21 Tales

by Jerry L

  I felt kinda foolish a giggin that pore little girl like that… but gal-durn it was hot… and I can’t abide fools! “Well then, shit, missy. I thought you was a startin the interview!” I apologized, “I’m a sorry rude son-a-gun. Go head on and break that ice! My granddaughter is a bringin’ out some tea if’n you want some.”

  She held out her hand and said “My name is Cherrel Ann Broach. Mr. Combs sent me to interview you for a ‘Human Interest’ story.’

  I shook her hand and asked, “You related to Edith Broach over by Seiverville?’

  Cherrel replied, “She was my Great Aunt. She spoke of your wife and yourself very kindly.” The girl retrieved one of them little recorder things from her purse and a small notebook with a pen attached to it.

  I asked, “Edith, she’s passed over then?’

  The girl seemed kind of flustered, “Er… yes sir, early last year. The cancer got her.”

  I ruminated for awhile trying to remember the whole story. I reckoned I’d jus’ tell it as I remembered it a happenin’. “I saved her from downing when she was about fifteen or sixteen. Theys a bunch of kids fooling around down at the bridge ouer Sugar crick. Your Aunt dived in and hit her head on something… I expect it was one a them Ford motors that drunk Bigelow kid lost off the back of his pickup truck back in the forties.” He informed her, “Course that were afore the county put them railing up.”

  He ruminated for a few seconds and continued, “My wife and I was a passing by in our old truck. Well then, I seed her go down and never come up so’s I jumped in and finally found her down on the bottom stuck in some rocks. I got er loose, dragged her out, and pumped the water outa her right there on that dirt bank. Pretty soon she come around and wernt no worse for the experience that anyone could see.

  We come back around later on our way home an she shore had a lump on her head, but she was a eatin watermelon… and after that, I seed her around, and she din’t seem anymore addled than my own teenaged girls.”

  The girl smiled and said, “Yes sir, I have heard that story before. Except that the stream was in flood from the rain and you had to fight the current while holding onto my Aunt for almost a half mile. You not being a swimmer and all. My family thinks very highly of you Mr. Byrne, very highly indeed!’

  The old man snorted in disdain and said “Well then, stories do have a way of growin with time, but you was correct, I never did take up with frolicin in the water much. Besides, them fish their gonna shit jist like you and me! They gotta, and there aint no place for them to go but in tha water. I jist don’t hold with frolickin in fish shit, if ya get my meaning! In my days, I ain’t gonna lie… I drank my share of fish piss crick water… but I didn’t like it!’

  Cherrel had been a state champion swimmer for three years running, but chose not to say anything about the joy she found frolicking in water. She stopped recording as the old man’s Great grand-daughter brought out the tea. The girl was about twelve or thirteen as close as Cherrel could tell. They both thanked her as she sat down the glasses on the table. Before leaving the girl said “Poppa, are you going to tell her about when you was a bank robber?’

  He knew that them G Men had long memories and he wasn’t sure that eighty years was long enough for them to lose interest in a small bank robbin, “Ain’t nobody wanna hear about no robbin!” The old man shooed the girl back in the house.

  Cherrel asked “You were a bank robber?’

  The old man had a mischievous gleam in his eye. He figured; ‘Ah what the hell… he ain’t never told nobody the story’ he took a sip of tea and said, “Well then, I only jist robbed that one. My wife and I got this place here with that robbery money.” He studied the rivulets of sweat running down the sides of the glass before stating, “Some folks maybe have different ideas how this here country got to be started. They think cause it’s all nice and purty now, that twas always so!”

  He shook his head, “Taint true missy! First them folk before us had to whip them Messicans… and then fight them Yankees. That one we lost, but it weren’t fer lack of tryin! Then when the war was over them folk had kill off all them damn Comanche! Then when the first German war was over and them dry gulchin rancher’s cowboys was gone… farmin started. Me and my people and yours broke out this here land with horses, oxen, an mules.

  Twas Black new free folk, Indians, and us pore assed Whites what done it! With our hands. We was all the same in them days let me tell you that. Damn hard work from sun up to sundown. Every day cept Sunday. My old woman she loaded them kids and took them to services each Sabbath day reglar as clock work. My wife used to pray fer Jeasus to help us… but I never did hold with that… cause I never seen Jeasus or any them preacher folk a helpin me grub stumps!” he waved a gnarled hand in the air, “That Bible stuff all took place near two thousand yer ago! What does that have to do with milkin a damn mean cow in Texas?

  The girl asked “Did you and your wife come to Texas in a covered wagon then Mr. Byrne?”

  He chuckled “Naw, we came in a Ford truck with a box on the back. We came in style I reckon. I told ya, people have wrong notions about how this here country got settled.” She asked, “Where did you meet Mrs. Byrne?” Cherrel had an idea like at an ice cream social but with this old codger, she was pretty sure it wasn’t in church… or at a church picnic!

  The old man’s voice went flat. He said “She was a buck nekid and tied to the limb of an old Hickory tree. Her husband was fixen to start whippin her with a horse whip when I shot his sorry ass!”

  The girl glanced at the recorder and said only. “Oh shit! Uh… sorry… I mean WOW!”

  The man gave her a tight smile and said, “Oh Shit indeed!” She apologized and asked if he wanted her to stop recording. He was quiet for a minute and finally said, “Do you want to hear a real ‘Human Interest’ story? The story of how one of the pioneer families everyone is so proud of, came to be in JEB Stuart County, Texas?’

  She said “Yes Sir, please.”

  The old man’s great grand-daughter and her mother came out and quietly sat in the porch swing. The woman took up a ball of yarn and began knitting.

  The old man joked “Mary Ann, You aint a gonna need warm clothes for a spell yet I’m a thinkin.’

  The woman retorted, “Poppa… We’ll see if you want this muffler I’m knitting come next winter when that ‘Norther’ comes a callin. It’ll be a different story then won’t it? Go on with your story if you don’t mind. I have never heard the whole of it and Lucille hasn’t either.”

  The old man took a drink of tea and cleared his throat. “I was born in Shelter Alabama on October 10th 1900. My dad named me Robert E. Lee Carrick.”

  His grand-daughter stopped knitting and looked at him, “Poppa, did you forget your name?”

  He shook his head, “Naw, I ain’t lost them marbles yet.”

  You aren’t Robert Abraham Bryne?”

  The old man shook his head, “Naw… I kinda borrowed the name”

  She asked drily, “You borrowed it for your whole life?”

  He assured her, “I couldn’t never a been no Abraham anyway! Ole Abe was a DamnYankee!“ he chuckled, “My Pap and my uncle was un-reconstructed ‘Rebels’ and they passed on them rebel names to their kids. We were all Lees, Jacksons, Mosbys, or Davis’es. The whole lot of us Carricks was born Johnny Rebs! On the Fourth of July we flew only the Confederate flag at our house.

  I was seventeen when Pershing went down to Mexico. I joined up and went along with him. We fooled around down there for awhile drinking Tequila and chasing Pancho in circles until we got tired and came home. They sent us to France til the war was over. That’s where I got them German pistols. Them and a twenty-dollar gold piece was about all I had to show for two years in the Army.

  The young girl said, “You got them medals of yours Poppa. The ones the president gave you. Remember?”

  The old man said “Yes Lucille I do got them medals that dried up Yankee turd Woodrow Wilson give me in person and ifn you want the
m when I’m gone, you can have them.’ She said “Why, thank you Poppa. Thank you very much.”

  The old man continued. “I reckon we brung back the influenza from Europe when we came back, cause it swept the country in ‘18' an ‘19'.” He told the girl from the newspaper, “Missy, ifn you don’t believe me, jist take yourself out to that bone yard south of town and look at all them pore women and babies that died in ‘18' and ‘19'. Theres a passel of em. The Goddamn French influenzas what done it.

  By the time I finally made it back home to Shelter bout everyone had died of the damn plague. Mom was Pap’s second wife. His first wife and their three kids was killed in a train wreck down in Georgia. That was why Pap was older than Mom.

  When that influenza showed up Mom, Sis, and two brothers went right down one after another. Bam… bam… bam… bam…!” he snaped his fingers four times, “Well… Shortly after I got back Pap was took by a heart stroke. He lingered about long enough to use up what money we had left and when I had to sell the land… he finally died. The county had to foot the bill, thats how broke we was. I had to dig the hole myself and bury him in the Pauper’s Cemetery.

  He had a sad look on his face, “A few years back… in 1961they had a big doin fer the Confederate dead and I got Pap’s discharge papers, so I went back there. I found my family’s grave stones but I couldn’t find Pap’s grave.” He frowned, “They put his name on a rock monument down there… you can go see it if you want.”

  He shrugged and waved a hand back to the east, “Well, back then… after the war… I guess I went a little crazy for awhile. I took to ‘Hellin’ around and drinkin about then.”

  Me and a couple of them ole Army buddies got to fightin with a bunch of them raggedy assed town marshals down in Birmingham one night and we beat them boys pretty bad I reckon. They was two of them a billy whippin a black boy for a walkin on the sidewalk. Imagine that! Why, it was damn near to dark. Who in the hell is gonna see a black feller walking on the sidewalk at night? Ifn he don’t grin… ya ain’t gonna see em!” He shook his head, still mystified, all these years later at the ignorance of his fellow man.

  He continued, “We told them ‘Johnny Laws’ to quit cause we could see that they was a gonna kill that man. They was aimin too I figured out later. They told us to “Get your Nig lovin asses outa there ifn we didn’t want what a big dose of what thet black boy was a gettin!”

  The old man shook his head, “Sgt. Silas Main had been with them French Foreign Legion boys before we came to Europe and he jined us in the American Army. He had some good friends in that Legion outfit that was black Mo-roccan and he didn’t take kindly to what we was seeing. He warned them ‘Law Dogs’ one more time to back off whippin that boy!

  They drew they guns and told him to piss off! Silas took them boys guns and then proceeded to lower the boom on their sorry asses. It was not pretty, not pretty a-tall. One of them had a whistle and he blowed it once before I knocked it inta his mouth an down his throat.” He chuckled at the memory. “Evertime he tried to breathe… that damn whistle whistled!” No one else smiled. He continued, “We had em whipped and beggin for mercy when a bunch more of them showed up in a Ford car. That black boy tried to cut and run off up an alley. The bastards back shot that boy about three or four times til he was dead.

  I had them German pistols in my valise and I figured that it was way past time I broke them out. Silas had a Colt revolver and ole Pee Wee picked up them two cop’s guns. I’m all tuckered out in my ole age now, but I was a piss slinger in them days let me tell you! We had learned a thing or two in them trenches that them boys didn’t know and we showed em how to shoot.

  Pee Wee shot them two ole boys that we had whupped. It may sound cold to you ladies a sittin on this porch, but you can’t leave an enemy alive behind yore back. We knowed it then and them Jap bastards taught it to us agin in the ‘40's. It aint smart and it jist aint good tactics. We knowed tactics. The Krauts taught em to us and we was passing the teaching on to them Bulls.

  Another car load of them blue coated Bastards showed up a sliding around that far corner. By now, it was purty dark on that street and they couldn’t see too good. At least that driver couldn’t I guess. He ran over one of those marshals that was tryin to skedaddle.

  When he hit that first ole boy it musta scared him, an he ran that big ole Packard sedan smack inta a Tobacco shop. We stopped a shootin and started a laughin. Them boys a ridin on the runnin board went a flyin through the air like birds!” he grinned around his false teeth and made a flying motion with his hand, “I reckon it wernt so funny, what with that ran over man a screamin and all. But it sure was to us boys. They coulda made one of those ole Keystone Kops movies right there in that Birmingham street if it wasnt so dark. The horn was a honkin on that old Packard something fierce.

  As they had came round that corner, I had seen that one of those men had himself one of them new-fangled ‘Tommy’ guns. I told the boys to watch out for it. We wernt scared of it or anything like that. We knowed that the dang things wernt good for nothing but clearing trenches and houses. I jist told them to be careful cause I had seen it.

  We had started towards those cars still a shootin when that ‘Tommy’ gun man pops up from behind a fender and lets off a burst an hunkers back down real quick like. Those bullets hit Pee Wee in the face and chest. We knowed he was done for…. Sgt Silas said “I see where you are you sneaky blue coat bastard! Were a commin to get ya!”

  The bad thing was, neither of us saw the guy with the pump gun til he shot it. Ole Silas was a big man an he took most of that twelve gauge 00 shot. I shot that Bull twicet in the face as the ‘Tommy’ gun guy jumped up and let go with it. Only thing was, it jammed up on him and I shot him in the shoulder. He dropped that gun and went to beggin. The rest of those no count suckers had went a runnin an left him. I walked over to him. I was a fixin on blowin his damn fool head off.

  He was a cryin and was a sayin that “He had been fightin the Bolsavicks in Russia and had finally jist got back from the war… and… had himself a little girl at home and another baby on the way. Would I spare him please?”

  “I studied on it for a minute. Well then, I’ve killed men for sure, but I’m not a killer, you see tha difference?’

  On that quiet porch in the middle of Texas the three women looked at each other. Obviously they couldn’t see the difference. The old man shrugged his shoulders and continued. “Finally I says, ‘Fella, you right handed?’”

  He says, “Yeah Sir, I am. Why?’

  “I says, ‘Hold out your mitt. I’m gonna shoot it! That away you aint a gonna be doin no more a Coppin are you?”

  He was a shakin like a hound tryin to shit a peach seed… but held out his hand before sayin “I reckon not. Ifn ya let me live.”

  “I shot him through his hand.” All three of the women’s eyes were as big as fifty-cent pieces!

  The old man continued, “Silas drew his last breath as I gathered up my valise and pulled the unconscious fellow from behind the wheel of the Packard. I threw the ‘Tommy’ gun in the back and left outa there in a hurry. The Bulls musta just filled that car up because I made it to Hardin Tennessee before needin gas.

  I filled her up with my last five dollars and noticed the bank up the street had jist opened. It being the first of the month I had myself an idea. I’d rob that place and maybe mosey on back down to Mexico fer a spell. I told yall that I musta been a little touched in the head in those days didnt I?” all of the women nodded their heads in unison.

  “I shot a U turn in the middle of the street and shut her off in front of that bank. Little did I know that the Sheriff, two of his deputies, and the town Marshal were having breakfast in the diner across the street. Now, you havta understand, although I don’t go to church, I have come to believe that there is a God who looks out after stupid people!”

  He mused for a moment. “A kinda ‘Moron God’ he is. Maybe one of the slower ones that the real God hasta put to work. You know, like his sisters
boy that aint all there. But he needs a job of work, so you find him one that aint too taxing. Anyway his job is to look out after Retards, Mongoloids, Drunks, Holy-rollin Pentecostal preachers, and a certain bank robber in Hardin Tennessee!

  Well, that there ‘Dummy God’ he was on duty that day fer sure, and he had his work cut out fer him. I’d gone through a small rain squall just before entering town and that Birmingham police car was a lookin pretty clean and shiny let me tell you! It had one of them nickel silver sirens and a big ole spotlight on the hood. It looked ‘Official’ and that’s what threw that bank president I guess.

  I had no more than got the ‘Tommy’ gun outa the back when he came a bustling outa the bank. He was a dapper little man with a wig on his head…”

  Lucille interrupted to inform him that it was called a ‘Toupee’ it came from France. The old man averred that, “He had been in France and he had never heard a wig called a ‘Toup-a’!”

  She shrugged her shoulders and stated that, “Maybe they invented the name after he had left. After all it had been almost eighty years!” The girl’s mother sent her in for more tea.

  Lucille returned with the tea and he continued, “The bank president’s name was Bledsoe. He said, “You must be Mr. Campbell from the Wells Fargo Company?” I assured him that indeed I was and we shook hands. He said “I don’t believe we will be needing the gun this time! There’s nary a robber in sight!” The street was almost deserted. I put the gun back in the car and we went inside. I signed several papers Robert E. Lee Campbell much to his delight. He was a Southern Sympathizer as was my father. He said, “The bags were ready shall we lock them in the trunk or will they be alright riding in the front with you?” I said, “The front will jist be fine. That way, I kin keep my eyes on them!” We loaded those three leather bags in the front of my car. We shook hands and I got the hell otta there!’