“Don’t That Beat All!” (true life musin’s of a country boy)

Heaven’s to Betsy!

Hey.  My name’d be Liam.  Liam Goodwell.  Of the Denton County Goodwells.

And I been here before.  Lots.

I been tasked and nigh’ on encouraged by somethin’ a’stirrin’ in my insides, and Miss Meadow down to the school, to put down to paper my comin’s and goin’s and my thinkin’ on the same.  That Miss Meadow give me a stack o’ Big Chief’s with which I am assumin’ she ‘spects me to fill, I feel the tug pullin’ even harder.

Gettin’ me a schoolyear callous on the inside o’ my middle finger from all this pennin’, I am.  Not that I’d complain much.  Miss Meadow, she stopped by the house jest yester’dee  doin’ her early summer checkin’ on all us kids.  Right nice of her.  And she lit up right now when Mama tol’ her I was heads down and a’writin’ to who laid a chunk.

So I shall continue.

Last we chatted, you and me, I was shoulderin’ a quandry bigger’n, well, my thirteen-year-old shoulders could bear.    Ol’ Brother Beane, our feisty ol’ preacher down to the Pentecostal Church us and near ever’body else within a country mile attended reg’lar, well, I figured he’d done made a deal with the Devil hisself.

Now, I reckon I’d wudn’t without fault,  I’d done my fair share o’sinnin’, too, if you was to consider listenin’ to a conversation I wudn’t a party to a sin.

I console myself it ain’t one of them “Seven Deadlies” I ain’t never memorized.  I should likely get on that, I s’pose.

(There I go, digressin’ again.)

Well, sir, what I heard near wrent me in two.  Ol’ Brother Beane, he was a talkin’ to a weasely-lookin’ feller, whose name I later discovered only happened to be Lyle P. T. Wendzel.  I reckon my second sin is lack of respect in not takin’ good enough care to get the feller’s name right.  I been heard to refer to the gentleman as “Brother Weasel” on more than one occasion.

Grandpap only thought it was funny once.  Mama didn’t never and give me that look.  I been tryin’ my durnest to walk the straight an’ narrow ever’ since, I tell you what!

Well, this here Brother Lyle P.T. WENDZEL, he’s been holdin’ a revival down to the church for nigh on three weeks now.  We, bein’ of the faithful, we been attendin’, all us Goodwells, fillin’ a pew and a half ever evenin’ and twice on Sundays.  Brother Wea–WENDZEL (Lord help me please!), he’s a full blown travellin’ evangelist.  He come to save souls, lead us all in the path of righteousness, and lead us through the eye of the needle towards them pearly gates to live forevermore in the bosom of Abraham!  Amen and Amen!

Oh, we get all het up, fer sure!  The man can sing up a storm, all the parts from lowest bass to them high tenor notes!  He plays the guitar fer hisself and can tickle the keys of the pi-anner till I figure they’re like to fall right off!  He stomps his feet and shouts and cries and laughs and bounces up on his toes!  He near knows the whole Bible by heart and urges us saints to read through the Good Book front to back, Begats to Rev’lations in one year!  He can call down the angels from heaven!  He can send demons fleein’ for their smokin’ and dancin’  and drinkin’ little lives!  Folk’s even fallin’ right down in a dead faint when he pushes his palm to they foreheads!  I seen it happen!  Ever’ night it seems!

Now, the Good Lord and I always had us a agreement.  I believe firm I am saved and worshed in the blood of Jesus.  I raised my hand durin’ an invitation reco’nizin’ I was a sinner, but now I’m saved by grace and I truly, truly know that in my heart.

What’s also causin’ a ruckus in my heart, how-some-ever,  is that conversation I’ll admit to listenin’ to on the sly.  Ol’ Brother Beane, why, he and Brother Weas-WENDZEL, they colluded together to share the takin’s from the offerin’ basket come the end of ever’ service.

Seems to me that offerin’ is fer God and his works and Sunday School papers and sech.  Now ain’t splitin’ that offerin’ ‘twixt themselves a sin?  Ain’t that a big one?  And ain’t both them fellers “men of God?”

I’ll admit I’m a strugglin’.  And seein’ as I ain’t got me one shredded piece of proof, they ain’t no way in HECK (Don’t tell Mama!) I’ll be a’sharin’ this bit of in-formation with no livin’ soul, sanctified or not.

God ain’t chastised me none, neither.  Fact is, I feel right righteous ’bout the whole thing.  ‘Cept maybe that eavesdroppin’ part.  But the Good Lord, He ‘llows me to roll all this ’round my head, a’sortin’ and a’ponderin’.  He’s ‘llowin’ me to even sit skeptical-like durin’ the takin’ of the offerin’ without no guilt what-so-ever.

Luce knows somethin’s up, though, as I sit by her on that hard wooden pew, seein’ as I’ll jest watch the plate go by right ‘cross my lap, ‘thout touchin’ it nor passin’ it along.  Luce, ever’ night and twice on Sundays, has to reach clean ‘cross me and grab that offerin’ plate filled with coins and even paper money from my littler sister Loreen.

We sit in order of birth.  ‘Round the dinner table, too.  It’s what we Goodwells do.

Loreen, she don’t notice nothin’.  She’s but ten and is busy wide-eyed a’watchin’ all the happenin’s.  But Luce, me and her is close.  And she can sniff out trouble at the first whiff, even more when it’s a’comin’ from yours truly.

But she ain’t said not a thing.  Not to me nor to anybody else.  I may pay fer her silence one day but fer the right now, I am eternally thankful.

Here’s the rub.  She don’t ‘ppear to be the only one a’sensin’ I’m havin’ me some thoughts other’n them what should be on the Lord.

Seen Ol’ Brother Lyle P.T. WENDZEL steadyin’ his weasely eyes my di-rection more’n once.  I get me the shivvers but try to keep them shivvers tucked inside.

Now, he don’t know what I know. ‘Couldn’t possibly.   I cain’t even be sure what I know.  But he’s a’sniffin’ somethin’, too, and purty soon, I’m going to be a’needin’ me some guidance. This here is touchy stuff and too much fer a man-boy to handle.

(You’all should know I’m pausin’ here, a’gulpin’ hard.)

This here’s gonna take some doin’.  And I’m a’turnin’ to the Lord for leadin’. , don’t you concern yerself none on that account.

But I reckon I may need an earthly hand, to boot. Them weasely eyes’re what’re givin’  me the willies.

Heaven’s to Betsy!

“Don’t That Beat All!” (musin’s of a country boy…)

Lord A’mighty!

 

This here’s Liam.  You may remember me.  Liam Goodwell.  Of the Denton County Goodwells.

I been here before.  And I reckon if you know me, you been here previous, same as me.

 

Now, I’m a’gonna tippytoe right light round these here happenin’s.  Cain’t be to careful when it comes to the things of the Lord.  And I ain’t aimin’ to commit no unpardonable sin, though truth be told, to this very day, I ain’t able to lay a definitive solution to jest what that’d be.

Hence my tippytoein’.

So, they’s been lots of excitement and preparation down and ’round the church the last few days.  It’s Friday now, but Sunday mornin’ last, Brother Beane, that’s be our preacher down to the Holy Pentecostal Church of the Saints, he leapt clean vertical from his chair behind the pul-pit after Grandpap give the endin’ prayer and we’d done shouted our amens and hallelujahs, scarin’ the livin’ daylights out of near the en-tar congregation.  Our emotions done been rung clean dry durin’ his “Hellfire and Brimstone”  onslaught o’ shoutin’ and defyin’ the ol’ Devil jest ended.

This here’s where I get me on shaky ground.  And I know the good Lord hears my ever’ thought and sees clear down deep in my heart and I sure hope he understands my queries and questions.

‘Cause if He don’t, I’m plumb headin’ due south once I leave this world, sure.

Well, sir, Ol’ Brother Beane, he shot his skinny bony self, all his over-long spindly arms and legs, heavenward, a’rollin’ his eyes up under his eyelids, then begun a gyratin’.  Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d a said the good Brother was dancin’ hisself a jig.

‘Course that cain’t be, as dancin’, that’d be a sin.  Brother Beane his ownself preached against that particular transgression only a few Sundays past.

Didn’t not one member of the saints move a stitch, nor did one baby cry nor even cloud up.  We all jest set bug-eyed, a’watchin’ the spectacle.

And jest like it begun, it begun to ease.  Ol’ Brother Beane, he pulled his hanker-chiff square from the back pocket of his baggy brown suit, wiped his forehead more’n once ‘fore openin’ his eyes and addressin’ the fellowship.

“Brothers and Sisters,” his voice quivered, thin and overwhelmed with the fullness of what’d been wrought.

“Brothers and Sisters, jest this moment, I seen the Lord.”

Amen, we in the pews said softly.

“I said, I jest seen the LORD!”  He fair hollered.

Amen!  We fair hollered right back.

Well, if he didn’t a start his gyratin’ all over again, then raised his hands, skinny fingers spread upward.

“The Lord done laid somethin’ on my heart!”

Amen, we hollered again.  This seemed to propel him.   We obliged.

“I seen a man!”

Now wait here, didn’t he see the Lord?  (Shaky ground, I know.)

“I seen a man a’walkin’ with Jesus!”

Alright, I’m a’feelin’ a mite more comf-ter-ble.

Amen, I hollered with the rest.

Right’cher, Ol’ Brother Beane,  he struck out stomping first right, then left ‘cross the platform.  Now, our sanctuary ain’t that big.  Maybe a hun-erd seated come Sunday mornin’, and that ain’t but half full.  And Sunday night vespers, there’ll be maybe half that.  We’d be the real Christians, Mama says.  Grandpap, he just smiles.

And bein’ the sanctuary ain’t that big, well, the pulpit area ain’t sizable, neither, so Brother Beane, he’d stomp a couple steps left, turn on his heel raisin’ his knee up to his midsection, then stomp a couple steps right, then do the same.

“There’s a man comin’ our way, comin’ to bring us re-VIV-al!  I say, REVIVAL!”

Hallalujah, we was goin’ t’have us a REVIVAL!  The best ripsnortin’, Praise the Lord feast of Heavenly delights this side of the Pearly Gates they-selves!  Night after night, fer weeks on end, we’d all haul ourselves down the church each and ever’ evenin’ for services and singin’ and bein’ slayed in the Spirit and givn’ offerin’s of our service and our riches to support the time and prayer of the evangelist come to rekindle our Spiritual Far.

“There’ll come a man!  He’ll show hisself soon, I seen it in my vision!”  Brother Beane, was red to burstin’.

Well, that’d be a sight.

But like I’m wont to do, I digress…..

A REVIVAL!

“Jest like it says in the Good Book, none of us knows the day nor the time nor the hour when the Lord Jesus Christ will come back for his faithful?  Well, people, we don’t know the day nor the time when this Man of God will be crossin’ our threshhold, but as in all things, we best be ready!  You hear?  We must make our hearts ready for what this Man of God has in store for us!”

Hallelujah and Amen and Amen!

Trouble was, I had me a creepin’ feelin’ I knew jest who this man was who was a comin’.   I wudn’t a’trying to eavesdrop, I promise to Heaven I wudn’t, but once I was there, I just plain didn’t have the courage to come out from behind the bags of feed, down to the elevator.

See,  Grandpap’d sent me down fer some straps and leather lacin’s fer one o’ his saddles, and lo and behold, there was Ol’ Brother Beane and some feller a’talkin’ off to the side of the buildin’, jest them two.

Couldn’t help my boot needed tendin’, now could I?

Well, durned if I didn’t hear this feller, slicked back shiny hair, nose like a weasel, offer ‘Ol Brother Beane half the takin’s of the offerin’ basket iffin’ Brother Beane’d ‘llow him to come for services.

Didn’t hear ever’thing, but I did see them a’shake hands.

 

That shaky ground I spoke of?  It’s plumb dancin’ and a’bouncin’ under my feet!

Heaven help me!  I’m startin’ to feel the heat!

 

 

 

 

 

 

gyrations

“Don’t That Beat All!” (true as can be musin’s from a country boy)

Get up and go!

 

Hey.  This here’s Liam.  Liam Goodwell.

Of the Denton County Goodwells.

Been here before.  Aimin’ to be here tomorr’.

 

Been relatin’ the account of Grandpap and his grand ambition fer savin’ these here U-nited States of America from the Germans and the Japanese, and the I-talians, and the evils what they be packin’,  evils of tyranny and villianry eminatin’ from the East… and I reckon the further East.

(Miss Meadow, down to the school, she give geography and the like her all, we even seen maps.  But I never did know how to parse the East from the Rest.  Must be a imaginary line some-eres….)

Well, Grandpap gave me the honor o’accompanyin’ him to the train station to meet the Zephyr, carryin’ none other than the ostentatious and magnanimation visited on the person of General Du’Wight D. Eisenhower, passin’ through, and even plantin’ hisself here in Denton County for the overnight.

And Luce, he asked her, too.

Grandpap, he had a plan, writ it, practiced sayin’ it, put on his Sunday suit and red string tie.  He was doin’ this for his country and Denton County and us Goodwells.  May as well be Tom Mix, far as I was concerned.  Grandpap would be as famous as a movie star and a cowboy and maybe even a postman all rolled into one!

Well, we got to town, and by hook and by crook, through the crowds of flag-wavin’ folks waitin’ anxious for the first bonafied celebrity any o’us ever seen, we made it.  Grandpap landed us square at the depot off t’the other side of town,  a stone’s throw beyond the square with the courthouse.

We’d goosebumps.

And a sodie-pop.

Well, we’d been there, sittin’ on that ol’ hard  bench, lookin’ up and down the tracks now for near two hours.  It was just us and Mr. Buttercup, the station master on the platform.  Him and Grandpap kept on checkin’ they pocketwatches.  Like clockwork.   Ol’ Eisenhower was late.  The crowd back out to the road bided thur time singin’ patriotic songs and the like, and the band from over to Kansas City (Kansas City!) been playin’ and marchin’ in circles to keep they lips loose.  But as darkness stole itself over the town o’ Halesburg, the music and the songs got thinner and thinner.

And still we sit.  Wooden bench give my bottom bones pains worse’n bein’ saddle-bound all day.  Me and Luce, we took walks, we practiced standin’ on one foot then t’other, we peeled paint from the depot, we counted the stars new in the purple blue sky.  We even had us a spittin’ contest.  Till Grandpap put a stop to that.

Guess is, he didn’t want Ol’ Eisenhower a steppin’ in our spit.  I can abide by that, sure.

And still we sit.

And the sounds from back out the other side the depot faded clear to nothin’.  Folks went home, likely back in the mornin’ to see the General off.

No ideee ’bout the band from Kansas City.

And still we sit.  Luce nodded off but my elbow to her ribs brung her right back around.

But wait?  What was that in the distance?  Did I purtend to hear it or was that a whistle a shreikin’ off ‘tween the hills?

Now, we was tired, true, and our wooshin’ shore don’t make it so, but Lord Have Mercy, it WAS a train!  There was a train a comin’!  Whistlin’ and a tootin’ to who laid a chunk!

Ol Du’Wight D. Eisenhower was near here and Grandpap would have his say!

Gosh Durn it all to PIECES! (Don’t tell Mama.)

All us, even Mr. Buttercup, we was hoppin’ up and down, peerin’ deep into the dark down the shiny tracks till they disappeared in the nighttime mist.  A rumblin’ under our feet, though, secured our certainty and sure enough, a faint light, then a whistle blast so sharp it closed my eardrums (had to wiggle my fingers in my ears to get my hearin’ back), and the shiny, sleek silver Zephyr, glistenin’ in the upcomin’ moon slid pretty as you please right on up to where me and Grandpap, and Luce, stood to attention.

What a sight!  What a sight!

But hey, what was this?  Only three cars attached themself to the back that glossy bullet of an engine.  Ol’ Du’Wight D. had him some pull!  Hang it all if he didn’t commandeer hisself the whole train just for him and his entourage.

Just the moment the train slid to a stop, Sheriff Dodge and his de-pu-ties come from all sides o’ the depot, fer to keep the peace.  Wudn’t no peace to keep, seein’ it was jest Grandpap and me and Mr. Buttercup, and Luce.  They was as het up as us, though.  Grandpap tipped his hat and positioned hisself right afront the exitin’ door.  They all anchored themselves in a right nice line along the buildin’.  I know I was impressed.

Lots of commotion ensued inside the train cars.  We could see men hustlin’ and bustlin’ and hoistin’ and totin’ and wavin’ arms and mouths.  My heart was beatin’ ninety to nothin’!

At long last, and not soon enough to my mind, the door slid open and like fizz from a bottle, men in khakis and uniforms of all ilk, brown and blue, and even a sailor or two, exploded from the skinny door.  They didn’t give Grandpap no never mind, and Grandpap didn’t give them none neither.  He was here for one man, and one man only.  He’d wait.

So’d we, me and Luce.

Maybe fifty or might be a hun-erd fellers pushed thur way from the train, all through the same door, but just like that, I seen him!  I seen him!  I poked Grandpap but he’d seen him, likewise!  Out the corner of my eye, I seen him touch his special speech in his pocket, then pull it on out, as a per-caution ‘case he got tongue-tied.

Now, Grandpap didn’t never get tongue-tied.  He prayed like he was personal friends with the Lord Almighty ever Sunday down to the church.  But I had to admire his preparation.

Like molasses from Mama’s jug, Du’Wight D.Eisenhower moved inside the train from winder to winder till he reached the door.  Intent with whatever he was sayin’ to the man on his left, and the one to his rear, he didn’t once even look as he stepped down, never mindin’ the gap from the metal train stairs and the wooden platform.  He just moved smooth and sure, never breakin’ his stride.  Had to admire his confidence.  Worked, too, feet touched the platform sure and in stride.

And Grandpap?  He matched Ol’ Du’Wight D. step for step down the platform.  Me and Luce, we jogged ourselves right along behind, like obedient hound dogs.

Didn’t Eisenhower give him no nevermind, neither, though.

And Grandpap bein’ Grandpap, he wudn’t fazed, not one iota. But the platform was nearin’ its end and he’d best speak up or forever hold his peace.  Me and Luce, we heard Grandpap clear his throat, loud and with authority.

And what do you think, but General Du’Wight D., he stopped in his tracks and looked at Grandpap full on, face to face.

Didn’t nobody breathe.  It would have been disrespectful.

Grandpap cleared his throat one more time and fer good measure, he pulled up the paper on which his speech was writ, prepared and practiced.

Why, he barely got his mouth open, not even a sound ex-caped, when the General grabbed that paper from his hand quick as a lick, pullin’ a pen from his inside pocket and writ his name, easy as you please, then marched briskly on and into the waitin’ cadre what was with Sheriff Dodge.

Grandpap froze,  planted firm in the spot, petition clutched in his hand.  Me and Luce was dumbfounded.  Ol’ Eisenhower give Grandpap his autograph?  All that plannin’, all that anticipatin’, all that waitin’?  And spittin’?

Don’t know just how long we stood there.  But stood we did.  Platform emptied.  Excitement moved on.

Finally, finally, Grandpap breathed in deep and come back to hisself.

Lookin’ off to the distance at nothin’ in par-ti-cular,  and in a voice thinned and reedy, “Best head on back, children, it’s gettin’ late and yer Mama’n Daddy’ll be a’wonderin’ where we got to.”

With that, we moved solemn to where we left the International earlier, proud and excited and ready to conquer the world.  Without a word, didn’t have none, we piled in and drove on home.

And that “Get up and Go” I talked about?  Well, sir, it done got up and left.

 

 

But hang it all, if next day, we didn’t find Grandpap out to the shed a’fashion’n him a frame fer his speech paper, tackin’ a string on either side, and stretchin’ it on a nail over his door.

We didn’t speak of it fer some time, but when we did, we was still proud.

 

*********

 

 

“Don’t That Beat All!” (this country boy’s still musin’…)

That “Get up and go….”

 

Hello.  This here is Liam.  Liam Goodwell of the Denton County Goodwells.

I been here before.

And I’d hereby swear (if I was ‘llowed to swear, but the Good Book strickly and specifically prohibits that partic-ular activity) that all I put before you truly and purely happened jest as it’s writ.

 

 

Last we spoke, me and Luce been blessed by the Good Lord in Heaven, and Grandpap, bein’ we was given in-vi-tations to escort Grandpap on his grand quest to petition the good General Du’Wight D. Eisenhower.  Tough ol’ bird that he his, Grandpap’d been turned down ever’ time he’d approached the Recruitin’ Office down to the courthouse.  Which was purtin’ near ever’ day, ‘cept the Sabbath.  We all keep that holy.  I reckon that means no waitin’ in lines and such.

Now, all he wanted to do was his patriotic duty.  He’s got skills aplenty, he does.  An eagle eye, he can shoot a flea off the left ear of a dog at 100 yards.  I seen ‘im do it!  And smart?  Why, Grandpap reads the newspaper ever’ week, first words to last, can restore peace to feudin’ neighbors, and can mix our proprietary ‘shine using only the secret recipe what’s stored in his head.  He always knows when one o’ my brothers or sisters is a’stretchin’ the truth.

Wouldn’t be me, how-some-ever.  I don’t never lie.  Ol’ Devil’d reach right up through the ground and snitch me.

Them folk at the Recruitin’ Office, now, they know better’n to laugh.  Grandpap’s a big deal ’round these parts, although his age of close to four score and ten may have worked against him.  And at first, they humored him as to how his feet was too flat, how he had the constipation in his chest, how they was sure he was needed more keepin’ the home fires burnin’ right here in Denton County rather than traipsin’ off to fight them Germans or Japanese, or them I-talians.

But this evenin’, we was given the chance of a lifetime.  The Brigadier General his ownself was travellin’  through the nearest town to our family farm, stoppin’ fer the night ‘fore headin’ on west to Californ-ee.

And Grandpap, being Grandpap, he was durned if he’d miss that arrival.  He’d be there a waitin’, with bells on, and with me and Luce, to boot.

Still don’t know the true reasons he asked us to accompany him, but I been raised to never look a gift from a horse in the mouth.  Me and Luce, we’re jest a’countin’ our blessin’s.

So decked out in our Sunday-go-to-meetin’ best, worshed behind our ears, and clear down below our neck, so no dirt showed, we piled three across in the ’37 International pickup, red.   Daddy bartered long and hard for this ve-hicle, ended up costin’ three handmade and handtooled leather and silver saddles, long with the hard labor of three of his eldest boys for a summer.  Eventually, I succumbed, allowin’ it was a good trade. We kept it shiny and free of bird droppin’s for jest the times as this here.

I was so full of excitement, why, I couldn’t even take a deep breath.  We sat shoulder to shoulder, Grandpap bouncin’ that truck down the lane and out to the two-way.  Luce, she just sat lookin’ straight ahead, wigglin’ her ears ever’ so often to let me know she was among the livin’.  And Grandpap, he leaned forward in his seat, eyeballs near to the front glass, lips movin’,  anticipatin’ givin’ his per-su-asive plea.  It was nearin’ dusk, this early summer evenin’.   Lightnin’ bugs flittin’ in all the bushes linin’ the dusty road.  We’d the windows up tight to keep ourselves neat, and the air was a little rank.  I found myself almost wishin’ we’d hurry up and get there ‘stead of stretchin’ out and measurin’ the moments as I’m wont to do.

Well, fifteen miles into Halesburg in the early evenin’ took near to an hour.  We was early, it was just past seven and the Zephyr wudn’t due till after eight.  Still,  once in town, the main street this evenin’  ‘cross from the depot was lined up and down with folks young and old, good and bad, rowdy and quiet, sanctified and demonized.  Even ol Eb, the town drunk and my favorite story teller found him a spot to sit right in front of the general store.  Old Glory hung from ever’ tree and waved from ever’ hand.  ‘Peared the whole pop-u-lation of Denton County come to welcome the General to our fine piece of God’s green earth.

Now I won’t say I was jest a mite put out we wudn’t the only folk eager to welcome the General.  They was folks hanging out the windows and stacked two and three deep ‘long our route.  This jest might inhibit our plan some.

But, Grandpap bein’ Grandpap, he jest waved at Sheriff Dodge, swung the International ’round the barricade, and drove proud and entitled right up to the front of the Halesburg depot, pullin’ hard on the emergency brake and flippin’ off the engine.

The smile of an angel come over his countenance and he fairly beamed.

“Time’s a’wastin’, children!  Let’s get ourselves inside and wait fer that train!”

Didn’t have to tell me and Luce twice!  We tumbled and scratched and clawed and nearly fell from the door of the truck, runnin’ ’round the front end to where Grandpap stood tall, lookin’ fine in his stripe-ed suit with the vest, pocketwatch chain draped ever so nattily from the pocket to the buttonhole.

Don’t think I ever been so proud to be a Goodwell as I was that moment.  Luce neither.

Grandpap was goin’ to meet up with General Du’Wight D. Eisenhower.

Grandpap was going to make his case for servin’ these U-nited States of America. I had no iota of doubt in my heart.

And I had me a silver dollar in my pocket, and look there, the refreshment stand was still a’sellin’ pop!

Well, sir, this was bodin’ well, fer all us Goodwells, it seemed.

Time we got right after it.

Don’t That Beat All! (yup, true musin’s from a country boy)

Get up and go!

 

This here’s Liam, like near ever’ other day.

I been here before, like as not, jest like you.

(Don’t lose it’s wonder though, does it?)

 

I begun a tale yester-dee, and I reckon it needs pushed a little further down the road.  Last we knew, Grandpap was hellbent (Don’t tell Mama. Don’t want to spend my eternal life in the Lake of Far.  Nor do I have the wherewithal to face up to the switchin’ she’d be bound to lay on me.) and sassafrass driven to meet up eyeball to eyeball with the honorable Brigadier General hissownself, Du’Wight D. Eisenhower.  Who, it happens, is crossin’ the country on the Zephyr via our neck o’ the woods, straight through to the county seat where he’ll be spendin’ the overnight at the boardin’ house in town, some 15 mile from Goodwell land.

I’m a Goodwell, you see, from the Denton County Goodwells.  Maybe you heard of us.

Look here, Grandpap spent the day holed up in his room, sittin’ as his table on his three-legged stool, built by big brother Lawrence in his childhood, built for one long-legged cow, I tell you what.  Grandpap didn’t have the heart to disappoint the giver, choosin’ to claim it fer his own.

Grandpap’s like that.  Good as gold deep down in his darkest, deepest insides.

Today, though, he coughed and chewed and sang and hollered and wrote and crumpled paper and swatted at imaginary flies with his swatter, preparin’ just what to say when he encountered the good General.  Ain’t one of us, not us kids nor Mama nor Daddy, doubted Grandpap would get hisself an audience.  Grandpap’s one of them fellers, stands tall, gets near ever’thin’ he’s a’wantin’.  Pillar o’ our community, it’s said.  Du’Wight D. Einsenhower would not only grant Grandpap his audience, he’d liable give him the keys to the White House, we was all certain.

But Grandpap, he shore wanted to get things right, just for the look of things, you see.  We tiptoed past his door, then tiptoed away again real quick,  bein’ he was a little volatile for all his confidence.  And armed with that swatter.

But when evenin’ rolled ’round, and we was all gatherin’ for supper, graspin’ hands ’round the table for prayer, who appeared at the kitchen door, beams of joy and heavenly light emittin’ from his prickly head but Grandpap! Hallelujah and praise be, he’d sorted his words and his plea.  Satisfaction would be his!  The General Du’Wight D. Eisenhower would have no choice but to accept my Daddy’s Daddy’s offer to do his patriotic duty and help save these here U-nited States from the tyranny and overtakin’ of them durned Germans and Japanese, and I-talians.

Follerin’ a boomin’ prayer, thank you Jesus, he gave us the ups and downs and ins and outs of his plan.  Didn’t not one of us just want to burst our buttons.  Grandpap, ‘spite his age and decrepitute, he was the man for the time.  Didn’t that ol’ thorny Hitler nor Hy-rohito stand them a chance against the power that was my Grandpap.

Then he dropped the hammer.

“I reckon I’ll be a’needin’ the truck tomorr’ night, Son.”

Daddy nodded.  We all did.

“And I reckon I won’t be gettin’ back till late, seein’ as the train ain’t due to pull in till…., ” here he checked his ancient pocketwatch for effect, “8:27 pm.”

Daddy nodded.  Grandpap had the eyes of a hawk. Drivin’ in the dark was one of his many spec-i-alities.  Why,  huntin’ with him left near nothin’ left fer the rest of us. Weren’t no worry there.

“But, ” he slid his words slow now, notin’ anticipation buildin’ ’round the supper table.  “But, I reckon I’ll be a’needin’ comp’ny.  Jest to help me bide the time ’til the train  arrives to the depot down to Halesburg.”

Daddy nodded, hadn’t stopped, from my recollection.  “Well, Pap, you know I’m happy….”

Grandpap snorted loud and long. “Not you this time, Son,”  Daddy looked crestfallen.  This here was what Miss Meadow down to the school called, “High Drama!”

“No, ” he shook his round spiky head slowly, “This here trip I’d like Liam and Luce to join me.”

My throat closed and my head got the spins!  Hallelujah and Praise Jesus!  I was going to have me an adventure!

Well, me and Luce.  I choose to think I’m the luck, Luce is purely for protection. Snort!

And, once Daddy overcome his shock and disappointment, and the rest all settled they issues with the sins of jealousy and envy, why, me and Luce, we was bein’ beat on the back with “Congratulations” and  “This’ll be a fine time!”

Grandpap jest set back in his chair, tipped back on two legs, content like he’d delivered the wealth of the world into our hands.

And he jest might’a.  He jest might’a!

I found myself gettin’ worked up all over again.  Lord have Mercy on my soul!

And Luce’s.

We kept up a’jiggin’ and a’whoopin’ till finally we run outta gas.

“Best get you’all some shut eye,” Grandpap finally drawled, pretending a yawn and exaggeratin’ a stretch.  “Tomorr’ is a’comin’!  Tommorr’s going to be a grand one for us Goodwells!”

Our Grandpap was a’goin’ t’do his part to save the world for Democracy!  And none better, no sir!  And we, me and Luce, we was going to be there for the first salvo!

God bless Du’Wight D. Eisenhower right down to his socks!  And Grandpap, too!

And Luce, I reckon.

Daddy put the icin’ on the cake, only pride and exultation in his voice now.

“Best you two get yerselves bathed and tucked in, fer tomorr’s a big one….and jest fer good measure, I got me two silver dollars, one for each, to tuck in yer pockets jest fer some spendin’ money ‘case they’s sellin’ soda pops down to the depot that late.”

Could this get any better?  I think not!

Then, an afterthought,  Mama chimed in, “And lay yerselves out some clean clothes.  Best you look tidy ‘fore you meet the General.  Make yer Grandpap proud.”

Yep, it was time we got up and went.

 

********

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t That Beat All! (true musin’s from a country boy)

That dog.

 

This here’s Liam again.  I been here before.

And I’ll stand tall right now to the truth of all I’m layin’ before you.  I come from a long line of truth tellers.

 

 

Sun comes up awful early come summertime.  And it don’t seem right, somehow.  Oh, it’s purty enough.  Streaking colors of purple and pink and orange out to the east, over the rollin’ hills off toward the quarry.  There’s even times, Lord, I’ll purt’near stand to attention, not breathin’ a breath till that ol’ sun pulls itself up and over the horizon.

But summertime promises to arrive with  long empty hours for jest a’toolin’ and a’tootin’, and, well, ever’ so often, it just wrinkles my gizzard.  Breakin’ off from school don’t mean we get any breakin’ off from heavy liftin’, least not on Goodwell land.  They’s livestock to tend, they’s fields to plow and plant and harvest, they’s machinery needin’ repairin’, they’s even naps to be took and books to be read and then some.  Days start early and end late.  Now, we don’t suffer, and mostly, we don’t complain.  I just like me some time to think and ponder.

This day, though, took itself a diff’rnt turn, and I’ll be durned if I don’t remember this, for posterity and them comin’ along behind.

Like I done said, this day, like most ever’ other,  begun at the crack o’ dawn.  But this time, I kid you not,   Grandpap let out a warwhoop like the sky was a’fallin’ or Jesus’d appeared in the heavens, come for the believers.

Me and Linc and Lawrence, we sat ourselves straight up in our cots, eyeballs round and wide, not knowin’ true which side was up.  Lawrence, he was the first to gather hisself.

“Lord!  What the hay was that?!” (Mama’s skin him, she knew he was a’cussin.  And so early.)

I throwed my skinny white legs off to the side, feet slappin’ the wooden floor with a pop.

“Got no idear, ” I puffed as I wriggled my skinny self into dungarees and Linc’s old boots, “Let’s us go find out!”  I spun myself,  snitchin’ some ol’ shirt from the pile and run from our little lean-to shed we called a bedroom.  That I tangled myself in the curtain we used for a door and pulled it half down tryin’ to extricate myself got no attention, nohow.

‘Cause Grandpap?  He was still a’howlin’!

We don’t live in no mansion, now, mostly a cabin with little side shelters added as new children come along, but Grandpap, being the patriarch and all, he had himself a room, a real room with a straight ceiling and a workin’ door with a lock and key.  It took me just a hop and a skip and a jump to land at his door, Linc and Lawrence close on my tail.

We busted in, all arms and legs and shouts and worry.  Door wudn’t locked.  Misplaced that key ‘fore I was born.  But it is the principle of the thing, after all.

(And don’t nobody I ever known throwed away a key.  It’ll turn up one day.)

Like I said, we burst ourselves through the door, ready and eager to save the day, and Grandpap, from whatever was a’ailin’ him!   We secretly prayed it wudn’t the Lord Jesus come for his own, for if so, we’d clearly not made the cut.  Maybe it was Injuns!  Or one o’ them giant squeezin’ snakes from darkest Africa!

Me and Linc and Lawrence, though, we stopped dead in our tracks.

Grandpap, mouth open for yet another whoop and holler, waved yester-dee’s newspaper over his head, his countenance readin’ joy and happiness, rather’n fear and  consternation.  Normal, he’ll stow it away once we pick it up from the store down to the town, but yester-dee, durned if it was found to be missin’ once we landed back home.   We was all queried, but no, none of us admitted to knowin’.  The twins looked guilty, but then, they always do.

And they nearly always are.

And.  I’ll admit I was a whit disappointed.  Playin’ the he-ro would have to wait for another time, I reckon.

“Lookeeee here, boys!”  Grandpap leapt from his ol’ oak rocker in the corner, fully dressed, even with his good hat ready to toss ‘top his reddened round head, one covered in white bristles fer as long as I have rememberances.  He’d been up fer hours, looked to me, cleaned up and full tilt,  town bound.

He did hisself a little jig, dancin’ and stompin’ is a tight little circle.  Me and Linc and Lawrence, we just watched, gewgawed.

He sucked in a soggy little chuckle and grinned our way.

“Look here, boys, look here!”  Grandpap waved the now crumpled and near unreadable paper in our dumbed faces.  Stabbin’ his crooked finger at somethin’ written there, he did.

“Look here!  You seen this?!  WooHoo and Boy Howdy!  We goin’ to have us a cee-lebrity in our midst!  Come next week!  Boys, you hear me?!”

We shook our heads solemnly.  What else was we to do?

And by this time, the whole house, all the kids and Mama and Daddy, too, we was up and at ’em, all crowdin’ as far into Grandpap’s sanctuary as we saw fit.  If Grandpap got even more het up, we was going to explode back out the skinny little doorway like Cherrywine Pop out a shook bottle.

We felt it best to let him have his say.

He had him a soapbox now, though, and bless his heart, if he didn’t want us all hangin’ on ever’ word.  Though Livie’s stomach lurchin’ and growlin’ sidetracked him a tick.

Noddin’ at Mama, then Daddy, he settled himself down some, and usin’ his Sunday dinner prayin’ voice, he commenced to share.

“LilaElizabeth.  Son.  Don’t know where this here newspaper was a’hidin’,” and here he digressed long enough to send all-knowin’ sword eyes over us kids, but mostly Louis and Lawton, “But you all know I arise early to say my prayers.”

Yep.  We knew.

“And you all know I then get myself acquainted with what’s a’happenin’ in the world and in the war with them high-waisted Germans and them lily-livered Japanese, and them I-talians.”

Yep, We knew that, too.  We got us a paper down to the store in town ever’ week.  Took Grandpap a full seven days till the next one come out to digest it.

“And you know how it catches in my craw won’t them wonderkinds in Worsh-in’ton D.C. ‘llow me my skills and desire to do my patriotic duty!”

Yep.  Grandpap had planted hisself at the recruitin’ office down to the county seat near ever’ day since the bombin’ over to Hawai’ya.

“Well!”  Pullin’ his eyes away from Louis and Lawton, who was more interested in they dirty toes than Grandpap, “Well!  Durned tootin’ if we ain’t goin’ to have ourselves some comp’ny!  In Denton County!  Stayin’ right here in Halesburg, come next Tues-dee!”

We didn’t hardly know any cee-lebrities, though they was a couple movie stars we took a shine to.

Grandpap stood himself up tall, erect and near to attention, arms stiff at his side.  That’s when I noticed he’d slid up his shotgun what was give him by his own grandpap years before my own.

I got me some rumblin’s.  When Grandpap gets himself an idear, he’s a wagon on a hill with no horse.  They ain’t no stoppin’ him till the grain’s been spilt.

“Ol’ Brigadier General hissself, Ol’ Du’Wight D. Eisenhower from over to Abilene, him and his staff’ll be gracin’ our town come next week, traveling by the Chicago Ozark and Little Rock Slingshot Zephyr, spending the night ‘fore travelin’ on to Califor-nee.”

True?  True?  Why, I been to Kansas on a huntin’ trip, but never all the way to Abilene!

And I ain’t never laid eyes on so famous an American as Du’Wight D. Eisenhower!

And right here?  Right in Denton County, Missouri?

How’d we not know?  Did ever’ body know but we Goodwells?  Why, we was just in town yester-dee.  This here was new news if ever I heard it!  Would there be a parade?  And buntin’?  And homemade ice cream?  And the marchin’ band from over to the high school or from maybe even St. Joseph?!

I cast my own evil eyes toward Louis and Lawton, who’d recovered,  stickin’ out they tongues my di-rection.

That’s when Grandpap laid it on us.

Still puffed and proud-like, he boomed, “And I aims to get myself an audience with the General hisself and demand my services be accepted in the fightin’ and the conquerin” and the vanishin’ of all peoples aimin’ to bring down the glorious country of these U-nited States of America.  And Denton County.”

And with that, he struck the butt of his shotgun to the floor and clicked his heels.

Heck (hope Mama’ cain’t read my mind…).  I’d just figured all he wanted was to be in the parade.

When I saw the steel in them blue eyes, and when I saw the iron of that whiskered jaw, why I knew just then Grandpap wouldn’t stop at nothin’ to get himself in front of ol’ General Eisenhower.  I was already a’picturin’ Grandpap in handcuffs and shackles, being marched off for attackin’ a officer.  Or bein’ beat over the head for wavin’ that durned shotgun ’round.

Lord, Lord.

Didn’t know what, but at that moment, sunshine turned from pink haze to yeller blazes, I knew I’d best get in gear and do somethin’.  Somethin’.  For this was a sit-u-ation needin’ overhaulin’.

What I DID know, though, was that dog?

No, sir, that dog won’t hunt.

 

***********

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t That Beat All?” (musin’s from a country boy)

Daddy tol’ me, and his daddy tol’ him, and so on and so forth on back clear to the beginnin’s of history and I reckon even before that,

“Son,” he said real serious, “Son, if you ain’t a’movin’ forward, even if you’re jest a’standin’ plumb still, durned if all you’re a’doin’ is movin’ backward.”

I take him at his word.

My Daddy don’t lie.

Didn’t neither his pap, nor his pap before him.

Truth be told, I come from a long line of truth tellers, and that’s why I’m here.

My name is Liam, Liam Goodwell, of the Denton County, Missouri Goodwells.

And I been here before.

I am comin’ up on fourteen years of age come next December.

I got me seven brothers and sisters, and with me, they’s eight all told.

Lincoln at seventeen is oldest and rides the rodeo.

Lawrence, sixteen, he cain’t wait to join the army and fight them Germans.

Livie and Luce come next, both girls.  They be as diff’urnt like dead o’ dark night is to orange and pink stripe-ed dawn.

Fifteen-year-old Livie is all ribbons and pink flowers and googly eyes.

Luce, fourteen and my Irish twin, runs faster, climbs higher, and punches harder than any feller down to the schoolhouse.

‘Cept me, o’course.

Then comes me.  Folks say I’m the thinker.  And I throw a mean fastball.

Follerin’ me comes Loreen.  She’s ten, all legs and freckles.

Last come the twins, Louis and Lawton.  At seven, they still talk they own secret language ever’ now and then, comin’ up a’ laughin’ and lookin’ sly-like.  They will be trouble, I gar-un-tee.

And Mama and Daddy, they loves us all.

We live, with Grandpap, at the bottom of a big ol’ hill, one what used to be Goodwell land.  We come down a little in the world, says Grandpap, but we got us our health, says he.  We all chuckle, jest like he ex-pects, ever’ time he orates.  Better’n the alternative, says I.

So, seein’ as I been blessed with a stack o’ Big Chief tablets, left from the youngsters down to the schoolhouse and brung to me personal by our teacher, Miss Meadow, well, I figure now’s the time to get after it.  Long since near my first rememberences, I get these notions. I tol’ Miss Meadow as much, and how I glean some slice o’ wisdom from each and ever’ one.

And sometime, all them thoughts and learnin’s swirlin’ around my brain, well, things get crowded up there in my head.  Miss Meadow, she says I have me a way with words and please, would I write all them things down. Clear the spin.

Legible-like,too, says she.  No chicken scratches.

(Miss Meadow, she may like they way I sling a phrase, but she does have somethin’ to say ’bout my handwriting.)

And she DID bring me these tablets, and Daddy’s admonition rings right loud.

So here’s the deal.

“I, LIam Wendell Goodwell, of the Denton County Goodwells, I am commitin’ right this moment (I’d swear, but Mama’s come after me with a switch), I am commitin’ right this very minute to take partic’lar note of the world and the ways spinnin’ ’round me, then acceptin’ and recognizin’ my obligation to take them observations and put pen to paper and leave them for them comin’ after me.”

And Miss Meadow.

“So help me God.”

(And I don’t plan to cross Miss Meadow, neither, believe you me!)