30th Post THE PAST IS MYSELF

COLEY MOKE

In Order to get back to Coley Moke’s place outside of Monck’s Corner, South Carolina, you have to run down a Peevy or a Taylor or another Moke and make him take you back. Charley, Jim and I got us a Taylor and went back one day.
There were too many dogs in the yard to count but there were four runty gray pigs who’d been talked into believing they were hounds. When we petted the dogs we had to scratch the pigs. It was hot and the dogs were panting so Coley led us into his front room. There was a bed, and a wood stove in the room and nothing else. No tables, no chairs, no lights; it was the only room in the house.
“Make yourself to home.”
And then, “You bring any funny books?”
Charley pulled a roll out of his back pocket. Coley thumbed through them and said, “Fine.”
He emptied a Mason jar f corn whisky into a water bucket, placed a tin dipper in the bucket and set it down on the floor.
Three of the older dogs got up on the bed with Coley. One of the little razorbacks tried to make it but couldn’t.
We sat down against the wall near the bucket and when we started drinking, Coley started talking.
“See this dog here . . . His name’s Brownie.”
He was a long thin brown dog; his eyes were closed.
“Well, when I tell him the law is coming he picks up that steel bucket and runs out into the swamp, and I mean he doesn’t come back until I call him. Couple of the others would do that for me but they go so they were spilling too much.
“Brownie here knows I got me only one small still going now and don’t waste a drop. One old time - Trig - he’s gone now - would take it out there by the creek. He was a mess. He’d drink a while and then swim a while and then sleep until he was sober and then start in all over again . . .”
Charley nudged Jim and Jim nudged me. We drank some more.
Coley laughed and rasseled the head of the red bone hound on his left. “This here’s Bob, and they don’t come any smarter than him. One day he convinced these Federal men he would lead them back to the house. And they followed him. He led them poor bastards between the quicksand and the ‘gators and showed them every cottonmouth moccasin in the swamp. He got them so scared they were just begging him to lead them back on the road - any road. They promised him steaks and that they’d never raid me again. Well, sir, Bob kept them going until it was dark and after he walked them over a couple long ‘gators that looked like logs he finally put them up on the road. It was the right road but it was about twelve miles from their car. Old Bob sue had himself some fun that night. He told Brownie here all about it and Brownie told me.”
Charley took a big drink; Jim and I took a big drink. There was more. About how Spot and Whip would team up on a moccasin or a rattlesnake and while one faked the snake off of his coil the other would grab him by the tail and pop his head off lie a buggy whip.
Jim said, “Man, that is some dog to do that.”
Coley began to drink a little more and when started talking about his wife his voice changed. “Yeah, I suspect I miss that old gal. Wonder what she looks like now. She was something, all right. Up at dawn, cook a first-class meal and then go out and outplow any man and mule in the county and every Sunday, rain or shine we had white linen on the table and apple pie . . . Ain’t nothing I like better than apple pie.
“Sometimes we didn’t speak for a week. It was nice then, real nice. As long as I kept quiet and minded the still and my dogs everything was fine. Be we started talking and then the first thing you know we are arguing and then she began to throw the dogs up in my face. Let’s see . . . It was right in the middle of the Compression. Right here in this room. She had to go and try and turn me against my dogs . . . Well, the Compression hit us bad - real bad. I had no money, no copper for the still, and no way of getting any up. I was doing a lot of fishing and hunting then. . . . Yeah, right here . . . Oh, it was different then. There were four cane chairs and a dresser and a mirror from Sears Roebuck against that wall, and there was a couple insurance calendars from the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company hanging over there.”
He took a big drink. The light was fading but we could still see his face. A bull alligator deep in the swamp rumbled once and decided it was too early.
“Yeah, I was lying here with old Sport. He was Brownie here’s father. He was young then and high-spirited and, you know, sensitive. When Emma Louise got up from her chair and came over he must have seen it in her face. They never had gotten along. He crawled off the bed and went outside. If I live to be two hundred, I’ll never forget those words. . . .
“She said, ‘Coley Mike, you are the sorriest ma on God’s green earth. Here it is almost winter, we got no money, we got no food, and you just lay there and stare up at that leaky rook. And what’s more, you’ve gone out and taken our last hog and traded it for another dog.’”
Coley smiled and leaned forward. Then his face set mean and hard. “’Emma, Emma Louise,’ I said, ‘if I told you once I told you a hundred times. . . . But since you seem to not hear I’m going to tell you one more time. I traded that hog and I got me a dog for the plain and simple reason that I can’t go running no fox with no hog.’
“Com on me, drink her up. When that’s gone there’s more where it came from. And if we get too drunk to walk we can send my old buddy Brownie here.”
He rasseled the dog’s head. “How about it, boy, what d’you say?”
We drank until it was time to eat. Coley lighted a fire in the wood stove and warmed up some red-horse bread. He served it on folded newspapers and with the little light from the stove we sat back down where we had been sitting and ate.
Later he chased the two pigs outside and we heard their hooves clopping down the porch and on the steps. The pigs slept under the house with the dogs. Coley said they generally got to bed a little earlier that the dogs.
An owl sounded, a bull alligator answered, and the moon glided out of the tall cypress trees in the swamp and the room began to streak with silver light. We slept. . . .
It was raining in the morning and all the dogs and hogs were in the living room. Spot, Trip and Buckles were on the bed with Coley. The two hogs wee under the unlit stove and the rest of the dogs were against the wall. Charley, Jim and I were sitting on the floor.
Coley was talking. “Bob’s father - that was Earl Brown - -he’s been dead a long time now. Let’s see, next month it’ll be eleven years. It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago. Eleven year, man, but don’t it drive by?”
Charley took a drink and handed me the dipper. I took one and gave it to Jim
“Buried him out on that hill knuckle in front. He always liked it up there. Some mornings I’d wake up and look out and there he’d be sitting up there just as pretty as you please. All the other dogs would still be sleeping. But not Earl Brown, he was always the first one up.
“He wasn’t like the others. Now I ain’t saying the others weren’t smart, but it was a different kind of smartness. You know how it is with hounds. They’ll do anything you tell them. But there’s a lot of them that just don’t have any initiative. Now that’s right where Earl Brown was different. Earl Brown was always trying to better himself. Trying to improve himself, you might say.
“I could tell it when he was a pup. The other dogs would fall all over one another getting at the food and when they’d get to it they’d bolt it down like they hadn’t eaten in a month. But not Earl Brown, no sir. He’d wait and let them take their places at the trough. Then he’d walk over, slow-like, and commence eating. He wouldn’t rush. He even chewed his food longer.”
Coley got down off the bed and took a drink. He studied the bottom of the empty dipper.
“Yeah, they don’t make any finer dog that Earl Brown.”
He put the dipper in the bucket of whisky on the floor and sat back down on the bed.
“That dog was a loner, too. The others would all sleep in the wood box. Sometimes there’d be as many as seventeen all flopped in there on top of one another. But not Earl Brown. From the day that scutter was weaned he slept by himself outside the box.
“I guess I miss Earl Brown as much or more than any of them. He was a marvelous dog, all right. Marvelous, that’ what he was.
“I told you how he’d sit up on the hill early in the morning. Well, he wasn’t out here lapping the dew off the grass for nothing. He was working on something.
“Boys, I want you to know what that dog was working on. I wouldn’t tell this to just anyone else. They’d say that fool Coley Moke has gone slap out of his mind, living out there with all them dogs.
“First of all I wouldn’t have known a thing if it hadn’t been for the chickens. But they started making a lot of noise during the night. I thought a weasel or a snake was getting at them so I started watching from the window. It wasn’t no weasel and it wasn’t no snake. It was two foxes. Beg red ones, long as dogs, and five times smarter. But hose foxes didn’t go inside the coop. They just stood there. They must have been there five minutes and then I thought I saw another fox. I looked again and you know who it was?
“It was Earl Brown. Well sir, those two red foxes and Earl Brown stood outside that chicken coop for ten minutes. My other dogs were all inside the house and they were going crazy. The poor hens were clucking and screeching for help. I didn’t know what to do. Finally I heard Earl Brown growl and then the next6 thing you know the three of them ran off into the woods.
“I kind of figured Earl Brown was setting those foxes up for me to shoot so I decided to wait until he gave me some kind of sign. Well, next night it happened again. Same time, right around three o’clock they came out o the woods. Well, they had their little meeting right outside the coop and then they ran off again.
“Of course, during all this I had to make sure Earl Brown got out at night and my other dogs stayed in. That took some doing. The others all knew that Earl Brown was getting special treatment and they got mad as hell. And they smelled those foxes on him and they wouldn’t have a thing to do with him.
“But Earl Brown didn’t care what they thought about him. He even like it better that way. But he got to looking peaked and red-eyed. Like he wasn’t getting any sleep. I put a couple extra eggs in his rations. That boy was on a rough schedule. He’d go to sleep around ten with the others but he’d be up a two and off with his friends.
“Things began looking bad. My dogs were giving me a fit to be let out at night. I wasn’t getting any sleep. And those hens. Lord, those poor hens were going right out of their minds. They got so nervous they were laying eggs at midnight. The rooster worried so he began losing weight and limping. He got so he wouldn’t even crow. They wee one sad-looking sight in the mornings. Wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I mean it got so bad them hens were stumbling around and bumping into one another.
“I decided to give Earl Brown two more nights and then end it. I was determined to shoot those damn foxes and bet my chickens back on some decent schedule.
“And that was the very night it happened. . . .
“Earl Brown stepped aside and let one of those foxes go into the coop. Those poor chickens were so scared and tired. I guess they were relieved when that fox walked in and picked one out. He took a Rhode Island Red. That hen didn’t even squawk. Just hung there in his mouth and across that red fox’s back like she was glad it was all over. Those chickens slept the rest of the night. It was the first good night’s sleep they’d ;had in three weeks.”
Coley stopped. “you boys ain’t drinking.”
Charley said, “I just this minute put the dipper down.”
Coley drank again and hunched himself back up between the dogs. “Well, I figured that was the end for Earl Brown. I saw where he had thrown in with the foxes and I knew it would be best if I shot him and the foxes. I had it worked out in my mind that those three were going to take a chicken a night until I was stripped clean. So I loaded up my four-ten over and under and got the four-cell flashlight ready and waited. I was praying Earl Brown wouldn’t run off that night. But tow o’clock came and he sneaked one and lit out through the woods. . . . You know what happened?
“What?”
“They never showed up.”
“Never?”
?Never . . . But still every night Earl Brown would leave the ;house at two. About a week later, I followed that dog out through the woods. I was downwind and I stood behind a big sweet gum and watched them.
“They were out in this little field and the moon was good and I could see everything. They were playing some kind of game out there in that moonlight. The foxes would run and Earl Brown would chase them in little circles. Then the foxes would chase him back and forth. And then it all ended and Earl Brown started back through the woods home.
“Mind you, I said ‘started back.’ Because the minute that rascal figured those foxes figured he was going home, he doubled back. I tell you that was one funny sight. Here I’m behind one tree and Earl Brown is behind another tree and we’re both watching those foxes.
“They were running around in circles and making little barking sounds like they were laughing. I tell you, I don’t know when I’ve been so fascinated. I shore wish I had had me a camera about then.
“All of a sudden it hits me what was going on. Old Earl Brown was picking up the foxes’ secret about running. That rascal had paid them foxes to show him something. He’s paid them with that Rhode Island Red and now he was checking on the foxes to make sure he’d get ;his money’s worth. Well, by God, I thought I knew something about hounds and foxes but I was shore learning something that night standing out behind that sweet gum tree. And Earl Brown not twenty yards away tipping his head around his tree . . . Man, that was one funny night.
“Well, that running secret ain’t easy and Earl Brown had to go back several nights. And every night he went, I went. It took him, all told, about three weeks but I’ll be dogged if he didn’t finally get it.”
Coley got off of the bed and squatted down by us. He took another drink and we followed. He spoke lower now.
“I don’t want them dogs hearing the rest of this. They’ll get out and try it out and wind up breaking their necks. It’s too tricky. As smart as Earl Brown was he had a ;hard time learning it. He took a few pretty bad falls himself before he got it.”
Coley stopped and let the bait trail. . . .
Charley rose to it. “Learned what, Coley?”
Coley spoke even lower than before. “How to run like a fox, that’ what. Oh, that was one fine dog. He set his mind to it and he learned it. He was marvelous.”
Charley was getting jumpy. “What id he learn Coley” What did he learn?”
“Don’t rush me, boy You don’t know much about foxes, do you, boy?”
“I guess not.”
“Well you know a fox can outrun any living dog if he feels like it, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Usually they don’t feel like it. They’re too smart to just do straight running. Most of the time they work in pairs and they get the dogs so confused they don’t know what’s going on. They’ll be running one way and then all of a sudden the other fox will pop up from another direction. Hell, they have signals. Sometimes they’ll run the dogs through briar patches, skunk cabbage, anything, and lots of time round and round in the same circles. A good fox will give a pack of dogs a fit. Lot of time a fox will hide and when the dog pack comes by he’ll jump in and run along with them. He’ll be barking and carrying on and having himself a marvelous time and the dons won’t know a thing.
“Oh, them red foxes are smart. And a good running fox on a straightaway, I mean, no cover, no nothing, can burn a dog down to the ground. He can run that hound right into the ground and he’ll be as fresh as when he started. He won’t even be breathing hard. You think back. You ever seen a tired fox? No. They don’t get tired. And it’s all because they got this secret way of running.”
Coley was whispering. He really didn’t want the dogs to hear. “It’s like this. When a fox runs he only uses three legs. Next time you see one running, you watch. You gotta look close, those reds are smart devils. They keep it secret and they only do it when they’re off by themselves or when they get in trouble. Kind of emergency you might say.”
Charley said, “Whoa now. What do you mean three legs?”
“They rotate, that’s what they do. They rotate. They run on three and keep rotating. That way they always got one resting. That’s why they give the impression that they’re limping all the time and got that little hop in their run.”
“Coley,” Charley said, “I just can’t believe that one.”
Coley jumped up and walked across the room twice. He raised his hand. “The Lord will snatch out my tongue and strike me dead right here and now if that ain’t the God’s truth.”
It continued raining . . . And the Lord didn’t make a move. . . . .

29th Post THE PAST IS MYSELF

During my service in the United States Army, while stationed in Germany, I purchased at the
PX a paperback book titled: Southern Fried. Whenever my outfit was in garrison at Krabbenloch Kaserne in Ludwigsburg, I would entertain my buddies by reading aloud to them, excerpts from
the book. When I was reassigned to Ft. Bragg, N.C., I left my book behind for their reading pleasure.

During my tenure at Ft. Bragg, I had the pleasure of wandering into South Carolina and visiting Moncks Corner and other areas around Southeastern South Carolina and North Eastern
Georgia.

Returning to civilian life, I happened upon a copy of a new release of Southern Fried this book
was Southern Fried Plus Six and the author William Price Fox.

The following story is from this book, which is presently out of print. I will add Mr. Fox’s stories
to my personal blog and hope that his writing is enjoyed by others as much as it has been enjoyed through the years by me.

THIS IS FOR ALL YOU BASEBALL FANS
“LEROY JEFFCOAT”

On Leroy Jeffcoat’s forty-first birthday he fell off a scaffold while painting a big stucco rooming

house over on Sycamore Street. Leroy was in shock for about twenty minutes, but when the
doctor brought him around he seemed all right.

Leroy went home and rolled his trousers and shoes into a bundle with his Sherwin-Williams

paint company cap and jacket. He tied the bundle with string to keep the dogs from dragging it
off and put it in the gutter in front of his house. He poured gasoline over the bundle and set it on
fire. That was the last day Leroy Jeffcoat painted a house.

He went uptown to the Sports Center on Kenilworth Street and bought two white baseball uniforms with green edging, two pairs of baseball shoes, a Spalding second baseman’s glove, eight baseballs and two bats. Leroy had been painting houses at union scale since he got out of high
school, and since he never gambled or married he had a pretty good savings account at the South Carolina National Bank.

We had a bush-league team that year called the Columbia Green Wave. The name must have

come from the fact that most of us got drunk on Friday nights and the games were always
played on Saturdays. Anyhow the season was half over when Leroy came down and wanted to
try out for second base.

Leroy looked more like a ball player than any man I’ve ever know. He had that little ass-pinched

strut when he was mincing around second base. He also had a beautiful squint into or out of the
sun, could chew through a whole plug of Brown Mule tobacco in four innings, and could worry a
pitcher to death with his chatter. On an don and on….we would be ahead ten runs in the ninth
and Leroy wouldn’t let up.

But Leroy couldn’t play. He looked fine. At times he looked great. But he knew too much to play

well. He’d read every baseball book and guide and every Topp’s Chewing Gum Baseball Card
ever printed. He could show you how Stan Musial batted, how Williams swung, how DiMaggio
dug in. he went to all the movies and copied all the stances and mannerisms. You could say,
“Let’s see how Rizzuto digs on out, Leroy.” He’d toss you a ball and lope out about forty feet.

“All right, throw it at my feet, right in the dirt.” And you would and then you’d see the Old

Scooter movement - low and quick with the big wrist over to first.

Leroy could copy anybody. He was great until he got in an actual game. Then he got too nervous.

He’d try to bat like Williams, Musial and DiMaggio all at once and by the time he’d make up his
mind he’d have looked at three strikes. And at second base it was the same story. He fidgeted
too much and never got himself set in time.

Leroy played his best ball from the bench. He liked it there. He’d pound his ball into his glove

and chatter and grumble and cuss and spit tobacco juice. He’d be the first one to congratulate the home-run hitters and the first one up and screaming on a close play.

We got him into the Leesboro game for four innings and against Gaffney for three. He played the
entire game at second base against the State Insane Asylum….but that’s another story.

When the games ended Leroy showered, dried, used plenty of talcum powder and then spent

about twenty minutes in front of the mirror combing his flat black hair straight back.

Most of the team had maybe a cap and a jacket with a number on it and a pair of shoes. Leroy

had two complete uniform changes. After every game he’d change his dirty one for a clean one
and then take the dirty one to the one-day dry cleaner. That way Leroy was never out of
uniform. Morning, noon, and night Leroy was ready. On rainy days, on days it sleeted, and even
during the hurricane season, Leroy was ready. For his was the long season. Seven days a week,
thee hundred and sixty-five days a year, Leroy was in uniform. Bat in hand, glove fastened to
belt, balls in back pocket, and cut plug going. And he never took off his spikes. He would wear a
set out every two weeks. You could see him coming from two blocks away in his clean white
uniform. And at night when you couldn’t see him you could hear the spikes and see the sparks on the sidewalk.

The Green Wave worked out on Tuesday and Thursday in the evening and we played on

Saturday. Leroy worked out every day and every night. He’d come up to Doc Daniel’s drugstore
with his bat and ball and talk someone into hitting him fly balls out over the telegraph wires on
Mulberry Avenue. It could be noon in August and the sun wouldn’t be any higher than a high
foul ball, but it wouldn’t worry Leroy Jeffcoat. He’d catch the balls or run them down in the
gutter until the batter tired.

Then Leroy would buy himself and the batter a couple of Atlantic ales. Doc Daniels had wooden

floors and Leroy wouldn’t take his baseball shoes off, so he had to drink the ale outside.

Doc would shout out, “Leroy, damn your hide anyway. If you come in here with those spikes on

I’m going to work you over with this ice-cream scoop. Now you hear?”

Leroy would spin the ball into the glove, fold it and put it in his back pocket.

“Okay, Doc.”

“Why can’t you take those damn spikes off and sit down in a booth and rest? You’re getting too

old to be out in that sun all day.”

Leroy was in great shape. As a rule, house painters have good arms and hands and bad feet.

He would laugh and take his Atlantic ale outside in the sun or maybe sit down in the little bit of

shade from the mailbox.

Later on, he would find someone to thrown him grounders.

Come on, toss me a few. Don’t spare the steam.”

He’d crowd in on you and wouldn’t be more than thirty feet out there.

“Come on, skin it along the ground.”

You’d be scared to throw it hard but he’d insist.

“Come on, now, a little of the old pepper. In the dirt.”

Next thing you’d be really winging them in there and he’d be picking them off like cherries or

digging them out of the dust and whipping them back to you. He’d wear you out and burn your
hands up in ten minutes. Then he’d find somebody else.

Leroy would go home for supper and then he ‘d be back. After dark he’d go out to the street

lamp and throw the ball up near the light and catch it. The June bugs, flying ants and bats would
be flitting around everywhere but he’d keep on. The June bugs and flying ants would be all over
his head and shoulders and even in his glove. He might stop for a while for another Atlantic ale,
and if the crowd was talking baseball he’d join it. If it wasn’t and the bugs were too bad he’d
stand out in the dark and pound his ball in his glove or work out in the window of Doc Daniels’
front window. In front of the window he became a pitcher. He worked a little like Preacher Roe,
but he had more class. He did a lot of rubbing the resin bag and checking signs from the catcher
and shaking them off. When he’d agree with a sign he’d nod and his head slow …. Exactly like
Roe. The he’d get in position, toss the resin aside, and glare in mean and hard at the batter. He
took a big reach and stopped and then the slow and perhaps the most classic look toward second
base I’ve ever seen -- absolutely Alexandrian. Then he’d stretch, wind, and whip it through. He
put his hands on his knees …. Wait. It had to be a strike. It was. And he’d smile.

And read a sports page? Nobody this side of Cooperstown ever read a page the way Leroy

Jeffcoat did. He would crouch down over that sheet for two hours running. He’d read every word and every figure. He went at it like he was following the puzzle maze in Grit, trying to find the
pony or the seven-teen rabbits. He had a pencil about as long as your little finger and he’d make
notes along the margin. When he finished he’d transfer the notes to a little black book he carried
in his back pocket. Leroy would even check the earned run average and the batting and field
average. I don’t mean just look at them….he’d study them… And if he didn’t like them he’d
divide and do multiplication and check them over. And if they were wrong he’d be on the
telephone to the Columbia Record or else he’d write a letter.

Leroy was always writing letters to the sports writers. Like he’d read an article about how Joe

DiMaggio was getting old and slipping and he’d get mad. He’d take off his shoes and go inside Doc Daniels’, buy a tablet and an envelope, get in the back booth and write. Like: “What do you mean Joe DiMaggio is too old and he’s through. Why, you rotten son of a bitch, you just wait and watch him tomorrow."

Next day old Joe would pick up two for four and Leroy would take off his spikes and get back in that back booth again. "What did I tell you? Next time, you watch out who your're saying is through. Also, you print an apology this week or I am going to personally come up there and kick your fat ass. (Signed) Leroy Jeffcoat, taxpayer and second baseman, Doc Daniels’ Drugstore, Columbia, S. C.”

This would be a much better story if I could tell you that Leroy’s game improved and he went on and played and became famous throughout the Sally League. But he didn’t.

He got a little better and then he leveled off. But we kept him around because we liked him

(number one), that white uniform edged in green looked good (number two), and then, too, we
used him as an auxiliary man. A lot of the boys couldn’t make it through some of those August
games. When you start fanning yourself with a catcher’s mitt, it’s hot. All that beer and corn
whisky would start coming out and in most games we would wind up with Leroy playing.

One game, Kirk Turner, our right fielder, passed out right in his position in the short weeds. We

had to drag him into the shade and Leroy ran out to right field and began chirping. He caught a
couple and dropped a couple. At bat he decided he was Ted Williams and kept waiting for that
perfect ball that Ted described in the Saturday Evening Post. The perfect ball never came and
Leroy struck out twice. In the seventh he walked. It was his first time on base in weeks and he
began dancing and giving the pitcher so much lip the umpire had to settle him down.

Our last game of the year and the game we hated to play was with the South Carolina State

Penitentiary down the hill.

First of all, no one beats The Pen. Oh, you might give them a bad time for a couple of innings but

that’s about all. It’s not that they’re a rough bunch so much as it’s that they play to win. And I
mean they really play to win.

Anyhow, we went down and the game started at one-thirty. The high walls kept the breeze out

and it was like playing in a furnace. Sweat was dripping off my fingertips and running down my
nose.

Billy Joe Jasper pitched and in the first inning they it him for seven runs before Kirk Turner

caught two long ones out by the center field wall.

We came to bat and Al Curry, our catcher led off. Their pitcher’s name was Strunk and he was in

jail for murder. The first pitch was right at Al’s head. He hit the dirt. The crowd cheered. The
next pitch the same thing; Al Curry was as white as a sheet. The next pitch went for his head but
broke out and over the inside of the plate. Al was too scared to swing and they called him out on
the next two pitches.

Jeff Harper struck out next in the same manner. When he complained to the umpire, who was a

trusty, we went out and talked to Strunk. It didn’t do any good.

I batted third. It was terrifying. Strunk glared at me and mouthed dirty words. He was so tall

and his arms were so long I thought he was going to grab me by the throat before he turned the
ball loose. I kept getting out of the box and checking to see if he was pitching from the mound. He seemed to be awfully close.

I got back in the box. I didn’t dig in too deep. I wanted to be ready to duck. He reached up about

nine feet and it came right at my left eye. I hit the dirt.

“Ball One.”

From the ground: “How about that dusting?”

“You entering a complaint?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

The umpire went out to see Strunk and the catcher followed. They talked a while and every few

seconds one of them would look back at me. They began laughing.

Back on the mound. One more baseball and once more in the dirt. And then three in a row that

looked like beaners that broke over the plate. Three up. Three down.

At the end of five innings we didn’t have a scratch hit. The Pen had fourteen runs and the pitcher

Strunk had three doubles and a home run.

We didn’t care what the score was. All we wanted to do was get the game over and get out of

that prison yard. The crowd cheered everything their ball team did and every move we made
brought only boos and catcalls.

At the end of seven we were still without a hit.

Leroy kept watching Strunk. “Listen, I can hit that son of a bitch.”

I said, “No Leroy, he’s too dangerous.”

“The hell he is. Let me at him.”

Kirk Turner said, “Leroy, that bastard will kill you. Let’s just ride him out and get out of here.

This crown make me nervous.”

But Leroy kept on insisting. Finally George Haggard said, “Okay, Leroy. Take my place.” So

Leroy replaced George at first.

Strunk came to bat in the eighth and Leroy started shouting. “Let him hit! Let him hit, Billy Joe.

I want to see that son of a bitch over here.”

He pounded his fist in George’s first baseman’s glove and started jumping up and down like a

Chimpanzee.

“Send that bastard down here. I want him. I’ll fix is ass.”

The crowd cheered Leroy and he tipped his hat like Stan Musial.

The crowd cheered again.

Strunk bellowed, “Shut that nut up, ump.”

Leroy wouldn’t ‘t stop. “Don’t let him hit, Billy! Walk him. Walk that bean ball bastard. He might

get a double; I want him over here.”

Billy Joe looked at Al Curry. Al gave him the walk sign. Two balls … three balls …

“You getting scared, you bastard? Won’t be long now.”

The crowd laughed and cheered.

Again the Musial touch with his cap.

Strunk shouted, “Listen, you runt, you keep quiet while I’m hitting or I’ll shove that glove down

your throat.”

Leroy laughed, “Sure you will. Come on down, I’ll help you.”

Four balls …

Strunk laid the bat down carefully and slowly walked toward first. Strunk go close. The crowd

was silent. Leroy stepped off the bag and Strunk stepped on. Leroy backed up. Strunk followed.
Everybody watched. No noise. Leroy stopped and took his glove off. He handed it to Strunk.
Strunk took the glove in both hands.

Leroy hit him with the fastest right I’ve ever see.

Strunk was stunned but he was big. He lashed the glove into Leroy’s face and swung at him.

Leroy took it on the top of his head and crowded in so fast Strunk didn’t know what to do. Leroy

got him off balance and kept him that way while he pumped in four lefts and six rights.

Strunk went down with Leroy on top banging away. Two of us grabbed Leroy and three got a

hold of Strunk. They led Strunk back to the dugout bleeding. He turned to say something and
spat out two teeth. “I ain’t through with you yet.”

The crowd went wild.

Someone shouted, “What’s his name? What’s his name?”

“Jeffcoat … Leroy Jeffcoat.”

They cheered again. And shouted. “Leroy Jeffcoat is our boy.” And then, “Leroy Jeffcoat is red

hot.”

Leroy tipped his hat Musical - style, picked up George Haggard’s glove and said, “Okay, let’s

play ball.”

Another cheer and the game started.

The Pen scored two more times that inning before we got them out. We came to bat in the ninth

behind 21 to 0. Strunk fanned me and then hit Coley Simms on the shoulder. He found out that
Leroy was batting fifth so he walked the next two, loading the bases so he could get a shot at
him.

So Leroy came up with the bases loaded and the prison crowd shouting, “Leroy Jeffcoat is our

boy.”

He pulled his cap down like Musial and dug into the box like DiMaggio. The crowd cheered and

he got out of the box and tipped his cap.

Strunk was getting madder and madder and he flung the resin down and kicked the rubber.
“Let’s go, in there.”

Leroy got in the box, whipped the bat through like Ted Williams and hollered, “Okay, Strunk,
let’s have it.”

Zip. Right at his head.

Leroy flicked his head back like a snake but didn’t move his feet.

The crowd booed Strunk and the umpire went out to the mound. We could hear the argument.

As the umpire turned away Strunk told him to go to hell.

The second pitch was the same as the first. Leroy didn’t move and the ball hit his cap bill.

The umpire wanted to put him on base.

Leroy shouted, “No, he didn’t hit me. He’s yellow. Let him pitch.”

The crowd cheered Leroy again. Strunk delivered another duster and the ball went between

Leroy’s cap bill and his eyes. This time he didn’t even flick his head.

Three balls . . . No strikes.

Two convicts dropped out of the stands and trotted across the infield to the mound. Thy meant

business. When they talked Strunk listened and nodded his head. A signal passed around the
infield.

The fourth pitch was right across Leroy’s chest. It was Williams’ ideal ball and it was the ball

Leroy had been waiting for all season. He hit it clean and finished the Williams swing.

It was a clean single but the right fielder bobbled it and Leroy made the wide turn toward

second. The throw into second was blocked and bobbled again and Leroy kept going. He ran in
spurts, each spurt faster than the last. The throw go third got past the baseman and Leroy
streaked for home, shouting.

He began sliding from twenty feet out. He slid so long he stopped short. He had to get up and

lunge for home plate with his hand. He made it as the ball whacked into the catcher’s mitt and
the crowd started coming out of the stands.

The guards tried to hold the crowd back and a warning siren sounded. But the convicts got to

him and paraded around the field with Leroy on their backs. The came was called at this point
and the reserve guards and trusties came out with billy clubs.

Later Coley and I learned from The Pen’s manager that the committee had told Strunk they

wanted Leroy to hit a home run. We never told the rest of the team or anybody else about that.

After we showered at The Pen we all went back to Doc Daniels’ Drugstore. Everyone told

everyone about it and when Doc Daniels heard it he came outside and personally led Leroy into
the store with his spikes on.

“Leroy, from now on I want you to feel free to walk right in here anytime you feel like it.”

Leroy smiled, and put his bat and his uniform bag up on the soda fountain. Doc bought Atlantic
ales for everyone. Later, I bought a round and Coley bought a round.

And just as we were settling down in the booths with sandwiches, potato chips, and the jukebox

going, Leroy picked up his glove and started spinning his ball of the ends of his fingers and said.
“I’m getting a little stiff. Anyone feel like throwing me a few fast ones?”

28th Post "THE PAST IS MYSELF"

Historic House on West Main Street, Franklin, TN
Historic Downtown "Town Square", Historic Franklin, TN

Town Square, Historic Franklin, TN with Confederate Soldier Statue

Front Entrance to"The Factory at Franklin" on a cold snowy night

Building 3, "The Factory at Franklin"

Building 2, "The Factory at Franklin"

Building 2, Nortwest Side, "The Factory at Franklin"

The Boiler Room Theater, "The Factory at Franklin"

Free Standing Wall on the Northeast Side of "The Factory at Franklin"

Franklin, Tennessee is being preserved as an old historic southern township, similar to the preservation of Historic Colonial Williamsburg. Many homes are on the “National Register of Historic Places” as is The Factory at Franklin. The above photographs show the Town Square or Court House Square in downtown Franklin, one of the 1800s vintage homes on the National Register and some night scenes during a snowy winter’s night at The Factory.
One of the bloodiest battles of the American Civil War was fought in Franklin, Tennessee towards the end of the Civil War. Many acres of the town are now being set aside to become a memorial park to the fallen of both the Union and the Confederacy. Eventually the parks will become a part of the National Park System.

27th Post "THE PAST IS MYSELF"

When Mr. Calvin LeHew purchased the old stove factory, which later became known as "The Factory at Franklin", and is now on the National Register of Historic Places, one of Mr. LeHew's requests was to allow the old water tank to be preserved and stay on the property as a "calling card" for "The Factory at Franklin". Today the old water tank is definitely a calling card and it is also a landmark. I have photographed the water tank during all seasons and in all lighting conditions. Above are a sampling of photographs of the water tank. Two of the photgraphs are enhanced using "Adobe Photoshop". One is the "crackled" artlike photo and the other is the "red mood" coming out eclipse above the factory.

The Red moon photo was a photo I captured at another place at another time and with a different camera. I found the old photo in a box of old pictures and utilizing my scanner, superimposed the old freshly eclipsed moon over the existing moon in the photograph. I thought this made a most interesting photo of the factory's water tank.

26 th Post "THE PAST IS MYSELF"

Since my retirement from the telecommunications industry, I have been working for "The Factory at Franklin". Entering the edifice, an "old fashion" chalk board greets the visitor with an announcement of what event or events are in progress. One of my tasks during my scheduled time on duty is drawing the announcement on the chalkboard. Above is a sampling of announcements I've drawn.

Below is a copy of my resume', I have always felt a person should have within his or her reach, a good doctor, attorney, dentist and their resume'. I have always felt life is more rewarding if a person stays occupied and does not "drift off" into inactivity, you live longer and enjoy a more productive life.

ROBERT MORRIS McCLURKAN

609 Boyd Mill Ave# 2

Regency Square

Franklin, TN 37064-3105

Home Phone (615) 595-2964

E-Mail rmcclurkan@bellsouth.net

OBJECTIVE: To obtain a position in the work force where skills, talents and experience may be utilized that will help in the progressive growth of the company that employs me.

QUALIFICATIONS: 30 plus years experience in the Telecommunications Industry with Southern and South Central Bell Telephone Companies;19 years experience in management; 5 years experience as a product trainer and consultant with the Raychem Corp., 3 years in a management position with BOE-TEL Communications Company. All tasks during career tenure involved meeting deadlines, working with the public and Corporate Officials in a service capacity and selling telecommunications products and services.

EDUCATION1943-1951 Elementary School, Edgewood School, Dickson County, TN

1951-1955 High School, Chicago Christian High School, Chicago, IL (Graduated)

1957-1960 College, University of Tennessee, Nashville Extension Branch (Non-Graduate)

EMPLOYMENT1956-1961 CENTRAL OFFICE FRAME-MAN, Southern Bell Telephone & Telegraph Company - Responsible for wiring Central Office Equipment to Outside Plant Cables and making modifications of Central Office Equipment to unique circuits. Extensive Cross-Training Programs were introduced in the job responsibilities of (Acting Titles): Central Office Switchman, Cable Splicer, Installer-Repairman, Lineman, Cable Splicer’s Helper and Cable Repairman’s Helper. Pole Climbing and various training packages were administered.

1961-1964 WIRE CHIEF, United States Army Signal Corps; Continental U.S. Training at Ft. Hood, Texas; Ft. Gordon, Georgia; Ft. Dix, New Jersey; stationed two years in Germany with the VII Corps; nine months at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina with the Strategic Communications Group, building troop strength for the 36th Signal Battalion being deployed to the Viet Nam Theatre. Duties included set up and maintenance of field mobile signal equipment.Honorably Discharged.

1964-1965 CENTRAL OFFICE FRAME-MAN, Southern Bell Telephone & Telegraph Company - Responsible for wiring Central Office Equipment to Outside Plant Cables and the Modifications of Central Office Equipment to unique circuits. Applying Bridge Lifters for elimination of Party Line Service.

1965-1967 INSTALLER-REPAIRMAN, Southern Bell Telephone & Telegraph Company Responsible for installation and repair of communication lines, circuits and equipment.

1967-1986 SUPERVISOR, Southern & South Central Bell Telephone & Telegraph Companies - Responsible for training, quality, productivity and service deadlines in Cable and Station Repair; Local and Long Distance Test Board Operations; Residential and Business Line and Station Equipment Installation and Central Office Operations. Ordering tools, equipment and apparatus for job completions in assigned areas of responsibility.

1986-1990 RETIRED, After 30 years and 4 months of service with the Bell System, traveled for the next four years throughout the United States; visiting National Parks and observing various cultures, customs and lifestyles of the populace in diversified geographical areas.

1990-1991 TELECOMMUNICATIONS SPECIALIST, Raychem Corp. - Responsible for introducing Raychem’s Telecommunication’s Products to GTE Telephone Company’s Supervisory Personnel and Work Groups in Virginia, West Virginia and Eastern Kentucky. Trained field personnel in the proper technique for installation and maintenance of the products in their plant. Available as a troubleshooter for problems that arose in their plant with Raychem products.

1991-1993 Relocated to Tennessee from Virginia to remodel and renovate the family home and farm. Also, to establish care for elderly widowed father.

1993-1996 TELECOMMUNICATIONS SPECIALIST, Raychem Corp.- Responsible for introducing Raychem’s Telecommunication’s Products to Independent Telephone Companies and Rural Cooperatives in Tennessee and Southwest Kentucky; selling field management personnel on the value of the product to the outside plant and training all personnel in the proper procedures for product application.

1996-1999 SUPERVISOR, BOE-TEL Communications LLP - Responsible as a Project Manager for supervising technicians in the proper installation of communications wiring; Fiber Optic, Cat 5, Cat 3, Coax and associated equipment on customer’s contracts. All work operations met the specifications of the TIA, (Telecommunications Industry Association); EIA, (Electronics Industries Association); NEC, (National Electrical Codes) and BICSI, (Building Industry Consulting Service International).PURCHASING AGENT, BOE-TEL Communications LLP - Responsible for heading up material management as the company grew and progressed. Responsible for negotiating prices with suppliers, and ordering material for all jobs and contracts, maintaining a supply warehouse with necessary consumable material for technicians use and delivery of the materials to job sites.

TRAINING - BELL TELEPHONE TRAINING:RECORDS Frame-man (P300 P322)Safe Pole Climbing (P800) (296) (P8161)Cable Splicing (P802)Basic Line & Station Installation (P600) (P158)Advanced Driver Performance (P959) (190) (P966)Cathode Ray Oscilloscope (SCB P021)Communications Workshop (SCB 1104)1A1 1A2 Key Systems (SCB P614) (P611) (P615) (NOW 7561- 75662)Modular First Aid (SCB P120)General Supervisory Training (SCB 1106)Safety Training (SCB P176) (P178)Urban Orientation (SCB 1110)Repair Service for 2nd Level Supervisors (SCB P140) (P184)Local Test Desk (SCB P400) (180)Repair Service Attendant (SCB P451) (211)Treat-Ticket (P485) (SCB P628)Interdepartmental Management Orientation (1 MOP) (SCB 1103) (P186)Job Administration - Residence Repair (SCB P171) (J184)Circuit Reading (SCB P108) (P111) (P112)Station Maintenance (P608) (138) (SCB 608)Ladder Handling (P804) (304) (SCB P805)

Job Administration - ARSB (P190) (SCB P194)Maintenance Center Screening Function (SCB P633)Cable Splicing (185)Cable Repair Fault Locating (SCB P809)SLC - 96 (Subscriber Line Carrier 96) (SCB P567)New Age Thinking (SCB 1908) (L908)

AWARDS Educational:

3rd Place in the Midwest Oratorical Contest.

1st Place in the Area Essay Contest.Military:

Certificate of Achievement (Outstanding Trainee-Basic Combat Training).

3 Awards as Battalion Soldier of the Month.

Honorable Discharge

Bell System: Commendation for lectures presented while a member of the Speaker’s Bureau.

1st Place in Company Wide Photographic Contest.

Annual Safety Awards, personal and group.

Many personal letters of commendation sent by customers to the company.

STRONG POINTS
I have an outgoing personality, excellent verbal communication skills and writing skills.I excel as a trainer on technical agendas, I work hard to bring the information to trainees in a manner that is easily understood, receptive and retained.I follow through with all assigned tasks, not allowing any portion of the task to be left unattended.I am an excellent organizer in time management.I am punctual with all appointments.

WEAK POINTSI have a tendency to become a workaholic by becoming deeply engrossed in my job.Copies of training records, awards and letters of commendation will be made available to you at your request.

25th Post "THE PAST IS MYSELF"

My First and only Teen Age Love, the most beautiful girl I had ever met ! And in my heart I loved her with all that was in my being!

FRANCES QUEEN, the "ANGLE" (sic) and TEEN AGE LOVE

During the wonderful years of the mid 1950s, the church I attended, Emerald Avenue Presbyterian Church, sponsored a Westminster Youth Fellowship group. I was very active and attended this group religiously. I also taught Sunday School to teenagers, sang in the church choir and did any other function to accentuate the church and my spiritual life.

Attending the meetings of our youth group, Westminster Youth Fellowship, was a young lady of immense beauty. Absolutely the most creamy delicious complexion, eyes that would mesmerize any young man who gazed deep into those brilliant orifices for any period of time. I gazed, I became mesmerized.

Her hair crowned her impeccable beauty, absolutely unsurpassed in the annals of female pulchritude. I was in love!

One particular Friday Night, after a Youth Fellowship event, Frances Queen allowed me, "she allowed me" to walk her home. Great God in Heaven, Jesus, Savior of the Universe, in all things good and great, “I was walking “Queenie” home. There is no way that the English Language can correctly place parts of speech to even begin to illustrate the feeling I had within my entire being that Friday Night. (A Most Special Night).

After having seen Frances, (we all called her Queenie) to her door, I raced home to begin my writing of the famous "first love letter" to the girl of my dreams. My Angle (sic). Feverishly, I created the letter and expounded my feelings and my love for this lovely maiden. A young lady, of whom I never thought possible, I could ever have the opportunity to spend time alone.

Too impatient to wait until the following Monday to post the letter through the United States Postal Service, I raced late that night back to “Queenie’s” door and placed the letter in a position whereby, when the door was opened, the letter would be visible and attainable.

Never did I realize Frances Queen’s mother would be the opener of the door. Never did I realize Frances Queen’s mother would read my “so personal” letter to the young lady of my heart. Never did I realize Frances Queen’s mother would be the first person to know all that was within my heart, mind and soul. Never would I have thought as the excellent speller of English Words that I was, that in my haste to write a love letter to my dearest Frances Queen, in the heat of passion at age 16, never would I have realized I would misspell “Angel” and substitute the most precious of adjectives to describe this most blessed damsel as an “Angle”.

God, I never knew that I had blown any and all chances of ever walking her home again, but that is just what I did. My mother, Mary Lee Adams McClurkan would never have allowed a relationship to take place with any young lady and her son, and neither was Frances Queen’s mother going to allow her lovely daughter to be placed in the perilous position of being cared about and loved by the likes of me, especially since I called her daughter an “angle”!

The following is a "takeoff) on Tom T. Hall's song: "Pamela Brown".

"However, I’m the guy who didn’t marry pretty Frances Queen, educated well intentioned good girl in our city. I wonder where I’d be today if she had loved me too. Probably be driving grandkids to school.

Yes, I guess I owe it all to Frances Queen, all of my good times and all my roaming around. One of these days I might come rambling through your city and I guess I owe it all to Frances Queen.

I’ve seen the lights of cities and I’ve been inside their doors, I’ve sailed to foreign countries and I’ve walked upon their shores, I guess the guy she married was the best part of my luck, I think he had a steamer trunk full of Federal Bucks.

I really guess I owe it all to Frances Queen, all of my good times and all of my roaming around, and I guess I owe it all to Frances Queen.

I don’t have to tell you just how beautiful she was, everything it takes to get a teenage boy in love; Lord I hope she found happiness, because she deserves to be, especially for what she did for me.

And I guess I owe it all to Frances Queen, all my good times and all my roaming around, I guess I owe it all to Frances Queen."

I heard from Frances Queen during my sixth decade of life, (gosh isn’t the internet great)? She came to visit my wife and me, she is just as beautiful today as she was in the 1950s, and I guess I owe it all to Frances Queen, most beautiful “Angel” that I had ever seen…..see I got it right this time, I learned how to spell “Angel”!

Thanks Frances, for having given me some of the most wonderful thoughts and dreams and having shared my life as a teenager in the Windy City.

24th Post "THE PAST IS MYSELF"

A Bunch of the Yellow Creek Boys, Photo: Circa late 1920s




Jarvis David McClurkan (He hated the name Jarvis) Floyd McClurkan's youngest brother who hates me with a vengence! Photo: Circa 1965

Beverly Jean McClurkan, Jarvis David's only child, I nicknamed her "E. F. Hutton" because whenever she opened her mouth to speak everyone listened. I based this on a 1970s & 1980s commercial of the E. F. Hutton investment firm. "When E. F. Hutton talks, people listen" (which usually involved a young professional remarking at a dinner party that his broker was E.F. Hutton, which caused the moderately loud party to stop all conversation to listen to him). Everytime this young lady opened her mouth, J. D. and all around would stop and become awestruck with whatever she was about to utter. She had been everywhere once and had done everything twice, to hear her talk. She, too, was another one who, if you were in her presence, feel free to discard all your books of knowledge and encyclopedias, she knew everything. Photo: Circa 1965

The top photo of the Yellow Creek Boys include some of the McClurkan Clan along with Mary Lee's twin brother Maurice Reeves Adams.

1 = Floyd McClurkan, my father; and my uncles 2 = Andrew McClurkan,

3 = J.D. McClurkan, 4 = Horace D. Adams, 5 = Maurice Adams