Let's You and Him Fight

Hickmanville, Kentucky. We moved there from Illinois in 1972. I was ten years old. My grandfather had been having heart problems and his doctor had advised him to give up running the family business, Walker’s Grocery. The folks and me moved there and lived in a double wide that sat behind Pap and Mamaw’s house.

By the time we had lived there for two years, I was pretty well settled. I made good grades and I was the starting shooting guard on the Caudill County Junior High Hornets basketball team. I had made friends. My best friend was Lefty Arnett, who played point guard on the team.

It was a warm Saturday morning in May 1974. I was sitting on the front porch of the doublewide, barefoot and in my pajamas, eating a bowl of cornflakes.

“Hey, boy!” I heard Pap’s raspy, nasally voice calling.

No male over the age of 12 wants to be called “boy”, but I never seemed to mind when my grandfather called me that.

Pap was a tall, skinny man. Most of his hair was gone, but the small amount that remained formed a wispy horseshoe encircling his head. He wore the same clothes he almost always did: plaid shirt, tan slacks, and a pair of scuffed shoes.

“I was thinkin’ that you all have lived here two years and you ain’t never went to town with me on a Saturday.

“OK,” I responded, “Gimme a minute to get some decent clothes on.”

I went indoors and returned a few minutes later in my usual summer clothes. T-shirt, denim shorts, and a pair of Converse tennis shoes.

I ran next door. Pap was in the driver’s side of his battered Dodge truck. The truck was blue except for the hood and driver’s side door, both red. The tailpipe backfired as I climbed into the cab.

“Alright, let’s go to beautiful, historic Hickmanville, Kentucky!” Papaw said. He was smoking a hand rolled cigarette. He only smoked when Mamaw wasn’t around. Mamaw was an old time Baptist lady and she expected her man to act like a deacon. Since, Pap was a deacon, I guess that it was a reasonable expectation.

When I was fourteen, Pap would show me how to roll a Prince Albert cigarette and give my first can of ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. When I was sixteen, he would lend me several issues of Playboy and Cavalier from his private stash down in the basement. But nothing would ever equal what was waiting in town that day.

As Pap backed out of his driveway, the manual transmission made noises like an animal being led to a slaughterhouse. Pap finally got the vehicle into gear and onto the highway toward town.

“Pap,” I said, “It sounds to me like you and Mamaw are long overdue for a new vehicle!”

He shook his head.

“No, sir. This old truck will have to last until I pass away!”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” I said. Talk about people dying always choked me, up and I didn’t want to get emotional in front of Pap. Although I was only twelve years old, I wanted people to consider me a grown man.

“Dyin’ ain’t nothin’ but a part of livin’, boy,” Pap replied. It was the first time that he had sounded like a deacon that morning. Mamaw would have been so proud of him!

“We better stop at the store and check on that daddy of yours,” Papaw said.

So, our first stop was at Walker’s Grocery. The parking lot was nearly full. A lot of folks did their grocery shopping on Saturday mornings back then.

We walked into the store and, much to our surprise, Dad was running one of the three cash registers. Usually, Dad stayed in his office.

“Look at your daddy, boy!” Pap said, “He’s a workin’ for a livin’ for once!”

Dad was flustered, but he gave us a half smile anyway.

“Sandy Skirvin called in,” he explained. “Her daddy had a stroke and she is at the hospital with him.”

“Too bad,” Pap said. “Rodney Skirvin is a good man. He worked in the coal mines for years. Never heard a bad word said about him.”

“We really should hire a few more part timers, “ Dad said. Then, he looked at me. “James Dean, I wasn’t much older that you was when I started stocking shelves and bagging groceries. Maybe, we should put you on!”

I had two problems with what he said-I hated being called by my full name and he knew it. “Jimmy” was ok, “Jim” was better, and I liked “JD” most of all. He only called me by my full name when there were a bunch of people around, like now. The store was crowded and two of the people in the crowd were the Puckett twins, Susie and Sandy, two identical blondes and the prettiest girls in my school.

Secondly, I knew how my father operated. If I worked in the store, no money would ever change hands, it would be free labor! That was the arrangement when Dad worked for Pap and it would be no different if I was working there.

To my surprise, Pap came to the rescue.

“Aw, Harvey, let him be a boy a while longer! Why, he ain’t even had his first…”

Pap’s voice trailed off. My first what? Girlfriend? Cigarette? Beer?

I would find the answer before the day ended.

After a few more minutes of business talk, Pap and I left Dad and the grocery behind and moved on to our next stop.

“Let’s go see how that worthless cousin of yours is a doin’”, Pap said as we drove further into town.

My “worthless cousin” was Elmo Clayton, actually a cousin twice removed. He had opened a business of his own on Appalachian Street. It was called “Elmos’ Emporioun” We walked into the business and Pap’s face looked like he was smelling the odor of a skunk.

Elmo had a Jefferson Airplane record playing on the stereo. He had several customers, mostly kids my age or high schoolers. He sold trading cards, comic books, sodas, candy bars, potato chips, T shirts with various rock bands on the fronts, and a large selection of rock records and 8 tracks. This was not a place that Pap could understand, much less relate to.

Unlike my grandfather, I loved Elmo’s little shop. I spun the spinner rack where he had a fine selection of comics-Marvel, DC, Charlton, you name it, Elmo probably stocked it. After examining the comics, I moved over to the counter where there was a box of baseball cards. I had a few quarters in my pocket and I wondered what my chances were of finding a Willie Mays card in one of those packs. I had heard that this year might be Willie’s last card.

Pap was talking to Elmo. Like Pap, Elmo was a lanky fellow, but that was where the similarities ended. Elmo’s hair was long and blonde. He had a drooping moustache and wore what my mother called “granny glasses”. His tie dyed shirt seemed to have every color in the rainbow. I could only catch snatches of what Pap was saying. “You need to get some good stock in here, practical merchandise that people can use!” and “ Git yourself a haircut and some decent clothes!”

I felt bad for Elmo.

We didn’t stay long. After that, we headed for Main Street and Scanlon’s Hardware.

“We better stop by and speak to old Amos for a few minutes. We ain’t got a whole lot of time, but I’d hate to miss a chance to speak to my ol’ buddy!”

What does he mean that we don’t have much time? Pap was saying some things that didn’t make much sense.

Scanlon’s Hardware had been a mainstay in Hickmanville for years. Pap’s friend Amos had inherited the business from his father a long time ago and had been very successful. A stroke had disabled Amos five years earlier and he had hired a young man who had a business degree from Northern Kentucky University to run the business for him. Every Saturday, Amos’s wife, June, would bring him into town and put his wheelchair behind the counter so the folks could see him and he could see them.

We walked in and Pap went behind the counter, without seeking permission, to see his old friend. I stayed on the other side of the counter. Amos beamed when he saw my grandfather. Pap took his hand and said, “Howdy, old hoss! How are ya doin’?” Amos made and utterance, but I couldn’t understand any of it. Later on, I realized that only Pap and June could understand the old man. After they conversed in low tones for a few minutes, Pap pointed at me and said, almost shouting, “That’s him! That’s my grandson! Does he look ready, old hoss?”

Ready for what? I was beginning to think that Pap was up to something!

Amos nodded and whisperd something in Pap’s ear. Pap smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, of course, I remember,” Pap said, “Some things a man don’t forget, Amos!”

Amos nodded and smiled. At that time, June made her way behind the counter. She was a trim lady who always dressed like she was going to church. Amos said something to her. June shook her head and gave him a soft slap on his shoulder. Kids used to call them “love taps”.

“You know how I feel about that!” she scolded. Then, to Pap, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself! All of you men around here should be!”

She turned to me and said, “Young man, don’t you listen to old scudders like these two!”

I smiled and nodded. I had no idea what exactly she meant by that warning.

Pap made his way around the counter and grabbed my arm.

“Come on, boy, we have to git to the courthouse!”

I pointed to the clock behind the counter. A clock that doubled as an Orange Crush advertisement.

“It won’t close for another hour!” I responded. Dad was always telling me not to let Pap get overwrought because his heart couldn’t take much!

Pap half led and half dragged me out of the store and onto the sidewalk. The courthouse was only about a block away. As we drew closer to the old stone building with marble columns and statue of Henry Clay in front of it, I could see a gathering of men and boys on the lawn. Thee must have been a hundred or more.

Then, I saw Alex Bevins coming toward me. Alex was a sophomore in high school. Most of the girls thought he was cute. Most of the guys said he didn’t like girls. He wasn’t cute today.

Alex staggered down the sidewalk like he’d had too much to drink over at the Old Dutchman Tavern. His pink silk shirt was ripped and there was dirt on his white slacks. His nose was bleeding and his left eye was nearly swollen shut.

“Hey, Alex, you alright, man?” I asked and moved toward him. I barely knew him, but he looked like he needed somebody to help him.

Pap pulled me away. “Ain’t got no time for that!” his voice sounded like a hissing snake.

About that time, a lanky crewcut man in a deputy sherif’s uniform came up behind Alex and slapped him on the back of his head. Alex stumbled and almost fell.

“Boy, you make me sick!” the deputy snarled. “You can’t be no son of mine! They say around town that you’re a sissy! Maybe they’re right!”

I felt bad for Alex, but Pap dragged me onto the courthouse lawn and into the crowd. I spotted Lefty and yelled out his name. He walked over to em and we gave each other a soul brother shake.

“JD, what’s up, my man?” he said.

“What is this, a hillbilly convention? And what the heck happened to Alex Bevins? He looks like he ran into a brick wall?”

“Your grandad never told you what goes on here on the last Saturday of the month?”

I shook my head.

“Seriously? I thought they told people when they first got to town.”

At that moment, old Wiley Bannister approached us. Wiley was an ancient looking scarecrow in bib overalls that were a size to big around and a size too short. He didn’t wear a shirt beneath the overalls. In the bib pocket I could see a notepad, a pencil and a bills, a twenty and a ten, sticking out. The old man squeezed between us and put an arm around our shoulders. Pap had pointed him out to me once and told me his name, but I really didn’t know him. I was uncomfortable with his arm around me.

“You are two strong boys! I seen you two play basketball and you’re real fine athletes, too! I tell ya what would be good, especially after that boy in the pink shirt didn’t even throw a punch! I tell ya what, boys…”

He gave Lefty and me a toothless smile.

“Let’s you and him fight!”

I laughed and pulled away from him. Like I said, he made me uncomfortable.

“Listen, mister, no disrespect, but this guy is my best friend and you’re crazy as a loon!”

Wiley cringed like I had slapped him. Then, he approached it from a different angle.

“You ain’t a coward, are ya, boy!” I heard you came down here from Ohio! I never once knew an Ohio boy who could fight worth ten cents!” He started making a clucking noise, trying and failing to sound like a chicken.

“He ain’t no coward!” Lefty yelled. “You shut up you crazy old fool!”

A guy walked over and grabbed Lefty by his arm.

“Shut up, Lefty!” the guy said. He was Left’s older brother Matt. Matt was twenty one, dishonorably discharged from the Marines and recently paroled from state prison. Lefty’s dad ran off ten years

ago and Matt was attempting to be Lefty’s substitute dad.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked back. The hand belonged to Pap.

“Look, boy, I know how you feel. I know Lefty is a buddy of yours! Almost sixty years ago, Amos Scanlon was my buddy, too, but that didn’t stop yer old pap from whippin’ his butt! He got over it and you just saw! Me and him is still thick as a couple of hoss thieves!”

“Pap, it don’t make any sense!”

“This is just the way it’s done around here! This is our ways, boy! I did it, yer daddy did it! Now, it’s your turn!”

I looked across the way. Matt was talking to Lefty, punctuating with a pump of his fist. Lefty was looking at the ground, shaking his head. Matt grabbed Lefty’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. At that point, Lefty looked at me and glared, then looked his brother in the eye and nodded. Then, Lefty glared at me. Our eyes met,but he didn’t stop glaring. He pulled off his shirt and threw it at Matt. He put up his fists and stalked toward me. I realized that I had no choice. I pulled off my shirt and handed it to Pap. Out of the corner, I could see Wiley, pencil and pad in hand, walking among the crowd. He was making book on Lefty and me.

Lefty and I slowly approached one another, fists raised. When we got within arm’s length, he threw a left and caught me right in the nose. I felt blood running down my face. I shook my head and circled around.

“They got rules for these fights?” I asked Lefty.

“No guns or knives!” he said.

With that knowledge, I kicked him in the shin. He gritted his teeth and almost lost his balance. I backed up a step and then landed another kick, right between his legs!

“AAAAH!” he screamed and fell to his knees.

Will ran toward us, fist clenched. Two men in deputy uniforms grabbed him and pulled him back.

“He’s fightin’ dirty!” Will screamed.

“Ain’t no such a thing!” I heard Pap yell, God bless him!

Lefty was on his knees, holding his crotch and tears running down his face. I thought about the karate classesI had taken up in Ohio. I remember the tiny Japanese man teaching me the right way to throw a kick. I backed up and ran at Lefty. My kick caught him on the temple. He collapsed to the ground. The deputies let go of Will and he threw himself on top of his brother’s body. I turned and walked away.

Papa ran up and hugged me.

“You won! You won!” he yelled.

“I hugged him back, a little too tight.

“Promise me that you’ll never try to get me to do this again!” I hissed into his ear.

He pulled away, tears in his eyes. He nodded.

“If that’s how you want it, JD.”

True to his world, I never fought on the courthouse lawn again.

Lefty Arnett, my best pal, never spoke to me again. He told Coach Arthur that he wouldn’t play basketball if I was on the team, so I quit. I concentrated on my grades and ended up getting a scholarship. Lefty and his brother Will killed a cop one night while robbing a liquor store. They are both on death row.

Pap died in 1983. He left the grocery store to Dad and me, share and share alike. Dad finally retired and now, the store is all mine. I married Susie Puckett and we’re very happy.

In 1996, Alex Bevins won the election for Sherif of Caudill County by a landslide. He made one campaign promise-no more Saturday fights on the courthouse lawn in Hickmanville.