A Life Not Too Ordinary

By Deck Savage

Deck and his friends were considered by many to be beach bums, who worked at a place called The Pavilion in Myrtle Beach, SC during the summer season where they fell in love with girls on a weekly basis then returned to high school during the winter.
His thrilling adventures as an adult are filled with danger, romance and intrigue.
He is known as "The Mark Twain of Warsaw, MO " with his sense of humor, wisdom for young people and his hilarious wit. Follow his life from childhood when his Uncle Ray taught him to shoot a rifle (later to become an expert marksman), to his teen obsession with girls and cars leading him to set his high school football field on fire, to hunting wild boar with a bow and arrow. Live with him as he advances in years falling in love again, battling health problems, facing major cancer which never stopped him from enjoying life and living it to the fullest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780615793689

Book preview

about.

A Missed Signal

I'll trade you the new Red Ryder and one Batman for them.

It's Saturday morning and I'm negotiating a trade with my neighbor for a couple of Captain Marvel comics. I've got to have that one. Captain Marvel is jumping off the Empire State Building. My neighbor is Anne Fulton Thompson, my best friend. We have a business relationship, entrepreneurs at age eight. We share a paper route. We work hard delivering our small newspaper Wednesday and Saturday every week. If I remember correctly, it was called the Bladen Tribune at ten cents a copy. We had about 50 customers, twice a week that's $10.00. It's 1949, the paper costs us five cents a copy so we make a $5.00 profit. A large chunk of change in 1949. That's $2.50 each and every week, we're really rich!

Sometime along about then I discovered Anne was a girl. A creature I hadn't paid much attention to before now. I started noticing her blue eyes and pretty blond hair. She had a strange sweet smell about her too. Sometimes when we were wrestling and playing in the grass I'd get a strange feeling low in my belly. Maybe I'm getting sick or something. The thought of love or sex never entered my mind at that time. Most boys didn't like girls at that age. I liked Anne, she would fight for me at school and I for her. Like I said we were best friends.

Mr H.J. White owned a Hereford farm across the road from our house and an old red horse spent most of his time standing in the warm sun sleeping near the corner of the fence. Anne and I were big into cowboys and outlaws and such at that time. We got some old feed sacks, fashioned a saddle blanket for him and a halter made from old discarded pieces of rope. His name was Blaze, not exactly a Thoroughbred, anything beyond a slow walk was pretty much beyond his ancient body's ability. We took many happy and exciting trips on old Blaze to our imaginary hide outs and mountain retreats. Some times when Anne would ride behind me, her arms around my waist to hold on, I'd get those funny feelings again.

On Saturday afternoon we would usually go to the movie matinee. Most times a double feature, always a cowboy show and a cartoon. We're at the movies, got the popcorn and sodas. Movies, fifteen cents, popcorn, ten cents, two sodas five cents each, total cost of fifty cents for our Saturday date. We did this almost every Saturday. Took the money out of our business fund. We're watching the movie. Johnny MacBrown is whupping up on some horse thieves, kickin' some serious butt. Time to make my move. Anne is sitting on my left side, pretty blue shirt, white shorts, smells nice too. I slip my right hand over and touch her right hand laying on her lap. I slowly close my fingers on her open hand. She does not respond, so I'm OK. Moving on. My left arm slips slowly up to the back of the seat of the old theater and across her shoulders, hey this is going better than I expected. I rest my hand on her right shoulder for a moment. Can't go too fast, gotta be careful. I don't have any idea what I'm thinking. Am I so slick I'll kiss her and she won't even know I'm there? I guess my thinking wasn't all that rational to say the least. After a slight pause, I move my hand up to her smooth neck and gently turn her chin toward me for The Kiss. Wham, Bam, Pow, her right hand connects with my upper left cheek bone just below my left eye. The momentum carries it into the left side of my nose, where the remainder of the impact is absorbed. That back hand would be the green envy of any pro tennis player at Wimbledon. Shock and awe! I suddenly sympathize with the horse thieves on screen. Anne is watching the movie. I'm dripping blood on my clean pants. The lights are flashing off and on. Suddenly, I'm aware of someone shoving wet paper up my nose. It's Anne with some wet toilet paper!

There. she says. That'll stop it. Goes back to watching the movie. My sexual escapade was never mentioned again, but I never ever tried to put the move on Anne again.

We continued our friendship right on thru high school. The incident was never mentioned. I took her to a few dances and we even won a couple of dance contests but I never kissed her. I mean never. I'd give her a hug now and then but that's it. A strange relationship.

It's graduation and we're all glad it's over, we exit the old gymnasium into the parking lot. Everyone is screaming and hollering and hugging. Here comes Anne. She grabs me and gives me the deepest, wettest, and most wonderful kiss I've ever got to this day, I believe. A standard for all kisses to be measured from. WOW! She stepped back and smiled. I've wanted to do that for a very long time, she said.

I'm weak in the knees from shock! I thought, How in the Hell did I miss those signals. For the rest of the summer we were quite close to say the least.

She went on to become a basketball coach at the University of South Carolina Columbia. The best kiss I ever had in my life bar none. How in the hell did I miss such a signal?

A Trail of Tears

Many years ago, in a time we seem to have forgotten, a proud Nation walked this land we call America The Beautiful. These people had been here for hundreds if not thousands of years, developing a culture and civilization that we never understood.

As I look out on the beautiful valley near Maggie Valley, NC, the birthplace of my Grandmother, I'm haunted by the visions of a proud people lost forever. Lest we be too seemingly proud and boastful, let us remember the terrible price that was paid for our beloved USA. Paid for by a people who have not benefited from our accomplishments. Only destruction of a way of life was their reward. Where once the proud Cherokee walked this land, only the trail of their tears remains.

The Electric Fence

I don't really know how long folks have been using electric fences. They mostly are used as a deterrent to prevent some mischief or vandalism or something like that. Farmers use them as a temporary fence to hold cattle, hogs, horses and all sorts of livestock. Pet owners use them to keep their pets in the yard. Prisons use them to keep hardened criminals in, so they really do work. There is something about an electric current running through your body that makes you want to not do it again, that's called a deterrent.

Now I learned about electricity because of my cousin, Ken. When we were kids we used to dare each other to do various risky endeavors. If I dare you, you can double dare me back, but if I double dog dare you, you're stuck, that's the ultimate, there is no place to go from there. The gauntlet has been thrown and you've got to man up.

Ben Franklin, one of our forefathers, is supposed to have discovered electricity. Wandering around in a thunderstorm with a kite and a metal key on a string. Don't seem too smart for a man like Mr. Franklin. I believe he got caught in a double dog dare.

I got caught in a double dog dare to pee on an electric fence around our peanut field. Like I said you gotta man up, no way out. I can't even begin to describe the shock, but it made a lasting impression on me. Although I favor the death penalty for certain crimes, I just don't think we oughta' electrocute anybody. That's just too inhuman for any reason. If you don't think so, just pee on an electric fence, you'll change your mind, I guarantee.

I just thought of another incident that helps to reinforce my aversion to electricity. Today all sorts of safety devices have been invented to protect the dumb assed public from shock. Ground fault interrupters, safety breakers, etc, all approved by the National Safety Council and endorsed by underwriters' laboratories. Back in the day we're talking about, these things didn't exist. You learned the hard way what and where not to touch, but once you learned that lesson, it had a tendency to stay in your memory bank for awhile. Electrical devices in the early days were downright dangerous and electric fences were at the top of the list.

As the late season grasses diminished, it became necessary to move some of our livestock to new grazing areas. Dad decided I should take our old brown milk cow to the wheat field and let her eat some of the leftovers from the harvest. I got the lead chain out of the barn, a lightweight chain back in the day known as a well chain, fastened it around her horns and led her to the wheat stubble field to graze. About 4:00 PM it's time to bring her in for milking. Now it's quite a ways to the field where I left her this morning and I don't like walking that far. An eight year old can devise all manner of ways to lessen his burden. Some time back, Christmas or my birthday, I had received a Red Radio Flyer wagon, metal body with rubber tires, a real beauty. My pride and joy. I decided to pull the wagon to the field and fasten the chain to the tongue, head the old cow towards the barn where she knows feed awaits, climb in the wagon and I get a ride all the way back home. Slick trick, Dick. I even amaze myself sometimes.

Everything is going smooth, the old milk cow is moving at a fair pace towards the barn. I'm just hanging on and enjoying the ride and reflecting on my brilliance. Just before we get to the path leading to the barn, we have to cross a low gap in the creek. The lead wire to the electric fence around the peanut field crosses this gap at about a 45 degree angle, high enough where you can walk under it on one side but connecting to the fence 18" high on the opposite side.

Old Brownie crosses the gap and turns toward the barn, the low side of the connecting wire. The chain contacts the hot wire, I sense trouble about to be heaped upon us in spades. Now, I'm OK cause the wagon has rubber tires and I'm insulated from the ground. I swing my bare legs over the edge of the wagon to effect my dismount. As soon as my bare feet hit the ground, I'm now the electrical conduit. Old Brownie on the other end of the chain is the other recipient of Ol' Ben Franklin's discovery! As soon as I got clear of the wagon, I was OK, but the old cow, being unaccustomed to electrical shock wasn't faring as well. She bolts thru the fence into the peanut field. The wagon is no longer upright and is bouncing along behind her, adding to her fright. After sometime, more time than I care to remember, I finally manage to grab a hold of the chain and wagon and get this destructive train from hell to come to a halt. My wagon is totally destroyed along with about a half acre of my Dad's best peanut crop. I don't remember how many lashes I got from Dad's belt, but I'm sure I deserved every one.

The lesson learned that day is so entrenched in my mind that even today when I turn on a light switch, I flinch!

Hog Killin'

Late September was a special time when I was eight years old. The leaves are beginning to turn to their gorgeous autumn colors. Colors no artist can possibly capture on canvas. I've always believed it was late September or early October when God created the world because at no time is it more beautiful, showing the skill of a practiced hand like at no other time of the year.

Deer season is just around the corner and I'm promised I can go with a real gun this year. I can hardly sleep at night.

That is the time of year when daddy's fifty-five gallons of grape wine is ready to tap, a special occasion in our small country neighborhood. It's also a time to butcher our hogs for the winter. All the neighbors for several miles around gather at our farm to do this yearly deed. I love hog killin' time, a time in my life rivaled only by Christmas and my birthday.

A month or so ago neighbors have brought their hogs to fatten out in our forty acre soybean field. The field is fenced by a small electric wire about 18 inches high all around. The hogs are allowed to range free in this field. They can only get water at the edge of the field nearest the house where we pump water for them every day. We also dump our food scraps here so the hogs learn it's a free meal when someone comes to this spot in the fence. The distance from the fence to the water trough is about ten feet, an easy shot for a pro like me. I've practiced the shot for several months and can hit a penny at this range every time. I've been told this year I have the distinct honor of shooting the first hog! An honor usually reserved for the best hunter or the winner of some contest they have devised during the year. To say I'm nervous and excited would be a gross understatement.

There's usually about a dozen men at this annual event, along with some of their wives and several kids. The young ones were mostly told to stay out of the way or fetch something for someone, so I felt very privileged to be such a large part of this occasion. Kinda like a rite of passage, I guess you'd say.

Early in the morning, prior to the arrival of our guests, I'm told to go to the shed and draw a gallon of new red wine in a glass gallon jug. We will lower it into the well to cool for later in the day. I go to the shed, like my daddy said, and there on top of the wine barrel is a pint Mason jar, evidently somebody has been using it to sample the sweet nectar from the old oak cask. I think I'll try it myself, after all I'm a man today. The flavor is sweet and refreshing as I gulp a full pint of the new wine. It tastes so good and leaves a little tingling in my throat.

The guests begin to arrive via various means of transportation, from horseback to automobiles. Dad announces the wine is ready and is the best we've had in years. They seem to disregard the gallon of wine cooling in the well and go straight to the shed and the Mason jar. For the next hour or so, the talk and laughter grow in volume, the wine is doing it's job. By now, my head is spinning and I can only see things as a dull blur. I stumble backwards over Reb, the old coon dog, who is laying there soaking up the morning sun. Nobody seems to notice, so I get up and stagger over to the pump to wash my face. My hand slips off the pump handle, which is under pressure from the water, and hits me right under the chin. I see stars of various colors and almost pass out. Blood is running down my chin where I've bitten through my lip. As I slowly come back into the conscious world, I hear Dad announce it's time to kill the first hog and that I have the honor. I stagger to the well house to retrieve my rifle and get ready to show my stuff. Someone calls the hogs, Soooeee, Soooee! and here they come to the slaughter.

A large pig has been selected to be the first victim. He weighs about 250 lbs. As I try to calm down and take aim, I discover the hog has two heads and the rifle appears to have two barrels. Funny, I never noticed that before. I make the best shot I can muster under the circumstances and shoot that pig right through the nose. He emits a horrible squeal I can still hear to this very day, and breaks through the electric fence and into the corn field bordering the soybeans. At that particular moment, I learned two valuable lessons I carry to this very day: (1) A wounded hog has no respect for an electric fence.(2) A drunk has no business with a loaded weapon. As a matter of fact they passed a law later against number two. I may have contributed to that piece of justice.

Oh my God! He's in the corn, somebody yells.

I didn't think that was necessary. Hell, everyone can see him running into the cornfield squealing to the top of his lungs.

My father quickly takes command of the situation. Everybody shut the hell up and listen! he says. They are as quiet as a church mouse. When my Daddy says hush, you hush, no questions asked.

My father had a collection of weapons of various sorts from pistols to a 30 caliber Military carbine. I think about eight different weapons in all. He handed them out to the guys he thought most capable. How he made that decision was beyond me. I remember giving my rifle to my Uncle Luke and as an afterthought that was a mistake. He was worse off than I was. Neil Edwards and his brother Allen both had shot guns. Sparky Hilbourn a 30-30 Winchester, Forest Tucker had a 9mm German Luger, Kenneth and Joe McLean both had 22 rifles. Dad had his 38 revolver and Uncle Ray had the 30 caliber carbine. Everyone else had a knife or club of some kind. All told, fourteen men advanced into a twenty acre field of standing corn to hunt a mad, wounded hog. I now know how old Napoleon must have felt at Waterloo.

I stayed hidden in the chicken house embarrassed or scared, I don't remember. I not only had failed a grave responsibility given me but now had endangered the life of half of Bladen County. For the next hour, I would occasionally hear a gunshot and someone yell or use some vulgar language that wasn't fit for public consumption. Seems like forever til I hear someone yell, We got him!

Mr Calvin, who has been sitting on his bucket all this time, gets up and fetches a