Show and Tell

Getting to school when we moved to the country was somewhat problematic. At first, we lived at the end of a long dirt road that only cars and horses could travel. The school would not send a bus down that road to get my brothers and me. After a few years, the right of way for a direct road to our house was negotiated. The result was another shorter dirt road which was passable when dry. During the early days of the new road, it was not uncommon to leave the car stuck on the first hill. After the road dried, we could forego the half mile trek through mud to get home.

The school officials decided we could catch the bus where the new road turned off the main county road. So every morning we would wait for the bus and sometimes look around the creek bank near the bus stop.

One morning a movement near the creek caught our attention. When we went closer, we saw the biggest turtle any of us had seen outside of a zoo. It didn't take long to figure out where the name “snapping turtle” originated. This turtle had an attitude. We were familiar with the turtles that would travel in slow motion and retract its appendages when someone came near. This turtle acted like he wanted to amputate our appendages. We tried putting different sized sticks near him, and he could slice most of them with little effort.

“I know what we should do,” I said, “We could take him to school and let everybody see this thing!” We looked for a container for him with no success. “The bus won't be here for another fifteen minutes. Maybe I can find a bucket at the house.”

I ran as fast as I could to the house and found a five gallon paint bucket. After I got back to the bus stop, we put the turtle in the bucket. This was easy. We held a stick near him and he clamped onto it, then we lifted him into the bucket by using the stick as a turtle handle.

The bus pulled up and as the doors opened, we saw “Preacher" Meadows at the wheel. He always wore a pressed white shirt and a dress hat. As my brothers were climbing the steps, Mr. Meadows was greeting us. “How are the Murphys today?” When I got to the top step he saw the bucket in my hand and said “Whoa! What have you got in the bucket?”

“It's a turtle. I thought I would take it and show my teacher.”

As “Preacher" Meadow looked down into the bucket, I could tell he wasn't in agreement with my plan.

“Get that thing off the bus before it hurts somebody!” he exclaimed.

I had no choice but to leave my exhibit near the creek. My teacher and the kids in my class never knew what they had missed out on. I still believe he would have created a lot of excitement.

(Here is a video of one of these varmints: https://youtu.be/GO1HD3ebuZs 

Smoking is Dangerous

I don't quite understand my fascination with fireworks.  When I was a boy, I loved to shoot fireworks.  Most of the time we got sparklers, roman candles, and black cats.  Our budget didn't allow for the rockets and bigger kinds of explosives.  This is probably a good thing.  A few times I would be a little slow to release a firecracker and suffer a temporary hearing loss and the throbbing of an injured hand.

By today's pc standards, we did a few things that could get you or your parents thrown in jail today. One incident that I never seem to forget happened when I was about six years of age.  Why I was allowed to have fireworks at that age, I couldn't say.

It was during the Christmas season and we had a good supply of the black cat explosive firecrackers. They came in a double string and each firecracker was about two inches long.  They were loud and fun.  We liked to experiment with blowing up different things to see how they would look.  It was cold, and for some reason I was pulling my youngest brother, Bub, around in a wagon between explosions.  A few times I would throw a firecracker and the fuse would burn normally until it got to the firecracker and it would appear to just go out.

On one of these occasions, Bub reached out of the wagon and picked the "dead" firecracker up and put it in his mouth and pretended it was a cigarette. Before I could react, a small amount of smoke came from the fuse area and the "cigarette" exploded.  My brother's lips blew apart and he looked totally surprised.  I knew that wouldn't last long.  The screams and crying came next.

I was thinking about how my life was now over.  How could I explain what happened?  The best story I could think of on short notice was a falling icicle scenario.  I had to act fast and be first with the news.  When I rushed in and told my story, it caused quite a stir.  My parents were quick to run and get Bub and repair his busted lip.  They were so glad that he was OK that I faded to the background.  My baby brother took the spotlight once again.

Taxi

My dad was always buying and trading things.  His tire shop brought lots of different people together.  Some of them just wanted their tires repaired or replaced, but some knew there was an opportunity to do some trading.

While I didn't always know the details of the trades, I usually saw the results of the deals.  One such trade was for a 1938 Chevrolet sedan.  It was a nice looking car with no noticeable dents or scratches.
It surprised me when Dad's first use of the Chevy was to haul a calf in it.  To fit the yearling in it, he removed the back seat and had my brother, Arnie, and I to hold it for the trip home.

Since Dad had a car to drive to work, he would leave the Chevy parked at home.  During this time we lived about 8 miles from town at the end of a rutted dirt road.  There was only one neighbor past our house and one neighbor between the main road and our house. Unless Charlie Harper had to leave home, there was no traffic passing the house.

One day while I was thinking about something to do to break the boredom, an idea came to me: "Wouldn't it be fun to play taxi cab.  There was a perfectly good sedan sitting in the yard collecting dust." Looking around the house it didn't take long to find the Chevy keys.

The Chevy started easily and I drove my first "fare" up the road about a half mile.  I left Bub there and turned around to go back and pick up my other brother.  It was fun driving around in the taxi.  After picking Arnie up, I headed back to the stop where I had turned around.  At some point during this trip, I began to smell smoke.  Looking around as I drove, I could see smoke under the dash. By the time I got to the turn around, the car was filled with smoke.

Since we didn't have a phone, I decided to go to Charlie's house and ask what I should do.  While running down the road I was hoping the car wouldn't completely burn before I returned.  Charlie was about sixty years old.  He was raised on the farm, so he was good at using his experience and common sense to deal with problems.  His suggestion was to throw sand on the wires.  The smoke seemed to be coming from the rubber insulation on the wiring.  We did as he suggested and it stopped smoking. I don't know whether the fire stopped because I turned the switch off or because of the sand we threw in the engine compartment and under the dash.  I just knew the fire was out and I was glad there was a car left.

We were spared extra punishment.  I believe my dad could tell how much the incident had scared us and decided that was enough trauma.

The Glass Incident

There are times when brothers feel the need to wrestle and push each other around just for the fun of it.  It could be caused from boredom or excess energy.  Whatever the reason for it, my brothers and I were wrestling and scuffling in the house one day when we got a little too carried away and the youngest brother, Bub, hit the glass in the front door with such a force that the glass broke out and scattered in numerous pieces.

Immediately, all activity ceased.  The harsh reality of our situation came over us like a blast of cold air.  Mother was at work and we were alone during summer vacation.  We realized that we only had a limited time to deal with this problem or face the certain anger of a parent who would come home and realize there was no longer a glass in the front door.

We decided to call a glass company to see if they would fix the door for us.  The spokesman at the glass company said the repair would be about twenty dollars.  I told him to come on out.  After getting off the phone, I discussed the amount of money we needed.  We searched our banks and pockets for the money.  After a considerable amount of searching, we decided we had enough.

The glass repairman came out in a couple of hours to make the repair.  It seemed like it only took him about thirty minutes to replace the glass.  I was hoping it would take longer because I was dreading the next part.  After the repairman handed us the bill, we brought out a large fishing tackle box.  We told the service man it would take a little while to pay him.  It took longer to count out twenty dollars in pennies, nickels, and dimes than it took to do the repair.

After the glass was replaced, my and brothers and I cleaned up the broken glass.  It was then that we noticed how clean the new glass was.  It was decided that we should put some fingerprints and a little dirt on the glass to "age" it.  The results were a complete success.  It was several years later before we finally told mother about the glass incident.

Corn Whiskey

It's hard to explain where some ideas originate.  Maybe TV shows or books or conversations inspire us to try things we haven't done.  It occurred to me that I might could make some corn whiskey.  We had plenty of corn in the barn.  There was sugar in the house and a gallon jug in the storage house.

After I assembled the ingredients, I filled the jug with water.  Next I shucked several ears of corn and removed the kernels. The kernels were placed in the jug with water and some sugar.  A dish towel was used to cover the jug and it was placed in the the ceiling of the store house near the ceiling access opening.  This would hide it from view but make it easily accessible.

After about three weeks the brew was giving off a distinctive fermentation smell.  Now I would have to be creative and decide how to cook off the alcohol and get the end product. All the pictures I had seen showed a container with a hose or line connecting to the top of it and running to an empty container.  It appeared that a burner was lit under the fermented corn to cook the final product and cause it to travel to the second container.

The only cooking appliance at our house was in our kitchen.  To undertake whiskey making in the house would mean my mother would have to be gone.  I watched for an opportunity to have the kitchen to myself.

Finally, I was at home one Saturday when mom decided to go to the grocery store.  As soon as the family Chevy disappeared  around the corner, I began assembling my still in the kitchen.  Before long it was ready.  I lit the burner and waited for the law of physics to work.  Things happened much quicker than I thought they would.  I heard a muffled explosion at the stove.  When I checked it, I realized a law of physics I hadn't thought of had come into operation.  A glass jug of the ordinary variety would not hold its shape with a gas burner lit under it.  Simply put, the jug had exploded and its contents were splattered on the stove and on the kitchen floor.

I'm sure my mom smelled something when she got back, but I must have come up with some plausible story, because I don't remember a switching.  I wasn't successful in making the whiskey, but  my knowledge was increased and I didn't kill myself.  That was a success to me.

The New Radio Station, pt. 4

My youngest brother, Bub, was outgoing and up for new adventures.  He was the obvious choice for the door to door contacts.  Since we had stacks of magazines from my sister, why not try  Bub's sales technique as a bonus?

We decided to announce the radio station and mention the deal on used magazines.  After loading my brother's bicycle with magazines, it was time for me to sign on the air at KBOP.  I thought that was a catchy call sign.  It seemed like I played every record I had before Bub came home.

It was clear that the station was reaching our neighbors and they were amazed to hear "Sonny" on their radio, but the magazine sales were not very good.  A few magazines were sold, but not enough to establish a regular route.  After the excitement of the whole experience, our interest in the broadcast and magazine sales business diminished.  It was the newness of the adventure and its possibilities that were the most fun.

I would continue to broadcast from time to time, but mainly to test a new mic or antenna for its quality.  The family was tired of testing and they had heard all the records. It was fun to try something that I had dreamed about.  It was also an introduction to reality. Not everyone was as excited about the idea as I was.

It was time to move on to something new.  I wondered what it would take to make a whiskey still.
Just think of the possibility of making whiskey with only corn, sugar, and water.

The New Radio Station, pt. 3

After what seemed a very long time, a box came from Allied Radio Co.  It seemed strangely small for all the plans I had made.  I opened the box and looked at the contents.  It consisted of a small square metal chassis, three tubes, and an assortment of resistors, capacitors, and assorted components.

I spent several hours in the following days soldering parts together until it was finished.  Now it was time to plug in the microphone and turntable to see if worked.  The first good sign was the fact that the tubes lit.  I searched for a record to test with. The antenna was only a ten foot piece of insulated wire, but it would do for testing.  When I turned my radio receiver on, I kept tuning across the dial until I finally found the sound of my record playing.  Wow, I was on the air!

The next few days I worked after school and in my spare time to check the microphone and rig a better antenna.  The instructions warned that it was against the law to use an antenna longer than the ten foot wire connected to the transmitter, so I reasoned that a longer antenna would work better.

Before long there was a 50 to 75 ft. antenna wire going from the house to a large Catalpa tree in the yard. This wire was connected to a ten foot piece of pipe tied to the tree trunk as high as I could place it. The coverage in the areas around the house was good, but it was time to see if the signal could reach the nearest neighbor at least a half to three quarters a mile away.

When it became available, I used the family car to test the signal.  Since it was difficult to get volunteer deejays, I would choose the longest playing thirty three and a third album I could find and start it on the turntable before I left the house.  The discovery that I made about the signal was that it seemed to piggyback on the electric power wires in the area.  That made the signal carry to the nearest community.

The information that the signal was getting to the nearest houses was the first step in market research. I needed a representative for the door to door information gathering.  My pool of qualified researchers was very limited.  Which one of my two brothers would be both qualified and willing to do the job?      ***to be continued.