No Excuses. J. Larry Simpson I
limb with me.
What a worldwide marvelous thing. Now Jenny was to come as our plump friend wanted to be last. She almost flittered across the green highway being little, lighter than us, or so we agreed. Jenny was a good tomboy! We liked her. She was the winner so far. I was humbled…by a girl.
However, our plump friend was the real story. “Is it really my turn? Don’t some of you want to go again? My stomach hurts. Mom will call me soon….”
“No, you gotta come,” we all cried out. “Come on!”
He began to navigate the vine passage very well, but being bragged on, he let go of the vines to clap for himself, and then it happened! He flipped helplessly under the vines!
The rest of us hollered, “Hang on! Hang on!” as our eyes almost popped out of our heads. Our mouths dropped wide open as we watched him fight for his life.
His right foot caught some vines that twisted around his leg and foot, so now he hung upside down.
Plumpy boy yelled, “Help me! Help me! I’m caught…!” he hollered until he whimpered with fear, almost to tears.
“Don’t wiggle,” I cried out. “Do not move!” I said, as he turned to grab vines and throw his left thick leg over some of the dangerous highway. “Stay still. We can’t let you fall and land on your noggin!”
The poor boy was helpless, and so were we. “Get me off! Get me off…!”
And I said, “We’ll save you.”
We were in trouble. We couldn’t reach the sad victim, so the only thing to do was for me to slide down the tree and go in the store and have Mrs. Hughey call somebody.
“What…,” and I can’t tell you the rest of what she said, but in about five minutes, the fire department and policeman were there, sirens blaring.
The fire truck had a “body bucket.” Up the bucket went with a skinny small man in it, who loosened the poor boy’s foot from the vines, caught him, turned him right side up as Plumpy cried. Both were lowered to the ground as I stood by the red and yellow truck.
Up went the bucket again. The other victorious four in the big oak tree were loaded into the ride, and happily down they came!
What a turn of events. The planner and leader of this forever story was left standing, lonesome on the ground! Plumpy was the attraction.
“Who is this boy…?” the policeman asked.
Mrs. Hughes’s said, “The orchestrator of this fiasco!”
I’ll never forget as the fireman, policeman, and then others walked away. Yes, I was the motivator; they were the winners.
We never tried that mighty highway vine passage again…except in our minds. I hope at this very minute, some place, Jenny or another is telling this story.
Buford is the first place I learned I could tell stories as I set with the kids on the block and told them of my exploits in World War II, on a tank, in the jungles, or in the air, saving America. And they listened.
Sandy and I recently went to Buford. The old store was gone, but not the glad memories.
The Runaway Tractor
My soul is very grateful for my life as a trailer boy, all the places we saw, and people we met. It gave constant occasions, for me, to explore the world and loving the outdoors.
Jeanie, my sister, two years younger, was all in for almost anything I wanted to do. As the McCollum’s say, “She was set on go!” She was my good friend. We even double dated a couple of times as older teenagers. She was truly an innocent victim on the next caper.
The Rice’s—John, Wilma, and Happy, good friends since Granada, Mississipi, in 1949-’50—moved close by us, in Dundee III. With John working with Dad. Mr. Rice was a great mechanic.
Rice had told Dad that “since there are so many Johns, just call me Rice,” so Rice it was.
Happy, two years older, and I had become fast friends.
We lived in several towns and six states together, and here they were in a park close to us in Dundee. Illinois.
On this particular July day, it was a Saturday, the Rice’s had come to visit. The sun and blue sky were brilliant. Arriving at about 9:00 a.m., Happy, Jeanie, and I got outside as quick as possible. We headed down the gravel road to visit the mink ranch (as told in “Jobs”).
In about thirty seconds, we turned our heads from talking, and behold, a remarkable, frightening sight. A big round object moving with a goal in mind.
“A snapping turtle,” Happy said, and Jeanie lightly screamed. He was crossing the road headed toward us and the trailers.
“What’s he thinking?” I asked, and both shrugged their shoulders.
Huge, but we easily ran up to him as he slightly turned toward us, raised his body up about three inches, let out a loud hissing sound, as if blowing his nose. It was a fearsome sight, his eyes glared at us, all brown and wet-looking.
“Be careful,” Happy said as if we needed that information.
Covered with moss, very green, with a head the size of Dad’s fists, he kept up his journey. Jeanie screamed, and we chattered with excitement. Neighbors began looking out their doors and swiftly emerging from their homes on wheels. The “oohs” and “aahhhss” filled the air.
Robin—another trailer boy, but not an outdoor type—ran up, almost stumbling down on the beast.
“Get back, Robin,” Dad said to the “light in the loafer” kid, “or he’ll bite your foot off. He screeched like a little girl. Stink? The big boy on four legs stunk!
By the time, the owner of the park, who had lived in that country all his life, told us that this happened every once in a while. There was a large “swampy” area across the road that always looked very frightful. He said, “The swamp is full of them and other creatures!”
Jeanie, Happy, and I looked at each other with stretched out eyes.
The owner said to Rice and Dad, “Walker”—as he glanced over at Mr. Rice—“this is the best meat in the world. We’ll kill him and have a cookout later.”
So Dad and Rice went to Dad’s green Ford and got a “pic” handle and held it down to the monsters pointed mouth that inevitably attacked the handle with severe violence. He then clamped his mighty jaws down on it. The two mechanics, with sleeves rolled up, picked up the turtle and carried him to the owner’s home. The crowd still stood and chatted, all in a furious excitement.
Later, the men said, “He weighed at least 105 pounds and was two feet wide and long. Once he clamped on to the handle or if to a human, he wouldn’t let go until the skies light up with lightning.” But he let go quicker than that as an ax took care of him. No doubt those things were true.
We talked breathlessly about seeing him killed, meeting his abrupt end, being dressed (prepared), cooked, and tasted. I loved his taste. It was the only time I’ve ever eaten a swamp creature. This excitement set our blood to flowing and set us up to do some exploring in the woods close by. Jeanie was ready to go, so we looked at each other, blinked our eyes in slight hesitation but said in strict determination, like Warren Oaks in The Wild Bunch, “Let’s go,” as if we were going into battle or some world-shaking adventure.
Heading northward, Happy led us through the woods, looking for anything we could find. The deep green moss and clear water seeping up through the moist Lake Michigan earth was fascinating. We turned in about twenty minutes eastward and came up on a beautiful large pasture and a fencerow. Cows and a donkey were fenced in. The farmer had told me a few days before, “There are a lot of coyotes, and the ‘jackass’ kept them away.”
“Jackass!”
“Yes,” he said.
And I felt awfully