Every family has one person that is good at something likes sports or fishing. The Cash clan was no exception. Momma Cash was good at cookin'. All of us boys were good at getting our chores done and getting gone. Those were all regular everyday things however. We had one shining member that excelled at an outdoor sport to the point he was a local legend. Pops was the best horseshoe pitcher in the county, bar none.
And Pops took the rules seriously. We had a standard competition playing field set up beside the house. Pops being a surveyor had oriented the scoring pins so that unless it was December 23rd. the sun was never in your eyes. The one inch pins were exactly 40 feet apart and protruded 1' above a 12" circle of concrete so that the 6" rule could never be disputed. Pops bragged about his "imported" competition pitching shoes...but we all knew he had purchased them at Montgomery Wards. Pops was proud of his setup. We played a lot as kids but none of us were stupid enough to play Pops. He always won...always.
We had a lot of family get-togethers back then. That was the way folks did things. There was a one car garage next to the house that had a lean-to pitched roof on one side. Pops called it a carport. As far back as I can remember all it ever had under it was a picnic table. The shade was plentiful between the house and garage. Most our get-togethers centered around that area and that is where the horseshoes got pitched.
One of Momma Cash's sisters, Aunty Francis, had married a shoe shine salesman named Herb. Although their marriage never produced us any cousins to play with; us kids were always happy to see what sort of fancy car Uncle Herb and Aunty Francis would bring when they came. Always the best and top of the line. And once the beer started flowing Herb would go on for hours about how superior everything was that he owned. If we were real lucky, Pops would get in a good argument with Herb. We lived for that kind of thing. And it happened every time two were together.
I'd have to call Cole and ask him, but I think it was a Labor Day picnic at the Cash compound. We had a #10 washtub (the square ones) with bottled pop, beer and watermelon. I remember it was hot and the grass was dead, so Labor Day it was. Anyway, Herb had driven his brand-spanking new 1957 Ford Fairlane Club Victoria two-tone white on black. It had wheel skirts and curb feelers. Rather than use the gravel drive like everybody else, Herb would drive across the yard and park in the grass. We all figured it was because he wanted everybody to see his fancy car. Pops always contended it was so he could keep an eye on it if the repo-man was after it.
Everything went well and Momma Cash's chow was over the top as always. All the women folk had retired to the house with the leftover food and dishes and the outdoor activity turned to a bull session 'mongst the older (and well lubricated) males. Pops hopped up and announced it was time for some 'shoes. They clinked around a while in the standard double elimination rounds and eventually it washed down to Pops...and his mouthy brother-in-law Herb. I opened a fresh Orange Crush for this round.
Herb had tossed a good round and it was Pops turn. As Pops was squaring up, Herb rather loudly announced that Pop's skills were probably because of his "Indian" blood. You could've heard a pin drop. Only close family knew our Gramma Cash had been a full-blooded Delaware Indian from Kansas. And as cool as us kids thought it was back then, Pops never did. You just didn't mention it. Momma Cash was a fair-skinned red head with freckles and Pops looked like an Indian warrior, especially after working outdoors all his life. I heard Momma Cash tell a neighbor lady once that Pops was "Eye-talian". That seemed to hush-up folks.
I remember glancing around at everybody in the still quiet after Herb's remark. We were all waiting for Pops to whip his ass. Instead Pops took the high road, smiled, dug his back-yard slippers into the sand and let fly his shoe. As always it looked like a ringer. And it was, almost. I heard a ping that sounded like someone hitting a 12 penny finishing nail with an oily ball-peen hammer..into green maple. Pops horseshoe had struck the very top of the 1" with an outside edge. I've never seen a shoe sail through the air like that. It must have been 20 feet in the air at the top of its arc. Then I heard someone whisper "oh no...".
I would have thought a horseshoe planting itself dead center into a 1957 Ford Vickie's windshield would have made more noise. It just kind of arrived and imbedded itself right below the rear-view mirror, half in and half out...the windshield looked like a baseball had hit it at 60 miles an hour...all the oxygen left neighborhood...Herb went running out toward his new car and stopped halfway there. He threw his Fedora down on the ground and stomped on it, cussing like a sailor. Pops made the mistake of trying to apologize or console him...It was like two tom cats tearing it up.
All the women came running out of the kitchen. Grown ups were trying to holler at each other and it was getting serious. Momma was over pulling pop and watermelon out of the washtub. With Cole's help they made it over to the fray with the tub and doused the fight like the wildfire it was. Herb was calling Pops a half-breed and Pops was telling Herb he ought to park his car over by everybody else's. It took three or four other grown men to keep them from each other's throats. Momma made us kids go inside. I remember peeking out the front room window and seeing Herb and Francis tearing out of the driveway and throwing grass and gravel all over the place.
We had such a small house that Momma and Pops could not have much of a discussion without us kids listening. All night long we listened to Pops assure Momma that is was just a fluke. I believe him, nobody could make a shot like that. Eventually Herb took his shiny Ford to a glass shop and Pops ponied up the bucks to get a new windshield. I guess there was harmony once again with the grown-ups.
Aunty Francis and Uncle Herb continued to visit occasionally. He always parked in the street after that...and Pops never challenged him to another game of 'shoes.
paden cash, post: 382410, member: 20 wrote: I would have thought a horseshoe planting itself dead center into a 1957 Ford Vickie's windshield would have made more noise. It just kind of arrived and imbedded itself right below the rear-view mirror, half in and half out...the windshield looked like a baseball had hit it at 60 miles an hour...all the oxygen left neighborhood...Herb went running out toward his new car and stopped halfway there. He threw his Fedora down on the ground and stomped on it, cussing like a sailor.
I'm hoping that Uncle Herb wasn't from Texas, but was instead from Arkansas or Kansas.
One of Momma Cash's sisters, Aunty Francis, had married a shoe shine salesman named Herb.
Just to follow up on that recent name posting..... There wasn't any gender bendering going on back then...
Robert Hill, post: 382414, member: 378 wrote:
One of Momma Cash's sisters, Aunty Francis, had married a shoe shine salesman named Herb.Just to follow up on that recent name posting..... There wasn't any gender bendering going on back then...
I thought that the main lesson to be drawn from Brother Cash's parable was (a) if you have a 1957 Crown Victoria sedan, don't drive it to Oklahoma or (2) if you do, be sure to park it well away from the house. It would have seemed to be an obvious point, but possibly not.
Unc, what in hell is a "shoe shine salesman"?
FL/GA PLS., post: 382428, member: 379 wrote: Unc, what in hell is a "shoe shine salesman"?
Guess I should've said shoe polish salesman. He sold shoe polish. Herb always said it was almost as good a business as being an undertaker because everybody will ALWAYS need shoe polish...
Kent McMillan, post: 382415, member: 3 wrote: I thought that the main lesson to be drawn from Brother Cash's parable was (a) if you have a 1957 Crown Victoria sedan, don't drive it to Oklahoma or (2) if you do, be sure to park it well away from the house. It would have seemed to be an obvious point, but possibly not.
I thought the theme was the family dynamic of the Cash clan. Yes, the fancy Ford along with the antagonistic in-law represents a threat to the Cash family culture which in this case would be playing 'Horse Shoes' at the home on a Labor Day holiday with a shoe shine salesman.
Paten's stories always have thoughtful and entertaining themes. There has been a touch of the NYC radio host and author, Jean Shepherd that Paden has acknowledged here, Also there is a touch of inspiration of S.E, Hinton, the renowned OK author.
Here the main theme is play by the rules and respect others. Papa Cash uses his superior skills at horseshoes to drive away the abrasive in-law by an attack on his new Ford being displayed on the Cash lawn for all to envy.
Unfortunately for peace in the family, he will have to provide restitution for his incredible athletic feat.
His recent story here about the rain had a very pronounced existential theme which could be found in literature as an example, a Cormac McCarthy story to a Bob Dylan song.
Robert Hill, post: 382440, member: 378 wrote: I thought the theme was the family dynamic of the Cash clan. Yes, the fancy Ford along with the antagonistic in-law represents a threat to the Cash family culture which in this case would be playing 'Horse Shoes' at the home on a Labor Day holiday with a shoe shine salesman.
Paten's stories always have thoughtful and entertaining themes. There has been a touch of the NYC radio host and author, Jean Shepherd that Paden has acknowledged here, Also there is a touch of inspiration of S.E, Hinton, the renowned OK author.
Here the main theme is play by the rules and respect others. Papa Cash uses his superior skills at horseshoes to drive away the abrasive in-law by an attack on his new Ford being displayed on the Cash lawn for all to envy.
Unfortunately for peace in the family, he will have to provide restitution for his incredible athletic feat.
His recent story here about the rain had a very pronounced existential theme which could be found in literature as an example, a Cormac McCarthy story to a Bob Dylan song.
Well Robert I appreciate your intuitive and positive critique of my literary works, but I feel compelled to confess the truth...
Over my illustrious career as a surveyor I have told these stories over and over to the guys that have been with me in the truck..to the point they finish the stories for me. I tried the "stop me if you've heard this one..", but they always stop me. I've been a story teller since gasoline's had lead in it.
A number of years ago my good friend Shaun Axton, Mark Deal's old partner, attended a "story teller's competition" and lamented that the stories of mine he has heard over the years were better than what he heard at the contest. Although I have never attempted any of my stories as a live oration, I did start to scribble down a few of them. I actually put a good number of these stories in a collection in an attempt to maybe get them published. It was a miserable failure. Probably not because of the content, but probably because I don't believe there is a "publisher" alive that actually reads anything that anybody send them.
My stories are, believe it or not, generally true recollections. A few embellishments maybe, but generally true to form. I'm just happy there are few folks out there that can relate and enjoy the tales. That is really what makes it worthwhile for me.
With the evolution of the internet message board I have found a new audience on which to laud my stories...and I don't even get to see each of you all snicker and wink at each other like the guys in the truck used to!
Robert Hill, post: 382440, member: 378 wrote: His recent story here about the rain had a very pronounced existential theme which could be found in literature as an example, a Cormac McCarthy story to a Bob Dylan song.
You mean like Dylan's "Hurricane"?
Haven't read McCarthy but "Blood Meridian" and "Child of God" look interesting, what say you?
Self-publishing is the way to go. There are companies that specialize in working with authors who aren't writing the next New York Times best seller.
The Sacramento County Public Library now has a self-publishing service where you set it up in a PDF (known as a block) then there is a set up fee and they will print as many copies as you want (if you only want one you can get just one). Then it is in their computer and if someone wants to buy a copy in another City they go to an affiliate, you set the price, they pay the price and get a printed copy.
paden cash, post: 382445, member: 20 wrote: Well Robert I appreciate your intuitive and positive critique of my literary works, but I feel compelled to confess the truth...
Over my illustrious career as a surveyor I have told these stories over and over to the guys that have been with me in the truck..to the point they finish the stories for me. I tried the "stop me if you've heard this one..", but they always stop me. I've been a story teller since gasoline's had lead in it.
A number of years ago my good friend Shaun Axton, Mark Deal's old partner, attended a "story teller's competition" and lamented that the stories of mine he has heard over the years were better than what he heard at the contest. Although I have never attempted any of my stories as a live oration, I did start to scribble down a few of them. I actually put a good number of these stories in a collection in an attempt to maybe get them published. It was a miserable failure. Probably not because of the content, but probably because I don't believe there is a "publisher" alive that actually reads anything that anybody send them.
My stories are, believe it or not, generally true recollections. A few embellishments maybe, but generally true to form. I'm just happy there are few folks out there that can relate and enjoy the tales. That is really what makes it worthwhile for me.
With the evolution of the internet message board I have found a new audience on which to laud my stories...and I don't even get to see each of you all snicker and wink at each other like the guys in the truck used to!
Jean Shephard was basically a story teller or a monologuist.
He did pen a few books (In God we trust...) and articles for Playboy magazine.
But most of his material came from having a few scotches and going on the air at night in NYC and start spinning a story either from his youth in the midwest or his army days.
A lot of your adolescent Cash boy stories naturally reflect the rebellion of youth at that age. Reminiscent of a Hinton story.
Story telling is a art. I think you have to be born with it. The best story ever told me was by a Cajun fellow named Rocky Sonnier at predawn while he was preparing to make cracklin while I drank dark coffee and listened.
Dave Karoly, post: 382449, member: 94 wrote: The Sacramento County Public Library now has a self-publishing service where you set it up in a PDF (known as a block) then there is a set up fee and they will print as many copies as you want (if you only want one you can get just one). Then it is in their computer and if someone wants to buy a copy in another City they go to an affiliate, you set the price, they pay the price and get a printed copy.
Yes it is easier to self publish now. It is not like the vanity presses of years back. I think one can do it on Amazon now.
But marketing is still a problem. If you are publishing to be read, then you must find some sponsor or endorsement of someone or some group.
FL/GA PLS., post: 382447, member: 379 wrote: You mean like Dylan's "Hurricane"?
Haven't read McCarthy but "Blood Meridian" and "Child of God" look interesting, what say you?
No not Hurricane. That was a standard ballad constructed along erroneous facts that were both real and lies.
There are innumerable Dylan songs.
His recent recordings( last 10 years) of originals material reflect various themes of existential choices.
I didn't mean to sidetrack Paden's post.
I took the boy wonder to a different from the usual Park (new to him) with an awesome play structure. Unfortunately it was in the full Sun (high of 106 yesterday) so his Grandmother says we have to go to a different Park with more shade. So I had to chase him and catch him; he was not happy when I scooped him up, he cried like I took away his new kitten. I keep saying, it's okay, we are just going to a different Park. So we get to the different park, it has two awesome play structures with big cloth shades suspended from four poles so he just charges in there and it's the greatest thing ever. See, your Grandpa has your back. He didn't stop going full blast for a whole hour so that when we got home finally he passed out and I did too.
I admit that I indulge him but he's not allowed to be a jerk. A couple of times (on other days) he was playing with another kid's toys and he wanted to keep the toys. He took off with one kid's truck...he wanted to keep that truck...I chased him and caught him...you have to give the kid back his truck. Then they shared for a while after that.
Glad he had fun, but that picture makes my knees hurt.
paden cash, post: 382438, member: 20 wrote: Guess I should've said shoe polish salesman. He sold shoe polish. Herb always said it was almost as good a business as being an undertaker because everybody will ALWAYS need shoe polish...
You know, the late Jim Thompson of Anadarko, OK could have taken that whole story to movie length with just that opening. There wouldn't be an upbeat ending, of course, but it would make a great movie.
Kent McMillan, post: 382534, member: 3 wrote: You know, the late Jim Thompson of Anadarko, OK could have taken that whole story to movie length with just that opening. There wouldn't be an upbeat ending, of course, but it would make a great movie.
I am actually only faintly familiar with his works. I did see the movie "Grifters". If I have read any of his novels I wasn't aware of the author. I checked my exhaustive collection of yard sale paperbacks, but didn't see any of his stuff. Jim apparently couldn't catch a break in his lifetime, and got caught in between the honest world of the common crook and the loathsome villains that flock to politics as their stock in trade. I need to read more of his works.
Robert Hill, post: 382451, member: 378 wrote: ...Story telling is a art. I think you have to be born with it. The best story ever told me was by a Cajun fellow named Rocky Sonnier at predawn while he was preparing to make cracklin while I drank dark coffee and listened.
There in lays the secret of good story teller, in my opinion. One needs to know when to spin a yarn, but first learn when to listen.
