by Andrew JoyceJune 23 , 2017 I had just left an Apache Reservation in Arizona after having spent a night there . I was hitching west and had been picked up by a guy named Jimmy . I never did learn his last name . He was a full - blooded Apache and he invited me to crash on his couch . I didn 't get much sleep because we stayed up most of the night and talked … well … he did most of the talking . He told me of the Denéé - The People - as he referred to the Apache . I learned of their history , their medicine , or religion , as we would call it . I even did some peyote with him and spoke with God . But that 's another story . Today , I want to tell you about Hank . Jimmy was still asleep when I left . I didn 't have it in me to wake him and ask for a ride back to the highway . The sun was just over the horizon , it was still cool out even though it was the desert and it was summertime . I had been brought onto the reservation in the back of a pickup truck and had not followed our progress as we drove the back road onto the reservation ; after all , I was facing backwards , looking at where we 'd been , not where we were going . As I started my walk , I saw the mountain I had been looking at as we drove onto the Apache homeland . It seemed as though it had taken us about half an hour to get from Highway 90 to Jimmy 's house . So , I reckoned that if I just kept the mountain in front of me and walked in a relatively straight line , it would not take me more than a few hours to make my way back to the highway . Boy , was I mistaken . I started my trek across the desert full of vim and vigor . After all , I was nineteen years old ; I was immortal , as are all young people . Of course , I had no water with me ; ha … who needs water ! Well , as it turned out , I needed water , and I needed a lot more than just water . I needed a sense of distance , and maybe even a sense of direction . Allow me to explain . I set out at sunrise , headed towards a particular mountain , and after four hours treading the desert floor , that damn mountain seemed no closer than when I started . I had no watch with me , so I did not know the exact time , but judging by the sun , it must have been mid - morning - about ten o ' clock - when I realized I had made a colossal mistake . When I first set out , I thought the walk to the highway would take two , maybe three hours at the most . But here I was four hours later with not a car - hell , with not even another human being - in sight . I was not even smart enough to follow the winding road we came in on . No , I had to play it cool , thinking I could shave off some time by cutting across the desert and walking in a straight line . Well , once I left the road , I never found it again . I pressed on , keeping the mountain in my sights . Now , I 'll tell you folks something I didn 't know at the time . A mountain is a pretty big item . I was heading south , so I could wander a few miles either east or west and still have the same perspective of my destination , the mountain . And without a compass that is just what I did . I was zig - zagging all over the place , but I thought I was walking in a straight line . By noon , or when the sun was directly overhead , the desert had started to heat up . And so did I . At that point , I would have killed for a glass of cool water . Maybe even with some ice in it . Those were my thoughts as I walked towards that goddamn mountain that kept retreating from me . So as not to bore you all to tears , I will not tell you about that afternoon . Suffice it to say the afternoon consisted of walking and thoughts of water . The sun was on a slow descent to the other side of the world , and I had been walking for about ten hours when I saw it . There up ahead , unless it was a mirage , was a shack . I thanked God I saw it when I did . Complete darkness was less than an hour away , and I might have walked right past it in the night . I was too tired to run , but I did pick up my pace a bit . When I got to within twenty yards of the place I saw my salvation - an old fashioned water pump , long handle and all . I ran right to the pump and without asking anyone 's permission , pumped that handle up and down like there was no tomorrow . And from my point of view , if I didn 't get some water in me , there would be no tomorrow , at least not for me . For all my effort , only a few dust swirls and a few grains of sand emanated from the spout . Then I remembered something , a pump has to be primed , and you need water to prime a pump . It 's kind of like - you need money to make money , and I needed water to get water . A catch - 22 . Now that I was not going to have my fondest wish granted - a few measly drops of water - I turned my attention to the shack . I could tell right away that the place was abandoned ; the fauna , or sagebrush , or whatever the hell grows in a desert , was three feet tall and blocking the door . The shack was about thirty feet wide , and after circumnavigating it , I discerned it was also thirty feet deep . There were no windows , so my ingress would have to be through the door . As the night was fast approaching , I returned from my excursion of circling the shack and proceeded to the door , expecting to do battle with it to affect entry . However , to my everlasting surprise , the door flew open upon my touch . How inviting . With no windows , the only light entering said shack came from behind me and from the spaces between the boards that made up the walls of the shack . They were more like the walls of an old barn ; there was about an eighth of an inch of open space between most of the boards . Some did join together , but they were of the minority . The wood was warped and old . This place has been here for a while . The gloom within the shack made it hard to see what , if anything , was inside . As my eyes adjusted to the low light , I saw a table in the middle of the room . I started for it , and then saw a single chair about five feet to the right . I had not noticed it sooner because it was in the shadows . The only light , as I 've said , came mostly from the door . And that light was only as wide as the door , about three feet . It did not reach the corners or the far side of the room . Upon the back of the chair were draped some clothes . For the time being , the chair and its accouterments held no interest for me . My attention was focused on the table . For upon the table stood a clear bottle about twelve inches high with a candle stuck into its mouth . It looked almost new , only an inch of its ten - inch length had been used . Maybe I would not have to spend the night in darkness after all . I did not ( and still do not ) smoke . But I always carried a book of matches with me . One never knew when one might want to start a small fire and heat up a can of beans or a can of soup to get one through the night . I went right for the candle , pulled out my trusty matches , and lit it . The light it gave off did not reach very far , maybe a couple feet past the table 's edge . By the way , the table was only about four foot square , and there was nothing else on it but the candle in the clear bottle . Once I had a little light , I figured I could relax . I was still dying of thirst , but there was nothing I could do about that . I was thankful that the sun had retreated , giving me a respite from the heat for a few hours . I pulled the chair over to the table and sat down . As I leaned back , I felt something bulky and hard . I stood and removed the clothing , which consisted of a " duster , " and two flannel shirts . You folks know what a duster is , don 't you ? I am sure most of you have seen them in Westerns . But for those who are unfamiliar with the term , I will describe one . They were white , made of cotton , and looked something like a modern - day raincoat , except they were full length , falling to almost the ankle . And as the name implies , they were worn over one 's regular attire to keep the dust from soiling one 's clothes . However , it was not the duster that caught my attention ; it was the old - time six - shooter , lying in its holster , which hung from the back of the chair . Cool . Then I saw what was also hanging on the back of the chair , a canteen . I placed the candle on the table and with fear and trepidation , the fear and trepidation coming from the fact that the bloody thing might be empty , I lifted the strap attached to the canteen . I could tell by the weight that it was full . But even if there was water , chances of it being any good after sitting there in the desert for God knows how long were not good . After returning the duster and shirts to where I had found them , I pulled the chair up to the table , sat down , and turned my attention once again to the canteen . I quickly pulled the cork from the opening and sniffed the contents . It didn 't smell bad , so I dribbled a few drops onto my tongue . It didn 't taste great , but I was thirsty enough to chance being sick , because at that point I was very dehydrated and would die in the desert the next day if I didn 't get some moisture in me . Just as I was tilting my head back and raising the canteen to my mouth , a thought struck me . I did not have to chance anything . I could use half of the canteen 's contents to prime the pump , and if the well was dry , I would still have the other half for tonight and tomorrow . One way or the other , I was going to drink water that night even if it killed me . At least I would not die with my tongue hanging out , swollen from thirst . I grabbed the candle , for it had gotten dark by then , and went out to the pump . I 'm a city boy , there was only one other time I have had the pleasure of meeting a hand pump that pumped water up from a well . On that occasion , the pump needed priming and I watched my associate as he repeatedly primed and pumped , primed and pumped . So I felt pretty confident I wouldn 't screw things up by putting the water in the wrong place , like the spout , which is probably what I would have done if not for my previous experience with a pump . I placed the candle on the ground so I could uncork the canteen ; the candle gave just enough light so I could see what I was doing . With one hand , I poured water into the pump , and with the other , I took hold of the long handle at its end and started to pump . Up and down , faster and faster . The water seemed to be going in at an alarming rate , but I still poured and pumped . I had gone through more than half of that precious liquid and was about to halt my endeavor when the first few drops came out of the spout . And with every downward motion of the handle , more water came pouring out onto the ground until it was a raging torrent … a small raging torrent granted , but I had no complaints . Then I could stand it no longer . I put my head under the spout , face up and mouth open , as I continued to pump . I have never tasted water so sweet in my entire life . And that would include any bottled water you may wish to proffer . After I had drunk my fill , I poured the contents of the canteen onto the ground and pumped a small quantity of water into it . I sloshed it around for a moment and emptied that also onto the ground . Then I filled the canteen , recorked it , and went back into the shack . Now that the water situation was taken care of , I could have gone for a light dinner , but hey … ya cain 't have everything . When I got back into the shack , I closed the door . As I 've said , I 'm a city boy . I didn 't want any desert critters coming in during the night , looking to start up a friendship with Yours Truly . In all likelihood , if any of the denizens of the desert did enter during the night , it would have been for the warmth of my body rather than my friendship . I allude to Crotalus Oreganu , better known as the western rattlesnake . I 've heard that they like to snuggle up with human beings at night for our body heat . So the door would remain closed until morning . I saw nothing in the first three corners . But in the fourth , leaning against the wall , was a shovel and pickaxe , and on the floor lay a saddle and reins . There were no Crotalus Oreganu present , thank God , but there was a presence of another kind . Of course , I am speaking of Hank . A bed stood against the back wall . I had not noticed it earlier because of my preoccupation with the canteen and the darkness of the room vis - à - vis the limited light of the candle . Upon the bed lay Hank . Now Hank wasn 't the most talkative hombre I 've ever had the pleasure to meet . But that might have been because he was dead . Holding the candle over the bed , I saw a human skeleton completely intact , probably because it was a bit mummified . The dry desert air will do that to a corpse . The skin was drawn tight and shrunken . For some reason , the eyeballs were missing . The skull was still attached to the neck . The hair of the cadaver was jet black and full . If the hair had been all that I could see , I 'd have sworn it belonged to a young man who was still among the living . The eye sockets , as I 've said , were empty and dark . The missing eyeballs were a mystery I was in no hurry to solve . Years later when I mentioned it to someone , I was told that insects had probably eaten them . Starting from the top and working down , he had a red bandana tied around his neck , and a faded cotton shirt ( because of the light I could not tell what the original color was ) . He had on a pair of Levi 's , held up - well , not at the moment , but in life - by a belt with a square buckle that looked to be tarnished silver , with the name " Hank " engraved onto it . And on the belt was a knife in a sheath . His feet were covered by beige - colored socks . It seems his boots were off when he died . I don 't know if it 's more advantageous to die with your boots on or off , I 'll leave that up to the individual . I then moved the candle a little lower still , and perceived on the wooden floor , next to the bed , a pair of scuffed boots , black in color , one lying on its side . Oh yeah … I forgot to tell you . Everything - Hank , the table , the floor , the bed … I mean everything - in that shack was covered with a thick layer of dust . I sat at the table , purposely not looking over to where Hank lay in repose . I was staring at the table , the top of it to be precise , when I noticed what looked like a small depression on the edge closest to me . It looked like someone had carved something into the wood . I took a deep breath and blew the dust from that area . It allowed me to read clearly what had been carved . The message was a simple one : " Hank Wiley 1889 . " I reckon ol ' Hank had been hangin ' out here waiting for me , or someone like me , to come along for eighty years . The year was 1969 . However , more surprising than finding Hank , and almost as spiritually uplifting as getting the pump to work , was what I was about to stumble upon next . When I first saw the shack , I was so tired from the day 's march that I envisioned being asleep almost before the sun went down . However , " The best laid plans … " Finding the canteen and then finding Hank kinda got my juices flowing if ya know what I mean . So here I am , sittin ' in a one - room , thirty - by - thirty - foot , broken - down shack in the middle of the Arizona desert with an eighty - year old skeleton and I 'm wide - awake with nothing to do . So , like any good ex - Boy Scout , I went exploring . I took the candle and retraced my steps back to the bed and Hank . I knelt down next to the bed and placed the candle so the bottle that held it rested against Hank 's neck and chin . I first felt the two pockets of his shirt . Nothing . I rummaged in the left front pocket of his jeans , then the right . Nothing . I picked up the candle from its resting place and placed it on the floor . I wanted to check his back pockets . I put a hand on his shoulder and a hand on his hip , and I turned Hank onto his side . It was easy , I could have done it one handed he was so light . I held him in that position while I felt in the Levi 's rear pockets . The left pocket held nothing , but in the right , I felt something that might have been a wallet . I extracted it and lowered Hank back onto the bed . As I did so , his head became detached from the rest of his body and rolled onto its side , facing me . Those empty eye sockets seemed to say , " Why have you defiled me ? " I picked up the candle and returned to the table . It was not a wallet , but a piece of leather cut into a rectangle , about eight inches long and folded in half . Lying between the folds were an envelope , a piece of folded paper , and an old , faded photograph . It showed who I believed to be Hank ( the man had the same thick , black mane ) and a woman with hair as light as Hank 's was dark , standing at the tailgate of a wagon . And on the wagon was a banner of sorts . Because Hank and the woman were standing in front of it , there were only eight letters visible , two to the right of Hank ( " JU " ) and six to the left of the woman ( " ARRIED " ) . The banner obviously read " JUST MARRIED . " I looked at the picture for a long time . I thought of the unnamed woman and wondered whatever had become of her . She was quite pretty , and now as I write these words and I see once again that picture in my mind , I recall they were also very young , although , at the time , that did not enter into my thinking . Being nineteen and believing myself fully grown , I considered anyone else my age to also be an adult . But as I think of that picture today , at the tender age of sixty - seven , I know they were just kids ; they couldn 't have been more than nineteen themselves . I next removed the letter from its envelope . It had a return address of Boston , Massachusetts , and it was addressed to Mr . Henry Wiley c / o Forrester 's Hotel , Tucson , Arizona . Surprisingly , the paper was not brittle ; it was old and brown , but did not fall apart in my hands . The handwriting was feminine and it was addressed to " My dearest husband . " I did not read the letter just then . I put it to one side and opened the piece of folded paper . It also was a letter , but written in a different hand . This handwriting was masculine , and it started with " Dearest Andy . " Before I go on , I would like to digress , or jump ahead , whichever term is proper . All this happened forty - eight years ago , and for forty - eight years I 've held on to those two letters , never knowing the reason why . Through many incarnations - business man , criminal , fugitive , junkie , and now writer - I have kept these letters . While my mother was alive , they were kept safely at her home , and then in a bank safety deposit box . They sit before me as I write these words and I now know the reason I 've kept them all these years . It was so that one day I might share them with you . I will present them in the order they were written . The first one is dated 9 July 1888 , and it is from an Andrea Wiley to her dearest husband Hank Wiley . Without comment , this is the text of the letter . Do you know it has been twenty months since you went away ? I write you every week . Some of my letters are returned with the notation that you are not known at that locale . I pray that this letter gets to you , my love . This November will mark the second year of your absence . I miss you so very much . I am fine . I am making dresses for the ladies of society . My work is very well thought of , and I am kept quite busy . I do miss Kansas , but you were right , it is better that I stay with my mother while you are gone . Mother sends her love . Henry , I know we discussed this before you left , however , can you not come home now ? Yes , our farm in Kansas was doing poorly , and we both worked very hard . But you never heard me complain because I had no complaints . I loved you , and I loved our farm . I know you wanted things better for me . You did not want me to work so hard , you wanted to buy me fancy clothes and nice things . Henry , I never wanted any of that , I only wanted you . And by going away you have taken away the only thing I truly desired . Will you please come home ? There is a reason I ask this of you now . I know how stubborn you can be . Until you find your fortune in gold you will stay away . You will think that you have failed me . Henry , the only time you have failed me is when you went away . I have not wanted you to worry so I have refrained from telling you this before , but Henry , you have a son . He was born eight months after you left . His name is Henry Addison Wiley , Jr . and he looks just like you . His eyes are the same , and so is his smile . However , his hair is fair like mine . He needs a father . All the riches in all the world cannot take your place . Henry , you are not a failure , not with a son like Henry Jr . Please come home . I am starting to drop tears onto the paper and they will make the ink run . So I will close for now . Henry , know that I love you with all my heart and that I need you with me ; you are my treasure , you are my riches . Henry Jr . and I need you , please come home . I have just received your letter . I see by the date that you wrote it seven months ago . I don 't get down here that often , but my friend who works in the hotel kept the letter for me . The reason some of your letters have come back is if the owner of the hotel sees them before my friend , he sends them back . He and I do not get along . So I have a boy ? I cannot wait to see him and you too . I will be coming home shortly . I stumbled upon an abandoned shack and decided to use it as my headquarters . And what do you know , not two miles to the west I found my fortune . It is in a small outcropping of rock . It comes out of the ground and gradually slants upwards to about the height of three feet . The rock is about four feet thick , and right in the middle of it , running the whole length of the outcrop is a vein of pure gold nine inches thick . I shoveled the dirt away from where she comes out of the ground and the vein continues . It could go on for miles . But I have no plans to find out . I too miss you . I broke my pickaxe trying to break the rock away . I came down to Tucson to buy another one and to buy some chisels and a sledgehammer . If I had not found what I was desperately searching for these last two years , I would be leaving for home today . I just need to go back for one or two weeks . I am not greedy . I will only mine as much as I can carry on my horse . With it we can go back to Kansas and buy us a really good farm and hire us some help . You will not have to work so hard . I will mail this when I come back to Tucson so you will know that I am om my way . I want to write more , but will do so at night in the shack . Until then , kiss Henry Jr . for me . Hello , I am back in the shack . I have been here ten days and have all the gold I can carry . Tomorrow I start for Tucson , then for home . I cannot wait to see you and Henry Jr . As you know I am not much of a letter writer , so I 'll save my words until I see you . There was more to Hank 's letter , but it was written in a different hand , a hand that seemed to shake as it wrote . It is hard to read , but after all these years , I know what it says . The script is in one continuous sentence without punctuation . For ease of reading , I have added the correct punctuation and separated the words into sentences and the sentences into paragraphs . Here are the last words of Henry Addison Wiley , Sr . Wouldn 't you know it ? The night before leaving for home and you , I have to go and get myself bit by a rattlesnake . I lanced the punctures and sucked out the venom , but I don 't think it was enough , or I wasn 't fast enough . I am feeling light headed . I was getting packed up so I could get an early start in the morning , and I reached under the bed to pull out the box I keep the gold in , and a rattler bit me . I made short work of him with the shovel . But that doesn 't help me . I was going to transfer the gold from the box to canvas bags for the trip to Tucson . I don 't think I have much time so I better get down to what I want to say . You were right , Andy ; we were rich back in Kansas . I am so sorry I did not know it at the time . I guess staring Death in the face changes a man 's way of looking at things . I know of your love of animals . Before I got too weak I took the saddle and reins off my horse and set her free . You taught me of the dignity of animals . You were my shining light . I must have been crazy to have ever left you , now I will never know my son , and he will never know his father . Tell him of his father 's folly so he will know what is important in this life . Tell him that is something his father learned far too late . I have botched things up good . I write these words in the hope that someday someone will find them and forward them on to you . I want you to know that my last thoughts were of you . In the end , I have failed you … I am so sorry . Not for me , but for leaving you and Henry Jr . to the mercy of this world while I am in another . If possible , I will look after you from my new world as I have never looked after you in this one . All my love … After reading the two letters , I sat in the chair and just watched the candle burn . My thoughts were of Andrea and Hank , of their life on the farm in Kansas . I thought of Hank Jr . and wondered what kind of man he grew up to be . I think … no , I am pretty damn sure that reading those two letters is the reason I have had a life - long aversion to acquiring material wealth . By now it was getting light out , but I kept the candle burning because I wanted to see something . I went over to the bed and knelt down . I used the candle to see if there were any snakes under the bed . When I didn 't see any , I grabbed the box that was under there by one hand and pulled . It did not move . I put the candle down , and using both hands , I dragged the box from under the bed . It was very heavy . When I slid it far enough out so I could see the contents , I lifted the candle and held it over the box . What I saw were two canvas bags lying on top of something . With my right hand , I removed the bags to expose rocks that reflected the light of the candle as a prism would . The light bounced off those rocks and reflected on the wall like one of those disco ball things that hang over dance floors in night clubs . The rocks , of course , were pure gold . I call them rocks because that is what they were . They were not puny , little nuggets of gold ; no , they were substantial rocks of gold . I looked on in amazement for a few minutes before replacing the canvas bags and sliding the box back under the bed . I can see how some can easily come down with gold fever . I must admit , for one half a second , I too had the fever . But the memory of what I had just read was all I needed to cure me . I got up off my knees and walked over to the table . I folded the two letters , putting Andrea 's back in its envelope . I put them both in the back pocket of my jeans . Leaving the piece of leather on the table , I picked up the picture of Hank and Andrea . I walked over and unclasped Hank 's hands , now I had no qualms about touching him . I placed the picture between his hands and laid his hands back on his belly . Then I gently put his head back into the position it was when I found him . I stood over him for a moment or two before saying out loud : " Hank old buddy , if you don 't mind , I 'm goin ' borrow your canteen . I am sorry for disturbing you last night , but you and your lovely wife have been very good company . The rocks that you gave up so much for are where you left them . I have no need for them any more than you have . I know Andrea and your son are with you now , and I am glad for all of you . Thank you for your hospitality , and I 'll be seein ' you someday up yonder . " I left the shack , closing the door behind me . Three hours later , I could hear the highway 's whine . An hour after that , I was standing on the side of US Highway 90 , hitchin ' my way to California . I have stopped writing . It 's been almost two months now . I 've written a paragraph here and there , but that 's all . My new story haunts me in the night . During the day , it calls out to me . It needs me , its creator , to give it birth . But I refuse its entreaties day after day . Why am I not writing ? Is it because I don 't know where next to take the story ? Or is it that I am just too goddamn lazy to go to work ? It 's got to be one or the other - or so I thought . But this morning , I had an epiphany . They have me now . I was stupid enough to get caught after that gas station robbery . What 's the big fucking deal ? We got only forty bucks . The cops came a - shootin ' . My man Daryl took a bullet to the head . Under the law , I was charged with murder in the second degree because someone died in the commission of a felony . How do you like that shit ? The cops didn 't have to shoot . We were not armed … we carried toy guns . Of course , I was convicted . It was an all - white jury . What else can a black man expect in America ? Now I 'm looking at twenty years to life . I sit in my cell and think of my girl . Her skin is chestnut brown in color . It 's the softest thing I 've ever known … next to the love she has given me . Her smile used to send me to heaven . But I can 't see her smile no more . Her name is Gloria . She was my life . Now my life is trying not to get shivved in the food line . She has written me , asking to visit . I will not allow it ! I do not want her to see me in a cage . I wrote her back and told her to forget me . Get herself a man as unlike me as possible . It really don 't matter no more . I will not live my life in a cage . Big Dog runs us blacks in this place . He is big , I 'll give him that . We are in the yard … the whites are on the far side … the spics opposite . And us niggers have the middle ground . I rush at Big Dog looking like I 'm holding a shiv . I 'm not . One of his lieutenants cuts me down before I can get close . by Andrew JoyceJune 1 , 2017 A friend of mine by the name of Deke Solomon asked me to post a story he has written . I don 't know how true it is , but knowing Deke , I reckon there 's a lot of truth in what you are about to read . So here it is . Last spring I went into a farm & home store an ' got me a big ol ' stoneware crock . It was one of about fifty on a display rack . They was all round . They was all sandy brown , an ' they was all replicas of the same original . Each of ' em bore the same trademark : under the glaze in big , blue letters , " Howard Smythe 1839 " lent an air of bogus antiquity to the things . They was all of a size , too . Ever one of ' em looked like it 'd hold about five gallons o ' whatever I wanted to fill it with . On my way to the checkout , my imagination went to work . My mind 's eye saw the crock in my cart fill up with potting soil an ' vermiculite an ' about a gallon o ' sand . It was out on my sunny , south lawn , an ' it looked real prosperous with a six - foot , Brandywine tumater stickin ' straight up out the top of it . In fact , it looked so good sittin ' there that I went back and loaded two more of the things in my cart . Then I went to the checkout an ' from there to my car . When I got home , Landlady watched me unload . Them phony antiques caught her eye just as they 'd caught mine . She asked , " You bought three o ' them things ? " " Well , I guess there 's three of ' em , " I said . " I counted ' em on one hand about a dozen times , an ' ever ' time I count ' em I awlus got two fingers left when I 'm done . Why you wanna know ? " " I need one fer mah bizness ! " she sassed . Then she cleeked one o ' my crocks an ' ran off around the corner of the house . I don 't know where she hid the thing , but I do know I couldn 't find it noplace . So I made use of the two she 'd left me . I set a Brandywine in one of ' em , just like I planned . The second crock hosted one o ' Radiator Charley 's famous Mortgage Lifters . I never have any luck with Radiator Charley , but I keep tryin ' ' cuz Charley 's big , deeply orange tumaters awlus show so pretty when I see ' em at farmers ' markets . They look bold , an ' thick slices taste delicious served on a plate with a mound of large - curd cottage cheese on the side . Top all that with a little salt an ' pepper . . . . Enough o ' that , I guess . The meal was char - broiled chicken ' longside mustard greens wilted with sowbelly an ' scallions an ' a little Creole seasoning . I served it with my own cornbread and my ma 's tater salad . ( I stole the recipe after Ma died a few years ago , an ' I never share it with anybody . ) We had some o ' Landlady 's good deviled eggs , too , an ' they was homemade vanilla ice cream , an ' Landlady built a pineapple upside - down cake that she 'll probly regret for all eternity . She capped her feast when she set my stolen crock on the table , filled it almost level full of iced tea , an ' put a dipper in it so 's her guests could help their selves . Landlady 's guests were the women 's auxiliary from the local chapter of the American Legion . Whoopee ! What a bunch of nasty ol ' hens they are . I listened while the flock sat and ate an ' cackled about everyone in town they didn 't like an ' why they didn 't like ' em . Near as I can figger , not one of ' em likes anybody in town but her own self . They don 't even seem to like each other . Most of the food was left over after the first half - hour . " We got to watch our weight ! " was the unanimous apology . In their favor was the fact that they did gobble the chicken , an ' my tater salad disappeared like magic . ( I never knowed anybody could pass that up . ) So I took the bowl in the house an ' refilled it from a bigger bowl I had stashed in the ' fridge . So I played her game . I had a story handy , an ' I tole it : " Well , you can see that crock was made in 1839 . Who owned it first ? I haven 't a clue . Fam ' ly tradition says my great , great , great , great grampa Elmore acquired it in 1846 - that was the year of Iowa statehood , ya know . Story is that Elmore kep the crock in his bedroom for forty years . Ever mornin ' when he got up an ' ever night afore bed he drained his bladder into that thing . Once a week , then , he took it out in the yard an ' dumped it on the vegitubble garden . " When Elmore died , he s ' posedly left the crock to his oldest son , Allan , who shared it with his wife ' n ' kids . Ever mornin ' an ' ever night , they all stood in line waitin ' to use that crock . Bein 's how they was six of ' em , I s ' pose Allan had to dump it more often than Elmore did . Still an ' all , it did ' em good service an ' they took good care of it . Look it over you 'll notice there ain 't a mark on the thing . " So it stayed in our fam ' ly down through the years . When it finally came to me , I put it in the garden shed an ' kep it there . Now I 'm in a pickle ' cuz I found two replicas of it at the farm & home store a few months ago . Landlady set my two replicas in the shed with the heirloom . They 's all identical an ' I cain 't tell ' em apart . I used two of ' em to set tumaters in . You can see ' em out there on the south lawn . The third one is right here in front of you . You been drinkin ' out of it right along , so I s ' pose I got to tell you I got no idea which crock is which . That one on the table could be Grampa Elmore 's crock , or it could be one o ' them new ones I got at the store . It 's anybody 's guess . " They all turned kind o ' greenish like , an ' thanked me for the meal . Then they made excuses an ' split muy rápido , as the Mexicans say . I got no earthly idea why the preacher 's wife stood up an ' jiggled her fat arse down to the end of the table , where she sat down on a freestandin ' bench . ' Parently , Mrs . Preacher didn 't notice the pineapple upside - down cake that Landlady had put - right - side up - on a sheet pan before she set the sheet pan on the flat top of that bench so 's to make more room on the table . Preacher 's wife stood up a lot quicker than she 'd set down but still , by the time she scraped the pineapple jelly off her two - acre backside , two of her friends - in their rush to leave - crashed their cars together an ' locked bumpers over on the driveway . Then one of ' em , still tryin to get away , gunned her engine an ' ripped the front bumper off the other 's car . Both cars had plenny o ' paint damage by that time . The one lost her bumper grabbed a cell phone an ' called the cops . Many years ago I used to read a motorcycle magazine . The editor awlus maintained that " There is no human situation so mizzerble that it cannot be made worse by the presence of a policeman . " I believed him then , and now I have proof that truer words was never spoke . Four sheriff 's deputies showed up in two cars ' bout fifteen minutes after the woman made that call . The women was still in the driveway . They was yellin ' an ' shriekin ' an ' callin ' names an ' pointin ' fingers at me an ' at each other . One o ' the deputies came over and asked me what was the matter . I didn 't get to answer , though , ' cuz just then he spotted a rusty ol ' pickup , a derelict , parked out back of the house . He noticed in pertic ' lar that it was missin ' a headlight bucket . It was missin ' a lot of other things too , but the headlight seemed like the only thing he was worried about . Next thing , he asked me for my driver 's license . I gave it to him . He went to his car , got on his radio , an ' ran my numbers . When he came back he handcuffed me and said he had to run me in . " No Sir , " I said . " I was drivin ' a Freightliner when I was ticketed in Kansas six years ago for havin ' a headlight out . An ' I did go to court . An ' I did pay a forty - dollar fine . I paid the fine with a U . S . Postal money order , an ' I still got the numbered stub to show if ya wanna see it . Surely you don 't believe a man 'd drive a nice truck like that one to a shit - hole like Kansas ! Do ya ? " You might also notice that there pickup ain 't no Freightliner . It 's a Ford . It 's parked there ' cuz it don 't run no more . It ain 't been plated in seven years an ' it only hangs around here ' cuz the nearest junkyard is thirty miles away . It don 't run so it cain 't drive itseff to the junkyard . I cain 't drive it neither , an ' I don 't wanna pay to have it towed . " Landlady came in to see me this mornin ' . She brought me a big plate - load o ' city - ham sandwiches . Deputies grabbed the sandwiches straight off , said they 'd check ' em for contraband and bring ' em right back . I knew better , but what 's a guy to do ? Landlady told me that the car with no bumper is still blockin ' our driveway . She said she complained to the sheriff about the car before she came in the cell block to see me . She also said ol ' Pineapple Butt is gonna sue us for wreckin ' her ugly gingham dress , which she swears is a Ralph Lauren original . Mrs . Preacher 's threatened lawsuit is the only good news out of the whole thing . I 'll be distappointed if she don 't sue , ' cuz I wanna be at the trial in case the judge orders her to drop her panties an ' hike up her dress so the court can see all the pineapple scars she 's got on her big , fat behind . I 'd gladly spend five years in Kansas if only I could see that happen . Facing death is a life - changing experience and one that most of us fear . The first time I faced this monster , I paced and cried , ranted and cursed its arrogance . The second time , I tightened my mid - section and refused to acknowledge it ; but I couldn 't sleep . The third time , I took in a deep breath , sat down , and closed my eyes . In a flash , I saw myriad lifetimes pass before me - incarnations I was fortunate to have lived . Post was not sent - check your email addresses ! Email check failed , please try again Sorry , your blog cannot share posts by email . % d bloggers like this :