Peg

By W. D. Snider

The 1930’s saw the country steeped in ‘The Great Depression’. Thousands walked the streets trying to sell apples for five cents. Losses on stocks created a landslide of suicides. Shantytowns of cardboard and sheets called “Hoovervilles” sprung up around the country by the hundreds. Farmers lost their farms to pay meager debts. In the midst of it, ‘Moonshine’ became a source of survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483543765

Book preview

years.

Prologue

The first of February, Clyde and I while delivering a large batch of Shine to Cleveland, were about twenty-five miles from Cincinnati when he punched me and woke me up.

He said, We got an old Ford truck that’s been following us.

I looked back through a frosted rear window, and saw the Ford. How you know he’s following us? I asked my voice cracking.

I saw em waiting off the road a ways back. They wasn’t on any farm road, they was just sitting backed up off the side of the highway. When we passed they followed."

What you think their following for.

You’re smarter than that question. They know what we’re carrying.

You mean they might hijack us?

It goes on all the time; you ought to know that by now.

I did. We heard about farmers who had men come right into their house and take their Shine at gunpoint. My heart was beating a lot faster. What should we do?

They’re either gonna wait till we run out of gas or they’re gonna try to run us off the road."

Neither one sounded good to me. It was about two hundred and fifty miles from Cincinnati to Cleveland. We had to stop for gas somewhere and there was a lot of isolated farmland in between. I said, You think we could stop in Cincinnati and wait em out?

I was thinking about that.

+ + + +

I didn’t relax until we reached 12th St. right before going over the Ohio River. Somewhere near downtown Cincinnati, the black truck vanished. You think we lost them?

I doubt it. Clyde said.

We stopped at a little café on the outskirts of town. We sat at a window, had coffee, and waited. Clyde kept his gun on his lap. Just about ten minutes later, we saw the Ford pickup moving slowly by the café. It stopped and backed up and pulled up in front with the headlights framing Clyde and me. No one got out.

Whacha think Clyde?

We aint goin nowhere without em, whoever they are.

We paid our bill and left as if we didn’t see em. Across the street was a one-pump gas station. We pulled over and watched the Ford. An old man chewing a wad of tobacco came out putting on a coat. Clyde paid him for gas. The old man went back inside. I pumped gas into a glass globe and watched it fill. While the globe emptied, the Ford disappeared. When we pulled away, I kept an eye on the back window of the Packard. Sure enough, the Ford was behind us again.

You think we should pull over someplace safe and wait till morning?

Aint no place safe, and they know what we’re carrying, plus they know how risky it is for us to make a delivery in the daytime. No, we gotta see what they got in mind.

My hands were trembling so bad I had to lay the shotgun on my lap. Didn’t want it going off in the car. As soon as we reached the farms outside Cincinnati, the Ford closed on us. Clyde sped up and so did the pickup. Clyde glanced at me. We’re gonna have to face em son. We got no choice. If they pull in front of us, get out and behind the car. If it’s in the back, get in front of the car.

Maybe we should just let them have the Shine.

Nope, I aint gonna let it be said that Peg Donovan had his Shine hoisted. If I did every hungry farmer in Indiana would be lookin for us.

Clyde I don’t think Peg would care as long as we’re safe.

Son there aint no tellin what these men will do. I aint taking the chance they won’t just shoot us and then take the Shine anyway.

What should I do?

When I say shoot, you shoot.

Oh lord, I’m scared. I never even shot at anybody. I even refused to go for deer down in Brown County.

Settle down. Just shoot straight.

Clyde pulled over going slow as if he would let the Ford pass us. The Ford pulled alongside and somebody with his hat pulled down, hollered out the window, Pull over.

Clyde did, and let the black truck get in front of us. I got out first and ran behind the car. Clyde stood outside leaving the lights on, with the driver’s door between him and the two men. They walked toward us. He said, You fellas stay right there and tell me what it is you want.

I moved to the right side of the car so I had a clear shot. Both men stopped about six or eight feet in front of the Packard. One of the men said, We don’t want no trouble. We just want half of what you’re carrying and we’ll leave.

I think you should get back in your truck and forget about this.

I didn’t see no guns at first, but when their hands appeared with the pistols Clyde shot the man on the left. He collapsed like an empty sack. Clyde yelled, Shoot Billy!

I let both barrels go without hardly aiming. The man on the right jerked his shoulder back and fell to his knees. He dropped his gun moaning. Clyde took careful aim steadying his hand on the door and shot the man in the head. I gagged twice and threw up. Clyde yelled, Get in the car. We gotta get outta here.

When we pulled away I stuttered, Wha, Wha, why’d you shoot that guy. He wasn’t able to do nothing.

If I let him live he would have told the Police what we were driving, and what we were carrying. I couldn’t let him live. I saw a new side of Clyde.

I supposed our doing what we did would set an example for any others thinking about jacking us, and I guess one of those men could have told the cops what we were carrying. However, with all my rationalizing, I couldn’t get that awful gray feeling out of my mind.

I was silent for the next forty miles. Still thinking about what we had done. Most folks at home are Catholic. I was not one of them, but I prayed that night. I wondered if those men had families, and were they desperate to feed those families like many others. I also wondered if anyone would remember them. Would their loved ones eventually forget them? I decided yes, they, like each of us, would leave this old world, and those left behind would go on with their lives, eventually forgetting. Those thoughts saddened me.

+ + + +

Red was mad when he heard our story. He thought we should have tried to outrun the hijackers. Clyde said he did what he did, and that was that. I think what made Red upset was my involvement. He didn’t say anything for several days. One chilly night as we sat on the porch he said, You ok boy?

Yeah, I’m ok. I lied. Actually, I was having nightmares. I kept seeing the man I shot on his knees with a pleading look.

You think you oughta quit.

The shine business?

Yeah.

Soon as I have enough money I’m going to Notre Dame. I haven’t made up my mind yet what I’ll study, but I hear you got a better chance with a degree.

I think that’s a good idea.

I swung in the porch swing while he tuned his fiddle. I shivered. He said, You better get out of the cold.

We both went in letting the screen door slam. For a long while, he never said another word about my future.

Peg

My granddads name is James Arthur Donovan. To most, it was Red or Peg.

Peg because he had carved his own peg leg out of a piece of hickory wood, and Red for being a red headed ornery Irishman.

He acquired the name Peg in 1904 after having staggered out of Murphy’s Bar, and making his way across the street to the rail station, lost his right leg to the outgoing Central to Cincinnati.

Peg was a big boned man who could hold his own if anyone ridiculed his handicap. Most men in town knew that and never hinted that he was anything other than whole. He had the face of a prizefighter, a nose as big as his heart, and a temper like a bomb. No matter, women fawned over Peg. I often wondered if the attraction was the peg leg.

I don’t ever remember that he worked at a full time job. Most times, he sat on the front porch playing his fiddle and drinking. Moonshine mostly.

If moms in the neighborhood wanted to find their kids at dusk, they could expect to find them at our house sitting cross-legged on our porch, the swing, or just about anywhere, they could find a space. They gathered to hear Red play the ‘Orange Blossom Special ‘and other foot stompers on his fiddle. I figure they liked it most when he kept time with his peg leg.

They looked to Peg as if he were the Pied Piper.

+ + + +

Even though Peg was my mom’s pappy, my dad never seem to resent him, I think because he paid room rent. I didn’t have a grandma. According to Peg, she died giving birth to my mother. I don’t know if I ever quite believed that story. It was something he would not discuss in detail. Never it be, the thing was, Peg was more of a dad to me than my father was.

My dad worked at the casket factory, the town’s biggest employer. He made thirty-two cents an hour, which was good for the times. He drank most of what he made. When he had no money, he would steal Peg’s moonshine.

One summer night I got to wondering where Peg got his endless supply of moonshine. I asked him and he said, Come with me boy.

He took me to the shed out back where he kept an old black Packard. Pulling a dusty tarp off some apple crates full of dirty mason jars he said, That’s it.

I remember it looked like jars of water.

He gave me a taste. Nearly smothered me to death. I choked for a full minute. Guess that’s why he called it ‘white lightin’.

I’m sure he thought that sip would guarantee I would never drink another drop. Didn’t work. I was fifteen going on sixteen. That same day I was determined to learn the ‘Shine’ business.

Clyde Huber, granddads partner, took ‘a liken’ to me, as was said, and taught me the business. He was gruff on occasion, but I liked