King of the Wild Frontier

The Chicago Tribune recently allowed three short paragraphs to a story about a police raid in which they confiscated 450 pounds of dried marijuana and 600 live plants. They also found 30 raccoon hides in the freezer. I will bet you a hundred dollars you can't find a Southerner anywhere on the editorial staff of that paper because had that happened below the Mason-Dixon, them boys would have been front page, above the fold.



The first question asked would have been to find out who did the shootin'. When they locate that boy, I will post his bail, hand him a twelve gauge, buy him a trailer load of potato chips for the munchies he is bound to have and park his ass in a rocking chair on my front porch.



I will sleep like a baby. Ain't like he's gonna miss nothin'.



Think about it. Anyone that baked, anyone that stoned who still has the dead eye aim to kill and freeze the makings of thirty Davy Crockett hats should have movies made in his honor, books written singing the praises of the boy who could shoot straight and roll a fat one at the same time.



This guy should be a legend. Since he's on the run and all, I hope he's headed South where his talents will be fully appreciated.



One morning at the Back Table, Sam said something was growing tall, right straight up in the middle of his hog feed and that he'd been told him it was marijuana. The Legend that is Gary Sigmon asked him if he smoked it and I gripped the table for fear he would say that he sure did. But, no, Sam said he let it be but, he said, he wouldn't lie and say he'd never tried the real thing. To him, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He said it wasn't a bit better than rabbit tobacco.



Gary said he used to work with some boys who smoked before work, during lunch and immediately after and he warned them that their lives would be cut short by such foolishness. This advice came from the same man who outran local law enforcement in a 66 gold GTO, once driving home from Salisbury in reverse when his transmission went bad, and got Mike Baker so dead drunk that he tossed him on his bed on a Friday and it was Monday morning before Baker saw daylight, again. Gary Sigmon, exactly the one to dispense advice on clean living and healthy habits.

He winked at me when he told this story. Not sure why. Don't much care. I'll take a wink from Gary Sigmon any day.

But, not a drink.



From across the table, Jerry said, "I smoked some, once, on the way to the Fish Camp. Never did find the Fish Camp."


Bob said that he found what he thought to be an illegal substance in his oldest son's room and decided to find out what all the fuss was about. He smoked it, said "they roll 'em up in paper, you know" and told his wife there was absolutely nothing to it, that a sip of moonshine would do a body more harm than that little cigarette.



She found him sitting on the side of the bed laughing at the television....which wasn't on.



The Chicago Tribune found it necessary to add a line explaining that it was illegal to keep a hide or a carcass thirty days after the season closed.

Yes, with 3.6 million dollars worth of dope, clearly you boys are right to worry about raccoon season ending.

Midwesterners.

When Al Huffman died, the Boys at the Back Table knew he had a full case of Mason jars of white likker. He'd been bragging on it for twelve years. They broke in, I won't say who, and found the jars and toted them out as the only item on the menu for their private wake for Al.

Then, they got to thinkin'-

They opened the first jar and smelled it. Nearly took their heads off. A fella they didn't care for was coming down the street. They offered him the first drink. Jerry said he stared straight ahead, stumbled once, then fell over the curb.

They figured that meant it was safe and drank it gone.

I believe that I am the only graduating member of the Class of 1979 who did not smoke dope. It wasn't out of judgement or fear of goin' to hell. It just didn't appeal to me, the look in what was visible in my friend's eyes. But, I know that a whiskey drunk might break a bar stool over your head while the stoner sitting in the corner is only concerned with peace and love and where he can get a pan of brownies. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, if you ask me.

I am wasting my time at this keyboard. I need to find Robbie and asked him if he's been spending any time in Chicago.