry Hicks' credit record and probably made a mental note to keep that account in the clear from now on! Harry never again had another credit problem.

Harry was a religious man. He was a devout Christian and stood up for honorable values and spiritual teachings of Jesus Christ. Even though much of his life, he drank and smoked some, and swore a lot, those around him knew he was devout and they honored that. There were a few who learned the hard way by getting knocked on their butts when they offended his religion or spoke evil of those things he held dear.

Not long before he died, I was sitting in his living room listening to his wisdom. He told me that even though we were men, it was ok sometimes to shed tears. "Real men cry sometimes, Jeff," he said. And that is how I remember him.

Monument

Grizzled, it lives on the windy mount,

Pointing to the sky, with twisted

And knarly trunk and joints -

Silent to all passers-by.



It breathes a sigh as the winds sweep

Through its sparse and tangled

Limbs, its body swaying

Rhythmically with each gust.



Born when time stood still,

Nourished and mothered

By the snow-swept peak,

Its roots cling to rugged crags.



It speaks neither ill nor good

But remembers all that passed

Throughout history near its

Small space on the windy mount.



Vince Hicks

The Fort

I love going out into my fort.

I can go out and watch TV

And I can Play with my friends

And jump on my tramp and

I can sleep outside in the winter

With only two blankets because

My fort is heated by a heater.

My fort is like a mini-house

And I live in it. I sometimes

Have to come in when I run

Out of cereal or mush or milk,

But I usually stay outside. I

Only go inside in the mornings

To get my hair and teeth done

And I occasionally go in to take

A shower and to play with my

Electrical things. I like playing

With electrical things and I love

To build things. My dad and I

Built the fort I’m telling you about.

It is 6 feet off the ground and it is

Special to me because my dad and

I built it together and a couple

Of my friends helped too. If you

Want to get close to your son,

Build a fort with him.



Ben Hicks

Winter of 1958

Fighting the boys to get in the wood,
Mooching a drink whenever we could.
Freezing our feet in this awful cold.
Trying to turn our poor labor to gold.

Ogling the good looking girls on the street,
Matching dimes for coffee whenever we'd meet
My friend, is that a tear on your cheek?

Your are in Salmon, December is gone by,
Now where are the wages you earned last July?
Groceries are way up, labor is off,
The President missed a whole week of golf.

The Russians have blowed their dog house so high,
I'm afraid they have damaged our gold mine in the sky.
We goofed on our missile, money was too tight,
On account of the political quarrel and fight.

Some say it's the fault of the Republican clan.
They say it's the fault of the soft working man.
If the Lord will come to the aid of the beggar on the street,
He'll come to the aid of this country so great.

If we swallow our pride and banish our fears,
And have faith like our fathers of earlier years,
And forget all our pride in the strength of our hoard,
And establish our faith in the strength of the Lord.

Harry Hicks

I Remember

I remember the cow cabin
Tho' long years have drifted by,
There's a change of time and a change of place,
Still, I'll remember till I die.

I was a care-free barefoot kid,
'Side a lone puncher's shack,
Piled four deep was a happy bunch,
On a patient cow pony's back.

How the bluebells abounded around the spring,
That bubbled there clear and cold,
And high on the banks pine sentinels stood.
But secrets never told.

Of hunting trips and pirate loot,
Adventures of most any kind.
Cowboys and Indians and anything dreamed,
In a contented childish mind.

You cold pass from the forest gloom
To sunny meadow spots,
There blue as the sky and sweet as a kiss,
Was a carpet of for-get-me-nots.

And me with the sunshine in my hair,
And my bare feet and faded jeans,
Wouldn't have traded for golden coin,
With foreign kings and queens.

Doris Brown Hicks