Booze, Cops, Guns, Deals, Grandpa, CornFed [e book reading free .txt] 📗

Obligatory Introduction Setting the Stage for Grandpa

I am only allowed to use a finite number of words
To describe an infinitely interesting man
I will do my best to let you know the humorous side
Of my Grandpa, as seen and heard firsthand

It only takes a single glance at the family picture to pick out the happiest and most unique of them all. That would be my Grandpa. His real name was Edsel and he was a constant reminder that even with the worst of first names, there was always room to live and laugh ones’ way into the hearts of others.

It was easy, if not natural, for those on the outside looking in to label this 6'4, 250 pound Weeble-Wobble-statuesque man who always wore workpants and drank his whiskey straight, as a simple minded country alcoholic, a sinner who didn’t believe in the Lord Jesus Christ Almighty Savior of All. Those of us whom he called family and friends knew him differently. My Grandpa did things in his own way, in his own time, and died just the way I remembered the first time seeing him.

Sitting in his chair, drink in hand, and reading the local paper. He simply closed his eyes as easily as he had opened them 63 years before.

While my Grandpa’s death didn’t occur with any great drama, his life certainly contained enough to have the preacher out to the house every so often to “check in on God’s children.” A former deacon in the Church, there was still a contingent of men and women who wanted to see this former man of religion find his way back into the promised land. They would visit, on different days than the preacher, to see how he was doing, find out about his green house business, and do a bit of prodding to see if he wanted to come on back to church.

“I got plenty to do and be around here as it is. I don’t know quite what else you are offering me.”

was the usual answer.

And it was the usual way he lived his life, from my Mama’s stories up to my own time with him until his quick death.

If I had to summarize my Grandpa into a single sentence it would be something along the lines of

“Now that was interesting.”

That was my Grandpa and here are a few of my memories of this man who made my mom cry on more than one occasion and laugh on many many more.


The Short Version of Grandpa and the Case of the Missing Moonshine

While my Grandpa had some of the most varietous of people visit his home, from the religious to the whino, the one that sitcks out the most wasn’t the welcomest bunch you’d like to have over for Sunday supper.

It was Federal Agents.

The way my Mom tells it, on a particular fine Sunday afternoon, when her and her 4 siblings were out in the back yard picking pecans, a nice array of black cars and a van pulled up. Having not read the handbook on Southern hospitality, one group of men, without any explanation, grabbed all the kids, and started helping them into the van. The final destination was State of Georgia Foster Care.

Meanwhile, another group of men, were busy placing Grandma and Grandpa under arrest. Apparently, Grandpa had been making quite a living, and having quite a morning hangover, thanks to his populace of moonshine in his backyard.

As they are reading him his rights and getting ready to perform a massive gun attack on the barrels of moonshine standing behind him, Grandpa asked the kind Federal Agents what they had against homemade wine. Mom said she never seen such a smile on Grandpa’s face, as he walked the agents up to his barrels, uncovered the contents, and poured them nice little mason jars full of the finest blackberry wine you ever did see. No one knows how Grandpa knew they’d be there, but he did. The night before, under the cover of darkness, he spent his sleeping hours rolling in barrels, some empty and some with wine in place of the moonshine.

Grandpa was prepared for the day’s activities and I’m betting this was pre-orchestrated the night before. The visit ended with Grandpa asking the Captain of the black car bunch if he’d like to do the honors and say a toast….

“I’d like to thank the Federal Government for taxes and welfare!”

was all they heard as Grandpa helped himself to a slug of wine and a nod of thankfulness, while the Federal Agents grudgingly packed themselves back into the cars.

Why Grandpa Doesn’t Swim Naked Anymore

My summers from age 5 til age 12 were spent with my Grandpa and Grandma in a very secluded section of land tucked between 3 cow pastures and a fishing pond at the end of a un-marked dirt road. I logged in 4 to 8 weeks a summer living there with them while my parents got busy doing things parents do when their kids aren’t around, like running naked in the backyard or something like that.

And speaking of running around naked in the backyard…..

It all started about 2 weeks before I arrived to stay the next month with my Grandma and Grandpa. My younger uncle had caught a 3 foot alligator in one of the ponds and decided it was time to make use of that oversized aquarium they had sitting outside next to the pool. The alligator, affectionately named Shi’thead (pronounced Shi-thed), would spend his evenings in the aquarium and his daytime napping around the pool while my uncle and I would swim. Young alligators are notoriously addicted to Cheetos and are as sedated as a fat cat if one keeps them leashed and full of those cheesy and salty sensations.

On this fateful night, as it was most nights, Grandpa would get himself a good drunk on and sit in the pool naked. The pool was one of those large in-ground pools, much larger than most as Grandpa had decided he’d build it himself and double the size of anything a local contractor would even consider building. The corners at the shallow end of the pool were well rounded and positioned in such a way as to allow a crouched stance but with your head protruding from the water. Grandpa would sit in this corner late at night and lay a large raft over the corner of the pool. This would give him enough room to crouch down in the corner, with a raft covering him, and spend some alone time staring out at the stars with a good stiff drink.

And he usually did this naked.

Maybe it was too many Little Debbie snack cakes or maybe our imagination got the best of us, but what I do remember was at some point my uncle and I decided we would sneak out to the pool, an easy 75 yard walk, and release the alligator into the pool.

Getting the alligator out of the aquarium was easy enough. Simply put a stick in its mouth and when it clamps down, hold his mouth firm, pick him up, and transport as desired. The hard part was getting the alligator into the pool without Grandpa knowing it. We figured that if we at least got the gator close to the water, he’d get in but there is inherently something about chlorine alligators do not desire so well.

To make the transition from ground to chlorine water easier, we very quietly slid the alligator into the pool at the opposite corner and out of sight from the raft covered and “starry eyed” Grandpa. And as luck would have it, the alligator decided he didn’t mind the chlorine and he rather enjoyed the cool sensation of the water on a hot summers night. As the alligator started swimming his way toward the corner of the pool Grandpa was camped out in, my uncle and I hid behind the barbecue pit some 30 feet away and watched the scene unfold.

And so, on a moon lit night, you have naked grandpa, with his drink still sitting on the corner of the pool, with a raft over his head as he stares out into the vastness of his large and blue tinted pool, the raft producing a tunnel vision view of the scene before him. You have an alligator, 3 feet long, swimming in his direction at a steady pace, with his tail moving back and forth creating a miniature wake behind him, destined to make impact with Grandpa’s line of sight at about 10 feet from Grandpa’s face.

My uncle and I are giggling and hiding behind the barbecue pit watching this entire scene unfold, unknown what actually happens when a naked man in a pool encounters a gator at midnight.

Well, we know now.

“Good Gawd Almighty! What in Shit-Fire Damnation! Uggggg! Ahhhhhhh!”

I am not sure whom was more scared, the alligator or Grandpa but what I do know is that I have never seen a man of Grandpa’s size struggle so hard to get out of the shallow end of a swimming pool. His hands waving madly in the air, the raft still airborne from where he threw it high into the sky, his drink a distant memory as it meandered helplessly down the hill, Grandpa fighting against the resistance of water to make his way to the steps. The alligator was swimming wildly, his nose against the concrete pool, trying to find a way out. It didn’t help that he was working his way in Grandpa’s direction as he nudged the sides of the pool.

The time it took for Grandpa to make it from the pool to the house , about 75 yards, was remarkably quicker than the time it took him to make it 12 feet from the corner of the pool to the steps. Oblivious to the stickers that grew in the back yard, Grandpa bolted, butt ass naked, across the yard and went through the back screen door, not even taking the time to open it up properly. I can still hear these words ring out as my uncle and I hid behind the barbecue pit.

“Bobbie Nell! There’s a goddamn gator in the goddamn pool! Where is my goddamn gun!”

I can only imagine how this must have looked to my Grandma as this naked bear of a man came running through screen doors at midnight looking for a gun to shoot a gator living in the pool. What I do know is that when we got back inside, all I could see was a very angry, and naked man, holding a 40 year old shotgun, trying to put shells in it while water poured off his hands into the gun chamber. My Grandma could see the look on our face and she figured out what had happened quick enough to save the alligators life.

What she didn’t save was Grandpa’s pride. It took him a year to see the humor in that escapade.


Grandpa and Hunting for Cops

Most of the time Grandpa was a happy man, drunk or sober. He’d have his flare ups if he overcooked the barbecue or someone peed on his ferns in the greenhouse, but for the most part, he kept his cool.

Unless he found himself cornered by