We were in an old feed store. Granddaddy and me. Wooden floors. Sacks of Purina cattle feed. Old men, sitting around, jawing.
There was actually a brass spittoon in use.
I was a child at the time. Kindergarten maybe. I had no idea what the old men were talking about. But I remember their words. And I knew the timbre of an old man’s wisdom when I heard it.
“Never ask a barber whether you need a haircut,” one man said.
“Life is easier when you plow around the stumps.”
I loved the way they spoke. It was old world. The voice of my people. People did not talk like this on the nightly news.
But then, these were real men. Farm kids who survived the Spanish Influenza of 1918. An epidemic which—as it happened—did not begin in Spain, but in Haskell County, Kansas. A fact the old men held with high honor.
These men had survived the Flood of ‘27, Depressions, Dust Bowls, and so many world wars they had to start numbering them.
And their logic kept coming:
“A bumblebee is
faster than a John Deere.”
Spit.
“Quickest way to double your money is to fold in half and put it in your pocket.”
Spit, spit.
“The only good reason to ride a bull is to get a date with a nurse.”
Clearing of nasal passages.
I don’t know why I’m remembering all this today. I suppose the memories come from my visiting a nursing home this afternoon to interview someone.
I was wandering amongst elderly people. The residents spoke of another world. Manual coffee grinders, shaving horse benches, wedding silver.
In their rooms, they had Norman Rockwell compilation books. Emily Post manuals. John Wayne collectible beer steins. Doctor Grabow pipes.
And that’s when I saw the brass spittoon, sitting in someone’s room. Instantly, I remembered the last time I’d seen an on-duty spittoon.
And in my memory,…