Bob Piper's Corner - April 12, 1987

April 12, 1987

Recollections of a very small boy, now that he is eighty years of age -

I seemed to be a worrier. I remember the old saying that cold and snow would come, and what would Cock Robin do then? Mother could see I was worried about this and she said Father would do something. He said he couldn’t leave the big barn door open, but he could leave one of the small doors up high open enough for the robins to get in. I clearly remember my concern and this seemed to take care of my worry. I saw pigeons going in and out of the little doors, and was sure the robins would follow suit.

Runt pigs were another concern of mine. I knew that as a rule they were killed. I am not sure, but it seemed there were more runt pigs in those days than now. Better diets today probably help reduce the number of runt pigs. Father would have the men put the pig in a sack and take it away. That took care of my worries at the time, but in later years I realized the pig didn’t get very far. Later, Father made a deal with Joe Speers of east Chariton to take these runts. This was a big relief to me.

This next item was not a worry, but I wondered about it a lot. When it thundered that long rolling type, Father would say they were digging potatoes up in the sky and had loaded them in a wagon. As the wagon moved along, the end gate came down and the potatoes rolled out, making all this noise.

A neighbor told me that big flakes of snow were really feathers falling from the sky, as they were picking geese up there. As I said before, this was not a worry to me, but a source of wonder.

Early Sunday mornings, occasionally we would see a horse-drawn dray go by with a drunk lying down in the back, their legs always hanging down. I wondered why they didn’t put the end gate up and make themselves more comfortable. Father explained that when the dray got to its destination, the man could be stood up and walked to his house.

I remember when I was told that mice didn’t grow up to be rats. That the engineer of a train was not in charge, but the conductor was. It was also a disappointment to me to learn that the engineer didn’t guide the train. At this early age, flanged wheels meant nothing to me.

Speaking of engineers, I remember seeing Thomas McAloon, one of my favorite engineers, walk around his engine, patting it all the while and saying, “I’ll see you in the morning.” You don’t see anyone doing this to a diesel.

In later years I talked to Mother about many of these things. She said I did pose some difficult questions for my age. Why couldn’t my dog live as long as I did? Did the cracks in the ground really lead to China? I pestered all who would listen for an answer to this. I couldn’t see why my dog Penny couldn’t sleep with me on winter nights. Mother made short work of this. When we got our first bath tub I was terrified at the thought I might go down the drain.

Mother could see my worry, so she tied a little piece of clothesline around my waist and to the pipes. This seemed to OK things. One thing that brought this fear of the drain to me was this. On the sly I had a little snake in my room and I put it in the tub. It did go down the drain, so why couldn’t I?

We could always get a snake from Mr. Fish, a recluse who lived in a one-room shack in the bottoms. His shack was just north of where the New Testament Bible Church is now. Back then, this area was the headwaters of Mallory Pond. It was swampy and full of willow trees. All he did was hunt and trap, and the outside of his shack was covered with skins stretched on drying boards. I envied his life. No evidence of bathing ever taking place. He slept in a little loft, reached by a ladder. Wonderful stews were made with wild animals for meat and with vegetables he raised himself. He could catch bullheads right by his shack. Mother thought he was a good man, and didn’t mind if we went there two or three in a group. He told wonderful stories that I still can remember.

I didn’t go to school until I was six because I was told the school would burn. If Mother took me and stayed, it was OK. My sister Helen and my brother Howard were there, but that didn’t help. The next year I was afraid of nothing. I fought anybody just for entertainment. Mr. Guernsey, Hortense’s father, was superintendent of schools. He took a hand and convinced me to behave. From then on things were more calm.

I remember coming home hungry as a bear. People cooked with wood and coal and no fire was going. Our bakery was near, but I wanted a bacon sandwich. I would put four strips of bacon in a light skillet, wad up a newspaper out in the yard and cook it. One time the fire blew over to the outdoor toilet and burned it down. My folks didn’t punish me. Father said it was an accident and Mother said we needed a new one anyway. One afternoon, Alma Clay brought me home, leading me by the ear all the four blocks. My spirits went up when I saw Mother was incensed because Miss Clay had held me by the ear. Father came in about then and I guess all was settled. Father and myself took Miss Clay home in our Sunday Buggy. Those two rode up front, and I rode outside in the back. Miss Clay was crippled and it was a good mile to her home. She lived at the west end of Iowa Avenue, and the house is still there.