Corning

NOTE: This story takes place in the 70's and 80's in Eastern Kentucky. Some of the social norms of that time and place, including personal insults, may be offensive to today's readers.

I remember the day that Slick Pritts asked me what corning was all about.

“Dean-O, my man, do me a solid, “ he said as we walked from the bus stop to the subdivision where we both lived, “explain what these other guys are talking about when they say they are ‘going corning’. We didn’t have that up in Michigan.

Slick and me were in 8^th grade. He had moved to Hickmanville, my little hometown in Kentucky, back in 7^th grade. At first, we had pretty much hated each other. He talked like a con man and he didn’t talk like the rest of us. He also acted like he thought he was cooler, smarter, and that girls liked him better than the rest of us guys. The thing about it was, he was right! We had a few fistfights and he earned my respect because he fought me to a draw each time. As time passed, he moved into my neighborhood, our parents liked each other, and we became buddies.

I guess you could call him my best friend.

“Look, it’s simple. You dress in black clothes. You get some dried corn. You hide on the side of the road, back in the trees and underbrush. A car goes by and you throw corn at it!

He stared at me like I had grown a third eye.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s fun!” I yelled. I was incredulous that there was as kid who didn’t understand corning cars. “When a few handfulls of corn hits a car doing 45 or 50, it sounds like the windows are cavin’ in! It’s hilarious! Scares hillbillies around here to death! Just right for Halloween!”

He grinned.

“OK, you convinced me, buddy! Are ya doing this thing? Can I go with?”

“Sure thing, Slick! Meet me at the bust stop on Wednesday evening, ‘round 7. Wear black or another dark color.”

Wednesday rolled around. I convinced my parents that I had too much homework to do and needed to be excused from the prayer meeting at church. Mom and Dad didn’t like it, but they took my baby brother and left me at home alone. I hurriedly got the bucket of dried corn that I’d picked up at my grandfather’s farm out of the tool shed and brought it to the house. I divided the corn into two knapsacks. I put on a black sweatshirt, black jeans, and a pair of black Chuck Taylors. I also took a black ski mask along. I made my way out of the house, out of the subdivision, across Cold Creek Road, to the little lean to that served as a bus stop. Slick was waiting. He was dressed in black and he had smeared the eye black he wore under his eyes when he played football all over his face.

“Whatcha think?” he said, “They’ll never see Slick will they?”

I gave him a thumbs up and handed him a knapsack full of corn.

“I’ll show ya my spot, “ I said.

I headed up the road. About 250 feet later, I walked off the road, through some weeds and up an embankment. I sat down behind some brush and a few pine trees. It was almost dark. As Slick settled down next to me, I pulled the ski mask out of my back pocket and put it on.

“In a few minutes, nobody will be able to see us up here, “ I whispered, “Probly can’t now!”

Everybody must have been at the prayer meeting with my parents. An hour went by and we’d only corned a few vehicles. I was worried that Slick might be bored. Then, it happened…

An ancient maroon Oldsmobile came creeping down the road. It wasn’t going more than 25.

“It’s Old Man Fugate!” I hissed at Slick. “Throw everything ya got left at him!”

As the old vehicle ambled by our position, we stood and threw the entire remaining contents of our knapsacks at the old clunker!

The car screeched to a stop! The passenger door swung open and a lanky, white haired scarecrow of a man climbed out of the vehicle.

“You ungodly reprobates!” He screeched, waving a bony fist in the air. “You’ll burn in fire fer this! Fire and brimstone!” He shook his head then and mumbled something I couldn’t make out. Then, he said something that sent a cold chill through my body.

“God helps them what helps themselves! I’m a gonna take care of this here my own self! I’m goin’ to the house fer my Remington! And I’ll keep on shootin’ until I git you scum!”

He returned to vehicle and drove away with the sound of squealing tires. The next sound I heard was Slick laughing, almost uncontrollably.

“Let’s go!” I whispered.

We hurriedly ran back to our subdivision. Slick was still laughing.

“That poor old hillbilly was hilarious!” Slick said.”He was worth the whole thing!”

“Yeah, I know!” I said. Most people said the old man was a nut.

Then, Slick did something unexpected. He reached over and gave me a quick, one armed hug.

“Man, you are the greatest guy I’ve ever known and the best friend I ever had!”

This made me feel great and uncomfortable at the same time. Where we went to school, guys didn’t hug each other or say things like that. If anybody ever found out, Slick and I both would get laughed out of the school!

“Promise me we will do this every year for the rest of our lives!” Slick said. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was drunk.

“Ah, we’ll both outgrow this someday,” I said. I was trying to sound grown up.

He held out his hand.

“Promise me we’ll never get to old for a good time!”

I gave him a soul brother shake. Then, I sprinted to my house and he shambled to his.

The years went by. For the rest of our junior high days, we were two peas in a pod. It was hard to tell where I started and he ended. We went corning together every October.

Then came high school.

Slick started going by Barton, his given first name. He started dating cheerleaders and girls in the National Honor Society. We had an unspoken agreement that I stayed away when he was around his teammates from the football team of his girlfriends.The last time we went corning was the Halloween of our freshman year. My corning partners became the Stokley boys from the upper part of Cold Creek. They smoked cigarettes and not just the tobacco kind. They had tattoos. They had long greasy hair and their daddy flew a Confederate flag in front of their house. Barton Pritts had college coaches visiting him at home on a weekly basis. Barton was inducted into the National Honor Society. He couldn’t be seen with a guy who hung out with rednecks. On graduation day, we didn’t even speak to each other.

Then came college.

Barton Pritts went to Eastern Kentucky University on a football scholarship. He was named the starting QB on the first day of spring practice. On the other hand, I went to little old Hickmanville State College in my hometown. Even though, my old buddy and I had grown apart, I clipped every story the local paper printed on his football exploits and kept them in a shoebox under my bed.

Christmas break of freshman year rolled around and I decided to try and patch things up with ol’ Slick. I went to sports card store in town and bought a football card of his favorite player, Bob Griese. It was even autographed by the man himself. This was for a Christmas gift for my buddy.

I went to his house on Christmas Eve. He was home from college and he had brought his girlfriend, Elise, with him. Elise was the prettiest blonde haired giel I had ever seen. She looked like a movie star and dressed the part. I recognized her from the last year’s election-her father had ran for Lieutenant Governor.

I gave Slick the football card. He responded by saying he didn’t have anything for me. Then, he handed the card to Elise. She put it on the coffee table and it wasn’t mentioned again. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was still there on the coffee table.

I was hoping for a long visit with my pal, but after about ten minutes, he said that he had promised to show Elise around and basically showed me to the door. Honestly, my visit had a dual purpose-I hoped to patch things up with Slick and I desperately wanted to get away from the folks. My first semester grades had consisted of two Ds and three Fs. Mom’s solution to this problem was to cry while Dad though hollering would make everything alright. Jeffrey, my baby brother was 11 years old and very sensitive. He stayed in his room for most of the break.

The problem was that twelve years of school seemed like enough for me, maybe too much. I guess that hanging out with the Stokley boys had made me a bit of a rebel.

My second semester was no better. I received a letter telling me that I no longer was welcome at Hickman State College. Meanwhile, Slick made the Dean’s List and was named Honorable Mention All American.

I found a job at Country Pantry Grocery Store for minimum wage. I mostly went through the motions for six months. I was lying on my bed a few nights before Halloween when Jeffrey walked into my room. He was dressed in all black and carrying a five gallon lard bucket. I knew what he wanted.

“Hey, Dean,” he said, “ can ya go with me?”

“Where ya goin’?” I asked. “The Senior prom?”

He snorted and shook his head.

“It’s almost Halloween, doofus! Let’s go corning!”

“Aww, I worked eight hours today and I’m tired!”

“C’mon, you ain’t went corning since the Stokley Boys went to jail two years ago! You always say how fun it is!”

“OK, squirt, lemme find some black clothes to wear!”

Within ten minutes, we were headed to my old corning spot, hauling the bucket between us. We climbed up to the usual spot. Just like that night when I was an 8^th grader, there wasn’t much traffic.

“Hey, what happened to that old psycho man who would stop and threaten people?” Jeffrey asked me.

“Hargis Fugate died in a nursing home last summer,” I told him.

We got three or four vehicles, mostly pickups. A few of them honked their horns. Then, I saw it…

A red Corvette came roaring down Cold Creek Road. My all time dream car.

“OK, let’s let this one have it all!”

We stood up and, working together, heaved the rest of our corn at the Corvette. Almost all of it hit the windshield. It must have sounded like doomsday to whoever was inside!

The car came to a screeching stop! The passenger door flew open and out of the car stormed Barton Pritts, Honorable Mention, All American Quarterback and my erstwhile best pal!

“OK, you illiterate, inbred hilljacks!” he screamed. “You can’t be throwing that garbage at my car! This vehicle costs more than food stamp lickers like you make in a year! Do you hear me!”

At that moment, the lovely Elise emerged from the car and grabbed Slick’s arm.

“No, Barton, please! It’s not worth it! They aren’t worth it! Let’s go!” She was in tears.

“OK,” he yelled, “I’m leaving! Here’s what I think of you inbreds!”

With that, he held his middle finger in the air and waved it like a child would wave a sparkler in July.

“Wasn’t that…” my brother began.

“I don’t know that guy!” I snapped.

“Let’s go back to the house,” Jeffrey suggested.

We walked back home.

“Hey, Dean?” Jeffrey said.

“Yeah, what?” I replied.

“I wanna thank you for coming with me. I know I’m just a kid and you’re a grownup now, but when I have kids, I’m gonna tell them what a great guy their Uncle Dean was.”

“Aw, it wasn’t a big deal, bud!”

“Was to me! Meant a lot to me!”

“I’m glad and you’re welcome, bro!”

“I know you’re actually too old to be corning, Dean.”

“I promised a guy once that I’d never get too old for a good time!”

“That is so cool, Dean! Hey, wanna watch “Children of the Corn” with me?”

“Nah, I need to get up early tomorrow. I need to go down to the college and see what it will take to let me back into school.”

And I’ve never corned cars since….