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.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
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
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
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
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
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
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Police Story
I spent four years of my life as a police officer in Boise, Idaho. It was from late 1964 to August, 1969. I worked for the Ada County Sheriff’s Department as a jailer, patrolman and public information officer. The first two positions are pretty much self explanatory, the other one may need an explanation. I am a good public speaker and due to that, the Sheriff assigned me to go around giving speeches to promote law enforcement and give the profession a better public image. I spoke to youth groups, PTA’s, church groups, Rotary Clubs, etc.
Those were days which I will always remember because they helped make me the person I am. I had many personal experiences and I observed many things which happened to the people I worked with which taught me much. I have seen humankind at its worst and best. I still dream at night, on occasion, about some of the things I have seen. I became kind of famous as a school teacher for my many “police stories”. I will still tell one once in a while even yet to get across a point or teach someone a concept of value. I had a level of success in this profession. In 1967 I was nominated as “Policeman of the Year” in Boise. I also held the highest arrest record in our department for quite a while. I worked hard at being a good, effective police officer.
I left the profession in August, 1969 to become a school teacher in Salmon, Idaho. I have never regretted that decision because I feel like I have made a difference over the years in education. I have taught and been a school administrator for thirty-nine years. I am retiring in just three more months on June 30, 2008.
One summer evening I was patroling along Hill Road.. This is a roadway which runs east/west along the foot of the hills on the north side of the valley. It was about 5:00 pm and the sun was low in the west. The sun was in my eyes and there was a car in front of me. The sun had to be in his eyes too.
Along the north side of the road there were houses with driveways which ran down pretty steeply onto Hill Road. Suddenly, a small boy on a scooter came speeding out of a driveway and into the path of the car in front of me. The guy did not see the child and simply ran over him with his car. I am not sure the sun was a factor since the kid was so close to the front of the car the driver could not have stopped anyway. I saw this tragedy since I was about 100 feet behind the car and we were traveling about 30 miles per hour.
The driver realized he had run over something and he immediately stopped. I pulled up and stopped too and flipped my emergency lights on. It was obvious that an ambulance was needed as the child was flipping around on the ground, clearly injured. I called on the radio for an ambulance and then jumped from the car and ran to the little boy on the road.
What I saw was a heart wenching sight. The little boy had severe injuries. His chest was crushed and it appeared a tire had gone over him. His face was torn nearly away from his head. Apparently something under the car had hooked him and done this. He was making gurgling noises and flipping like a fish. I took him in my arms and tried to calm him. His jugular vein was cut and blood was pumping out of his throat with each heartbeat. I applied direct pressure to this wound and stopped the bleeding as well as I could. I was able to keep this little fellow from bleeding to death until the ambulance arrived. However, he died of massive injuries in the hospital later. Now for the rest of the story.
All during this drama the little boy’s mother was running around screaming that she had “been telling him all day to stop riding his scooter down the driveway because this may happen.” I did not say much to her except to get the name and other information. It was no use to add to her pain by asking why she didn’t make him stop. There is a huge lesson in this story. If you see your kid doing something which may get him hurt or killed, MAKE HIM STOP! Kids sometimes do dumb things because they don’t think about the consequence. Parents should know enough to control things like this.
The little boy was named Kelly Mencer. He was eight years old at the time this happened. My son Mike was eight then too. Mike is soon going to be 46. Kelly would be 46 now too. How tragic!
The driver of the car was very distraught. He didn’t see it coming at all and had no way to control what happened. I had seen the whole thing. He couldn’t ask for a better witness to what took place. As I talked with him I smelled alcohol on his breath and he told me he had a glass of wine with his supper. I could easily see he was not under the influence of this and I told him so. I also made him take a breathalizer test and do several tests which you give for drunk drivers. He was not under the influence of alcohol. I told the guy that the reason I was doing this was so I could testify in the coming lawsuit that he was not drunk. He said he doubted he would get sued, it was so obvious that it was a horrible accident. I told him wait and see. Sure enough, in about a year here came two attorneys to see me. They had been hired by the parents of the little boy and they were planning to file a lawsuit. I made it very clear that I would be testifying in favor of the driver and showed them my evidence to prove the guy was not at fault. The suit never did materialize so I guess they decided they had no case.
This is one incident in my life as a policeman. There are many more. Maybe I will tell them all someday, who knows?
Written by Mike Hicks
Those were days which I will always remember because they helped make me the person I am. I had many personal experiences and I observed many things which happened to the people I worked with which taught me much. I have seen humankind at its worst and best. I still dream at night, on occasion, about some of the things I have seen. I became kind of famous as a school teacher for my many “police stories”. I will still tell one once in a while even yet to get across a point or teach someone a concept of value. I had a level of success in this profession. In 1967 I was nominated as “Policeman of the Year” in Boise. I also held the highest arrest record in our department for quite a while. I worked hard at being a good, effective police officer.
I left the profession in August, 1969 to become a school teacher in Salmon, Idaho. I have never regretted that decision because I feel like I have made a difference over the years in education. I have taught and been a school administrator for thirty-nine years. I am retiring in just three more months on June 30, 2008.
One summer evening I was patroling along Hill Road.. This is a roadway which runs east/west along the foot of the hills on the north side of the valley. It was about 5:00 pm and the sun was low in the west. The sun was in my eyes and there was a car in front of me. The sun had to be in his eyes too.
Along the north side of the road there were houses with driveways which ran down pretty steeply onto Hill Road. Suddenly, a small boy on a scooter came speeding out of a driveway and into the path of the car in front of me. The guy did not see the child and simply ran over him with his car. I am not sure the sun was a factor since the kid was so close to the front of the car the driver could not have stopped anyway. I saw this tragedy since I was about 100 feet behind the car and we were traveling about 30 miles per hour.
The driver realized he had run over something and he immediately stopped. I pulled up and stopped too and flipped my emergency lights on. It was obvious that an ambulance was needed as the child was flipping around on the ground, clearly injured. I called on the radio for an ambulance and then jumped from the car and ran to the little boy on the road.
What I saw was a heart wenching sight. The little boy had severe injuries. His chest was crushed and it appeared a tire had gone over him. His face was torn nearly away from his head. Apparently something under the car had hooked him and done this. He was making gurgling noises and flipping like a fish. I took him in my arms and tried to calm him. His jugular vein was cut and blood was pumping out of his throat with each heartbeat. I applied direct pressure to this wound and stopped the bleeding as well as I could. I was able to keep this little fellow from bleeding to death until the ambulance arrived. However, he died of massive injuries in the hospital later. Now for the rest of the story.
All during this drama the little boy’s mother was running around screaming that she had “been telling him all day to stop riding his scooter down the driveway because this may happen.” I did not say much to her except to get the name and other information. It was no use to add to her pain by asking why she didn’t make him stop. There is a huge lesson in this story. If you see your kid doing something which may get him hurt or killed, MAKE HIM STOP! Kids sometimes do dumb things because they don’t think about the consequence. Parents should know enough to control things like this.
The little boy was named Kelly Mencer. He was eight years old at the time this happened. My son Mike was eight then too. Mike is soon going to be 46. Kelly would be 46 now too. How tragic!
The driver of the car was very distraught. He didn’t see it coming at all and had no way to control what happened. I had seen the whole thing. He couldn’t ask for a better witness to what took place. As I talked with him I smelled alcohol on his breath and he told me he had a glass of wine with his supper. I could easily see he was not under the influence of this and I told him so. I also made him take a breathalizer test and do several tests which you give for drunk drivers. He was not under the influence of alcohol. I told the guy that the reason I was doing this was so I could testify in the coming lawsuit that he was not drunk. He said he doubted he would get sued, it was so obvious that it was a horrible accident. I told him wait and see. Sure enough, in about a year here came two attorneys to see me. They had been hired by the parents of the little boy and they were planning to file a lawsuit. I made it very clear that I would be testifying in favor of the driver and showed them my evidence to prove the guy was not at fault. The suit never did materialize so I guess they decided they had no case.
This is one incident in my life as a policeman. There are many more. Maybe I will tell them all someday, who knows?
Written by Mike Hicks
Saturday, January 26, 2008
When Harry Met Doris
This account is taken from Harry Hicks' life story. Very little has been edited from its original content.
Alvin danced with Bonny and I of coarse dances once with Bonny, then I retired
to the back of the hall where the stag line always built up. And was talking to the boys
about the girls and one thing and another, telling funny stories and getting about ready
to pop the question "Any one care for a drink?"
When I noticed Wilford Hogan, that Mormon sucker, coming across the floor with
a beautiful little Blonde. He had his mouth twisted up in a supposed to be drunken lear
and walking in a supposed to be drunken swagger. I could tell he was trying to play a
big shot with me. And he sneeringly introduced me to the Beautiful little Blonde.
Dorishh Brown, this ishhh my old buddy Harry H H HIckshhh, like a drunken slur. I gave
him one look and I seen no more of him as I gazed on the Little Blonde, he fell out of my
gaze.
She said "you’re the hardest guy to catch up with. I've been hunting you for 3
weeks and trying to get and introduction to you. I'm sure please that I finally caught up
with you and got someone to introduce us". I stammered and stuttered "I'm very happy
to know you Miss Brown, and would you care to dance?" I knew if I could get her to
dance that was my best solution. I thought of what I had learned from Farnsworth "Try
to win a fight talking and you'll lose."
Besides I wanted to hold her close and pretend. You see, the other girls was no
glamor for me because I couldn't pretend. And then I wanted a chance to gain my
composure and give my face and neck a chance to come back to the original color. She
told me she was born on the last of September and those people born under the
September 30, Libra sign was talkers and they may blurt out any thing. I was glad she
told me that, for she kept up a steady stream of language. I think she knew how hard it
was for me to speak.
She told me how the family had come to the country just like pioneers (in this day
and age). The whole family with teams and covered wagons, and the boys driving the
horses and mules and 4-5 cattle along behind. While Ma Brown and Curt and Doris,
Lola and Louise and Chuck, the baby, came on ahead in a Model T Ford and camped
up on the bar by Jessy Creek, because they knew the Parmenters.
"Do you know Ralph and Frank Parmenter?" I told her yes, they are the only
Mormon friends I have. "Now you have three" she said "because you forgot to count
me and if you count my Mother, you'll have four." I said "I don't know your Mother."
"Well, she knows you - because I've told her about you. Told her I was going to marry
you-- so there."
Well, if that is so you will have to not be scared of me because no one that I like
is scared of me, because I will not hurt any-body I like. We finished the dance talking
and joking happily and I lost my fear of her. After this dance, there's something I have
to do, so I'll leave you for a little while. "What are you going to do? Can't I go with you?"
I said "No, I'll be right back, I'm going to get rid of some Seagrams and feed Hogans'
goat some Sloe Gin." "What's that, what's that." she cried after me.
Well, I caught Wilford Hogan on the way out to the car of Vernons and I said to
Wilford Hogan. "Since you are such a nice boy to introduce to that, what's her name
girl, I'm gonna give you a bottle of wine. It's called Slow Gin. You gotta drink a lot
because it is slow to take hold. I figured since you are drinking any how, it won't be
noticible the way you can hold your licker."
So I gave the fifth of Sloe Gin to Hogan, and taking the Seagrams out of my
pocket and passed it to Alvin and told him I didn't want it. I was going to set in the car
all evening with a girl, and when he wanted the car, we would go home.
Then I went back to see if the Beautiful Blonde Doris was just teasing me or not.
She was waiting for me and consented to go out and set in the car and get acquainted.
Just st that time the band played " The Waltz you Saved for Me". We danced it holding
each other closely. Then, I loved her and remembered my prayer. And as we went out
of the door arm in arm, I saw Wilford Hogan swilling that Sloe Gin like it was going out
of style. I said to myself, I hate to have your head in the morning. That became our
dance ever after.
We sat in the car until about 1 or 2.00 and when Alvin came out to take Bonny
home, we got out and I walked her home, after having a hamburger, about all I could
afford. We talked all evening about horses and dogs and cattle. She was 1 of a family
of 8 and a cow-punchers girl. She told me about the Bull Pastures over in Wyoming
and her Father and Mother and especially how proud she was to be a good Mormon.
And I was to be a pretty good Mormon too, but it was to take 50 years to do it. The
conversation didn't lag and to this day it never has.
I guess you can say we had a usual courtship of two people very much in love.
The thrill of the first kiss, it has never worn off. The first time I accidentally brushed my
hand against her breast, and many loving tenderness that was to be ours through the
years.
Well we met on Thanksgiving, had our first date on Christmas. When I was to
meet her Mother and Father, she said "This is the man I'm going to marry", and that’s
before we ever talked about marriage since the first time she spoke of it. Her mother,
Mrs. Brown, was making carrot pudding for Christmas dinner, and insisted that I take a
bite. It was an old family favorite, not unlike plum pudding. I have since learned to like
it very much, and my wife carries on the tradition. Although some sweeter than that
pudding of Ma Brown's. She treated me very reserved and quiet, and I was mannerly
and polite. She gave me a taste of that pudding, although it was not quite sweet
enough for me, I said it was very good.
The house had a very peaceful atmosphere. Just the Mother, my girl, and the
baby on the floor. But she kept up a very interesting conversation about the family and
their likes and dislikes. I could tell that she worshipped her father. As she had a father
image of him ever after. It seems that her father was up to the timber getting a load of
wood, and they were expecting him back at any time. It was early in the evening when
he finally came in, and she immediately threw herself in her father's arms and he was
very boisterous and began to tease her and play, like fathers play with their daughters,
fun but reserved too. I expect she was showing off for my benefit.
Finally, her brothers, Scott, Jim, Larry and Dale came in. After they all but Dale
took a turn at teasing her or pinching her I noticed they were all a quite loving family,
and didn't care who knew it. But I noticed the boys all reserved the dignity of their
sister, although their teasing seemed to anger her, I knew it was all put on.
Then she introduced me to her father as Boone Brown. "His name is really
Achillies, but we call him Chill or Boone." It seems he had earned the name of Boone,
because the family thought of him as a Frontiersman. Then she introduced me to her
other brothers, Scott, Jim, Larry and the small one about 8 or 9 years old.
Chill said “Now, to go with my daughter, you got to whip me or Scott with the
boxing gloves, and Jim immediately brought a pair out to me. It seemed his way of
getting acquainted.
This pleased me to no end, as I was proud of my ability and was only happy to
show her. I grinned and laughed all over to scare them and even boxed a few steps
and flicked my nose like boxers do. I chose Scott as they knew I would, because it
would not do to take a chance on making a fool of her Dad. And I knew she would only
make fun of Scott. Scott was a husky boy, just a little shorter than I, about the same
weight and quite a harmful looking gent. With a slight overbite that made him look like a
bull dog. I was laughing and grinning and acting as though I was anxious to get the
gloves on, like I was a little punchy. “I’ll fight Scott, I'll fight Scott" I said. And the other
boys was helping Scott get the gloves on.
Grinning all the time, like the cat that got the cream, I knew they were thinking
“we’ll show this feller how we grow em over in Wyoming". Well, we started in, I a
sparring around the floor a little to let him set the pace. I always let the other man set
the pace, so I'll know how hard to hit. I never hit any-one as hard as I can hit.
Scott began like he was going to finish me up quick, swinging as hard as he
could. That is the easiest kind of fighter, I could not take the same procedure, as if I did,
I would down him in one flurry. So I decided to keep him pushed off and let him hit
nothing but arms and elbows, which he did.
I speared him with an easy left-left once in a while, to spur him on and as I
expected, he soon tired and set into swinging the harder and harder. Then I mad him
furious by stepping by his right side when he would miss me on the inside by a big hay
maker right. And stepping behind him, turning at the same time, I would tap him on the
shoulder, or the back of the head. And say “Here I am". Well, he never laid a glove on
me. I used to do that often in camp where I would meet all comers every eve. I could
duck inside of it. If I could see that I was going to take a blow and if I could see it was
going to be a hard one. I would closen up to the blow, so it was not at the farthest reach
when it hit me. This will ruin the effect of the blow.
I could be quite a clever boxer for a short time, but I would soon get disgusted
with the dancing and toe work and pecking at some one like a ballet dancer. Because it
was more to my liking to be a fighter and be forceful. I would make feints or back off,
and was up to something to get an opponent to set a pattern, then bingo- I'd suddenly
break that pattern.
I invented what they used to call Harry's Corkscrew. I throw that 4-5 times, it
would do no harm to any one, then I would start another one, but I'd let my arm fall to
my side, and bring a hard upper cut to their Solar Plexus, or right near under the heart.
I learned how to throw an effective punch and every punch I threw, you could peg a
name on it, and it was effective.
The boy's growing up do not learn to fight any-more. I've seen several so called
fights, by I'd say about 20 year olds. They run in and slap at each other like girls. I
swear, gawd, it makes me want to throw up. When finally one of the boys hit the other
one, he started to cry and said I didn't mean it, honest I didn't mean to hit you. I ran
back inside the shop I was cleaning and couldn't believe my eyes.
My Dad was considered a tough fighting man and I whipped him easily at 19, and
he never even could hit me. So he ran in and got the .06-30.06 and was going to shoot
me. Mama and I took the gun away from him. I felt if the boys fight like that, I must be
a holy terror, even if I am 58. I will not linger on that any longer,
After Doris played with the family for some time, we went on about 3 blocks up
the street and one block over and I introduced Doris to my Mother and Father. They
liked her, Dad didn't say much to her, just grinned and winked at her. But she liked my
Mother very much. Immediately Mother was very entertaining and interesting. We eat
a bite or two at our place and talked and visited with Mother and Mothers sister, Aunt
Hatty, who her husband left when she got so crippled up with arthritis, she was no use
to him.
Alvin danced with Bonny and I of coarse dances once with Bonny, then I retired
to the back of the hall where the stag line always built up. And was talking to the boys
about the girls and one thing and another, telling funny stories and getting about ready
to pop the question "Any one care for a drink?"
When I noticed Wilford Hogan, that Mormon sucker, coming across the floor with
a beautiful little Blonde. He had his mouth twisted up in a supposed to be drunken lear
and walking in a supposed to be drunken swagger. I could tell he was trying to play a
big shot with me. And he sneeringly introduced me to the Beautiful little Blonde.
Dorishh Brown, this ishhh my old buddy Harry H H HIckshhh, like a drunken slur. I gave
him one look and I seen no more of him as I gazed on the Little Blonde, he fell out of my
gaze.
She said "you’re the hardest guy to catch up with. I've been hunting you for 3
weeks and trying to get and introduction to you. I'm sure please that I finally caught up
with you and got someone to introduce us". I stammered and stuttered "I'm very happy
to know you Miss Brown, and would you care to dance?" I knew if I could get her to
dance that was my best solution. I thought of what I had learned from Farnsworth "Try
to win a fight talking and you'll lose."
Besides I wanted to hold her close and pretend. You see, the other girls was no
glamor for me because I couldn't pretend. And then I wanted a chance to gain my
composure and give my face and neck a chance to come back to the original color. She
told me she was born on the last of September and those people born under the
September 30, Libra sign was talkers and they may blurt out any thing. I was glad she
told me that, for she kept up a steady stream of language. I think she knew how hard it
was for me to speak.
She told me how the family had come to the country just like pioneers (in this day
and age). The whole family with teams and covered wagons, and the boys driving the
horses and mules and 4-5 cattle along behind. While Ma Brown and Curt and Doris,
Lola and Louise and Chuck, the baby, came on ahead in a Model T Ford and camped
up on the bar by Jessy Creek, because they knew the Parmenters.
"Do you know Ralph and Frank Parmenter?" I told her yes, they are the only
Mormon friends I have. "Now you have three" she said "because you forgot to count
me and if you count my Mother, you'll have four." I said "I don't know your Mother."
"Well, she knows you - because I've told her about you. Told her I was going to marry
you-- so there."
Well, if that is so you will have to not be scared of me because no one that I like
is scared of me, because I will not hurt any-body I like. We finished the dance talking
and joking happily and I lost my fear of her. After this dance, there's something I have
to do, so I'll leave you for a little while. "What are you going to do? Can't I go with you?"
I said "No, I'll be right back, I'm going to get rid of some Seagrams and feed Hogans'
goat some Sloe Gin." "What's that, what's that." she cried after me.
Well, I caught Wilford Hogan on the way out to the car of Vernons and I said to
Wilford Hogan. "Since you are such a nice boy to introduce to that, what's her name
girl, I'm gonna give you a bottle of wine. It's called Slow Gin. You gotta drink a lot
because it is slow to take hold. I figured since you are drinking any how, it won't be
noticible the way you can hold your licker."
So I gave the fifth of Sloe Gin to Hogan, and taking the Seagrams out of my
pocket and passed it to Alvin and told him I didn't want it. I was going to set in the car
all evening with a girl, and when he wanted the car, we would go home.
Then I went back to see if the Beautiful Blonde Doris was just teasing me or not.
She was waiting for me and consented to go out and set in the car and get acquainted.
Just st that time the band played " The Waltz you Saved for Me". We danced it holding
each other closely. Then, I loved her and remembered my prayer. And as we went out
of the door arm in arm, I saw Wilford Hogan swilling that Sloe Gin like it was going out
of style. I said to myself, I hate to have your head in the morning. That became our
dance ever after.
We sat in the car until about 1 or 2.00 and when Alvin came out to take Bonny
home, we got out and I walked her home, after having a hamburger, about all I could
afford. We talked all evening about horses and dogs and cattle. She was 1 of a family
of 8 and a cow-punchers girl. She told me about the Bull Pastures over in Wyoming
and her Father and Mother and especially how proud she was to be a good Mormon.
And I was to be a pretty good Mormon too, but it was to take 50 years to do it. The
conversation didn't lag and to this day it never has.
I guess you can say we had a usual courtship of two people very much in love.
The thrill of the first kiss, it has never worn off. The first time I accidentally brushed my
hand against her breast, and many loving tenderness that was to be ours through the
years.
Well we met on Thanksgiving, had our first date on Christmas. When I was to
meet her Mother and Father, she said "This is the man I'm going to marry", and that’s
before we ever talked about marriage since the first time she spoke of it. Her mother,
Mrs. Brown, was making carrot pudding for Christmas dinner, and insisted that I take a
bite. It was an old family favorite, not unlike plum pudding. I have since learned to like
it very much, and my wife carries on the tradition. Although some sweeter than that
pudding of Ma Brown's. She treated me very reserved and quiet, and I was mannerly
and polite. She gave me a taste of that pudding, although it was not quite sweet
enough for me, I said it was very good.
The house had a very peaceful atmosphere. Just the Mother, my girl, and the
baby on the floor. But she kept up a very interesting conversation about the family and
their likes and dislikes. I could tell that she worshipped her father. As she had a father
image of him ever after. It seems that her father was up to the timber getting a load of
wood, and they were expecting him back at any time. It was early in the evening when
he finally came in, and she immediately threw herself in her father's arms and he was
very boisterous and began to tease her and play, like fathers play with their daughters,
fun but reserved too. I expect she was showing off for my benefit.
Finally, her brothers, Scott, Jim, Larry and Dale came in. After they all but Dale
took a turn at teasing her or pinching her I noticed they were all a quite loving family,
and didn't care who knew it. But I noticed the boys all reserved the dignity of their
sister, although their teasing seemed to anger her, I knew it was all put on.
Then she introduced me to her father as Boone Brown. "His name is really
Achillies, but we call him Chill or Boone." It seems he had earned the name of Boone,
because the family thought of him as a Frontiersman. Then she introduced me to her
other brothers, Scott, Jim, Larry and the small one about 8 or 9 years old.
Chill said “Now, to go with my daughter, you got to whip me or Scott with the
boxing gloves, and Jim immediately brought a pair out to me. It seemed his way of
getting acquainted.
This pleased me to no end, as I was proud of my ability and was only happy to
show her. I grinned and laughed all over to scare them and even boxed a few steps
and flicked my nose like boxers do. I chose Scott as they knew I would, because it
would not do to take a chance on making a fool of her Dad. And I knew she would only
make fun of Scott. Scott was a husky boy, just a little shorter than I, about the same
weight and quite a harmful looking gent. With a slight overbite that made him look like a
bull dog. I was laughing and grinning and acting as though I was anxious to get the
gloves on, like I was a little punchy. “I’ll fight Scott, I'll fight Scott" I said. And the other
boys was helping Scott get the gloves on.
Grinning all the time, like the cat that got the cream, I knew they were thinking
“we’ll show this feller how we grow em over in Wyoming". Well, we started in, I a
sparring around the floor a little to let him set the pace. I always let the other man set
the pace, so I'll know how hard to hit. I never hit any-one as hard as I can hit.
Scott began like he was going to finish me up quick, swinging as hard as he
could. That is the easiest kind of fighter, I could not take the same procedure, as if I did,
I would down him in one flurry. So I decided to keep him pushed off and let him hit
nothing but arms and elbows, which he did.
I speared him with an easy left-left once in a while, to spur him on and as I
expected, he soon tired and set into swinging the harder and harder. Then I mad him
furious by stepping by his right side when he would miss me on the inside by a big hay
maker right. And stepping behind him, turning at the same time, I would tap him on the
shoulder, or the back of the head. And say “Here I am". Well, he never laid a glove on
me. I used to do that often in camp where I would meet all comers every eve. I could
duck inside of it. If I could see that I was going to take a blow and if I could see it was
going to be a hard one. I would closen up to the blow, so it was not at the farthest reach
when it hit me. This will ruin the effect of the blow.
I could be quite a clever boxer for a short time, but I would soon get disgusted
with the dancing and toe work and pecking at some one like a ballet dancer. Because it
was more to my liking to be a fighter and be forceful. I would make feints or back off,
and was up to something to get an opponent to set a pattern, then bingo- I'd suddenly
break that pattern.
I invented what they used to call Harry's Corkscrew. I throw that 4-5 times, it
would do no harm to any one, then I would start another one, but I'd let my arm fall to
my side, and bring a hard upper cut to their Solar Plexus, or right near under the heart.
I learned how to throw an effective punch and every punch I threw, you could peg a
name on it, and it was effective.
The boy's growing up do not learn to fight any-more. I've seen several so called
fights, by I'd say about 20 year olds. They run in and slap at each other like girls. I
swear, gawd, it makes me want to throw up. When finally one of the boys hit the other
one, he started to cry and said I didn't mean it, honest I didn't mean to hit you. I ran
back inside the shop I was cleaning and couldn't believe my eyes.
My Dad was considered a tough fighting man and I whipped him easily at 19, and
he never even could hit me. So he ran in and got the .06-30.06 and was going to shoot
me. Mama and I took the gun away from him. I felt if the boys fight like that, I must be
a holy terror, even if I am 58. I will not linger on that any longer,
After Doris played with the family for some time, we went on about 3 blocks up
the street and one block over and I introduced Doris to my Mother and Father. They
liked her, Dad didn't say much to her, just grinned and winked at her. But she liked my
Mother very much. Immediately Mother was very entertaining and interesting. We eat
a bite or two at our place and talked and visited with Mother and Mothers sister, Aunt
Hatty, who her husband left when she got so crippled up with arthritis, she was no use
to him.
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