Clarke Courier

WHO REMEMBERS?

By Ed J. Richardson

The middle "back room" of my father's drug store was a combined office and "laboratory" for the preparation of bulk medicines such as Jamaica Ginger, Laudanum, Syrup of Squills, etc. In the middle of this small room was an old-fashioned "pot-belly" stove about which men used to gather on rainy days especially and discuss almost every subject--from religion down to politics.

But the conversation was always "clean" because my father never permitted, and would quickly rebuke, smutty stories.

Among the men who frequently gathered there were two bald-headed men who were not sensitive about the scarcity of hirsute adornment, but would joke about their own almost entirely bald pates. Both were carpenters. One was Charlie Hayslette; the other was John Shackleford. These men were usually witty and afforded others much merriment by their quick repartee and humorous remarks.

On a summer rainy day, before the advent of protective screen doors and windows and when flies were abundant and unusually annoying, Charlie was tilted back in his chair trying to take a cat-nap. But the flies would try to make a coasting-place or a roller-skating ring of his shiny head. He'd slap furiously at the pests but back they'd come and disturb his attempts to go to sleep. Finally, almost in desperation, he gave a particularly hard slap at a persistent fly and exclaimed, "I'll bet, you nasty varmint, if I'd get Hoffman (a sign-painting artist) to paint a big spider on my dome you'd keep off!"

Upon another occasion Shackleford was sitting, with several other men, in the back room when a big, brawny, homely, red-headed man who lived near town came in. He was a very smart-Alecky chap and made Shackleford the butt of his attempted wit. Finally, very officiously rubbing his rough hand over Shackleford's head, he said, "John, why do you keep that old bald head of yours anyway?" Shackleford, without moving his position or appearing to be even perturbed, quickly replied, "Well -----, when the Old Marster made me he asked, 'John, which would you rather have--a red head or a bald head?' I said, 'Give me a bald head every time'." Immediately the red-head subsided and almost ran out the store, followed by roars of laughter.