THEM OLD MULES HAS RUN AWAY WITH MY DADDY

My Daddy said Mr. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, well, he just pretty well saved the whole country. After what old Abe Lincoln did to the South, there was this other feller that came along by the name of Mr. Herbert Hoover. He got all mixed up on how things should be and pretty well finished us off. We had what was known as the Great Depression in these here United States. Both of them fellers were Republican Presidents and My Daddy didn’t hold with no Republicans as long as he lived. I don’t think there were many of them fellers down South when I was a boy. Could’ve been most of them lived up North.

Now, Mr. Roosevelt came up with this idea of an old age pension for everybody. You didn’t even have to work for no railroad, or be no government man. My Granddaddy Poe qualified for this pension, and he thought it might be a good time to retire, him being a one-legged man and all. We lived over there in that old log house where Jeaner Jackson was born. Granddaddy Poe had been arranging his business matters with the banks and selling land to pay off his loan for all them ol’ horses that had died of the distemper. He had just one 40-acre farm left and he thought it’d be a good idea to rent that to My Daddy and get us out of that old log house. He liked the General a lot and wanted to see her life improved. He decided he would live in that big fine apartment building up at Light. He’d live on the rent from the 40-acres and draw his old age pension that everyone was now calling Social Security.

That was in 1944. I was going on eight, my beloved brother on ten, and My Daddy had just turned 30. The war effort was rolling right along. My Daddy was contributing to the war effort by growing cotton to make clothes for all them soldiers. We were raising big fat pigs and fine calves to ship over there to the boys that was fighting the war. We couldn’t eat any of them ourselves as the government man came out and counted them every month. He said it wouldn’t be fair for us to have fresh meat and lard to cook with, being as the rest of the country was doing without and all. He apparently didn’t have any big fat pigs of his own and it was obvious to me he was just plain jealous. Whoever heard of a feller not eating something he had grown hisself.

Well, anyway, the deal was struck with Granddaddy on the renting of the 40 acres. We were ready to get on with our new life. We’d one problem, and that was we needed two teams of horses, and we only had Ol’ Maude and Ol’ Gray. My Granddaddy Poe had a passion for horses and mules that few men ever have. He’d become rich matching up animals that looked alike and then selling them as a pair. He’d also, pretty well, got poor doing the same thing but, nevertheless, he was a very knowledgeable man in these matters. As I pointed out earlier, his great delight in life was to be surrounded by spirited animals and strong healthy young men to work them.

My Granddaddy Poe was 65 by this time and in his prime, when it came to judging horseflesh, as far as he was concerned anyway. He told My Daddy what he needed was a good pair of mules. Now, a mule is a cross between a horse and what my Granddaddy Poe called a Jack, which is a little donkey, best I can tell. Now, out of this mare comes this funny looking ol’ animal, sterile, and kind of bony looking. I never did figure out why anyone would want one in the first place. I can tell you the saying, ‘Stubborn as a mule’ didn’t come to the South by no accident, that’s for sure.

My Granddaddy was dead serious when it came to buying and selling horseflesh. When a talking trade he wore his khaki pants, and long sleeve matching shirt, and of course, the little narrow brim, brown Stetson hat. He, forever, had a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. When he had smoked it halfway down, he’d then use it as a pacifier and chew on it until there wasn’t anything left. When the trading was done, he’d push the hat back on his head, change sides of the mouth with the cigar, and take on a look of contentment mixed with excitement.

He put a great deal of time into talking to fellers, looking here and there, and running down leads to help find My Daddy a pair of good mules. They had to be bought individually, of course, because a team cost at least a hundred dollars more. The men had all gone off to war, or to the big defense factories in the North and the farms, in a lot of cases, had been left unattended. A number of mares were scattered about here and there, and the Jack, forever on his prowl, crawled in and out of the different pastures, leaving mules to be born on farms all over the country. Them not being attended to, they soon grew to be big, strong, and quite wild. My Granddaddy, after scouring high and low, did indeed show up with these two fine specimens. He had hired a Mr. Marshall and his big stock truck to deliver’em. I was out in the yard, when they came driving into the horse lot. Granddaddy sat right up there in that truck with Mr. Marshall, with his hat pushed back, smoking his old cigar and I could tell he was as pleased as punch about what he’d found.

Now, these ol’ boys were a couple of dandy two-year-olds that never had a halter on’em, let alone a steel bit in their mouth. The truck was covered with an old tarpaulin and I couldn’t see’em. But the sound of them kicking and pawing and the bouncing of that ol’ A-model truck was a sight to behold. My Granddaddy taught me early on, the best way to get started with an ol’ wild mule was to give him a good cussing, right off. He proceeded to do that in fine fashion, and we looked on as the show unfolded. My Granddaddy yelled at my beloved brother to open the stall door, as we’d put these, blankety blank blank blank, ol’ mules in there to calm them down. My Daddy soon showed up driving the team and wagon back from Light. He seemed as excited as Granddaddy and had hurried home so as not to miss out on any of the fun.

We all gathered around the table that night, and my Grandma Poe and the General cooked us up a dandy meal. Granddaddy and My Daddy were busy planning about how best to break them ol’ mules. Not a lot of help was available, as all the young men where gone. My Granddaddy had fulfilled his role as buyer, and now it was pretty much up to My Daddy. Of course, Granddaddy would be giving him a little advice, along. It was decided that the harnessing of, and giving these ol’ boys their first lesson, would be Saturday morning. After all, there was other work that needed to be done. Now, my beloved brother and me were fascinated with these wild creatures, so it was great fun to climb up in the hayloft and walk out over the top of them to see their fear and watch their reaction. My beloved brother got the idea that if we took a pitchfork and stuck them in the rump, it would make them lively. We’d stick them hard, and they’d jump, buck, kick, and, in general, try to tear the barn down. Great fun, as I remember, until my Granddaddy caught us and reported us to the General.

Saturday came, and my beloved brother and I are perched in the overhead loft. We were ready to watch the making of a real team out of them ol’ sorry mules. My Daddy first roped one and drew the rope up over one of the rafters and commences to do what I’d call, ‘the feller wrestling with the mule thing’. That went on quite a spell, but at last the steel bit was introduced in between the teeth of that ol' mule. He was a kicking, pawing, and passing gas. The foam was running out of his mouth, with a little tinge of red blood, but the match had been won. Next, came his teammate, and round two started. Granddaddy was doing his part, a cussing that ol’ sorry thing. He’d pushed his hat back and was really into it. I don’t think I ever saw him happier.

Then, My Daddy put the horse-collar on that ol’ mule, that’s a thing that goes around the shoulders. Then he put on a piece of harness, called a hamstring, around the horse-collar. From there an attached trace chain runs back to a singletree. These singletrees are both hooked to a doubletree, and that’s what actually pulls the wagon. The hamstring also has a little chain that’s used to tie up the tongue of the wagon. Now, them ol’ boys hadn’t figured out they were a team yet, so My Daddy had a little convincing to do. He had the head of that one ol’ mule drawn up tight and he couldn’t move. My Daddy seemed to be doing pretty well with my Granddaddy’s help. He was standing there trying to keep them ol’ boys attention by talking about their ancestors and telling them where they ought to be and where they was a going. My beloved brother and me were taking it all in trying to learn as much as we could.

My Daddy then takes that ol’ mule out there, puts him on one side of the tongue of the wagon, hooks him up and ties his head high up to a tree branch. Then, he goes back in the barn and the whole thing starts again with the other ol’ mule. Soon, he has him under control and he brings him out and takes him to the other side. All the time him a kicking, rearing and fighting like a cat tied in a tote bag. He tied his head, like he did the other ol’ mule, and then hooked him up. There they were right out there by the shed where Ol’ Trigger had them pups. They were hitched up to that pretty green wagon that we’d gone to visit my Aunt Ruby in. Lots of pulling on the bridle and foaming at the mouth was going on. Them ol mules were a shaking all over. Seems they were sure scared of My Daddy. He had sure showed them ol' boys.

My Granddaddy said, “Get in the wagon Johnny and I’ll cut’em loose.” I’ll never forget what happened next. My Grandaddy, after much pulling, tugging, and wiping of pink tinged foam, let them ol’ boys loose with an oath you could’ve heard in the next county. The General and Granny Poe were on the back porch talking to the Lord and calling on the Holy Ghost. I’d changed my place to high up on my post, and my beloved brother was on the roof of the shed by now. Them ol’ mules took off like a shot, from a dead stop, to a full run. My Daddy was a standing up a hollering “whoa,” and pulling on them check-lines. I don’t think they understood whoa at all. Them check-lines were supposed to guide them ol mules but it didn’t look like it was working that well. They’d turn their heads to the side a little, when My Daddy pulled as hard as he could, otherwise they went where they wanted, which was pretty much everywhere. They ran down that old dirt road about a quarter of a mile, doing what looked like to be about 68 miles an hour, made a wide turn, and tore through the fence, pulling out post and wire as they went, and came flying back toward the house. Suddenly at the turn of the road, the wagon bed where My Daddy was standing went in one direction, and the mules and the rest of the wagon in another. I saw My Daddy flying up about 12 feet high in the air and when he hit the ground it knocked the wind out of him. We were all scared to death he was hurt bad.

Them ol’ mules were in a dead run now. My Granddaddy was a helping them out with his very colorful description of where they were headed and what was a waiting for’em. He hopped over to My Daddy on his wooden leg, helped him up, and asked if he was all right. My Daddy, after getting his breath back, assured him that he was. With that, my Granddaddy gave the biggest laugh I ever heard. Then he said, “Let them run it out, Johnny. You got them now by-god. You sure got them now, and a fine damn team they gonna make too.”

My Granddaddy sure knew how to tell My Daddy how to break them ol’ mules. Thanks to Grandma Poe, the General and the Holy Ghost, nobody got killed that day.