The Prince of Possum Walk

By J. D. Patterson

In the 1940's Jules Busch is a poor but independent bachelor who lives in the Little Dixie part of Missouri called Possum Walk. Possum Walk is a small agricultural community (not a town) and it is primitive (mud roads, no electricity, no indoor plumbing, wood stoves for heating and cooking, and the like). The people of Possum Walk work their subsistence farms and only a few can afford tractors. Most use horse drawn and hand equipment. The depression, which is over in certain places, still holds a firm grip here. The nearest towns, Mexico and Centralia, are also small. Jules leads a somewhat dissolute life and some refer to him as "poor white trash." Certainly he is so regarded in the community, as is his brother and mother. He has yearnings however of which he is not fully conscious. He is not sure who his father was, and even the one who so claimed, died before Jules knew him.

Jules is rejected by the Army for duty in WW II because of a heart murmur. He only has a eighth grade education, however he is quite intelligent, a fact of which he is not initially aware.

He has two friends, John Harrison and Willy Woolf. Harrison is a poor but well respected farmer and Woolf own a large property and is the area's rich man.

Jules roams the country roads on his horse Rhony, and wears two revolvers like an old time bad man. Most respectable people keep well clear of him, at least in public, but he seems to have ample lady friends.

He lives on a small isolated acreage in the middle of forest land owned by Woolf. Woolf sold him the property after Jules won a big poker pot. Wiley, his dog, is Jules' closest companion, and helps protect the property when Jules is away.

Harrison encourages Jules to give up his destructive ways which include adultery, general philandering, gambling, and drinking. This good advice has little effect until Harrison dies and Jules takes a close look at himself and doesn't like what he sees. He has promised Harrison to reform sometime and realizes it's now time.

He listened to Harrison, because Harrison always treated him with respect, something that few others did. Harrison also helped get him out of jail more than once. Jules believes he needs to repay his moral debt to John by helping the Harrison family (Eloise the mother, and Mary, Jany, and Jimmy the children). In particular he believes he needs to advise Harrison's young son Jimmy, more or less as John Harrison advised him.

He begins to clean up his life by dropping a relationship with a married woman, Grecia Kuhn, and by getting a part time job. Along with "Uncle Tyrone," Harrison's somewhat disreputable hobo brother who arrives after John's death, Jules begins to help the Harrison family. The Harrison's sell their farm and move to Columbia, MO where the children can economically obtain degrees at the University of Missouri.

Jules further troubles include the suicide of his brother triggered by the brother and his wife accidentally smothering their baby who slept in their bed. In addition the anger of the brothers (Heintz and Herman) of Klaus Kuhn, who Jules has cuckolded, causes problems.

Jules is convinced by Willy Woolf that he needs to further his education as an aid to turning his life around and resolving the moral debts he owes to others and indeed to himself. To that end he works to earn a High School Equivalency and then goes to the University of Missouri where he earns a bachelor's degree (in physics), and eventually a law degree. Hard continuous study, as well as living in a cosmopolitan (for its time) town and being judged by students and professors, is a difficult adjustment for Jules

After graduation, Woolf helps him join a law firm in Mexico and Jules takes over the job of working with farmers to assist them with government programs, obtaining loans, taxes, and in other ways. He also has the opportunity to aid John Harrison's son and thus square his obliga

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483697246

J. D. Patterson

James D. Patterson’s early life was as a farm boy in Missouri. He has an A. B. from the University of Missouri, an S. M. from the University of Chicago, and a Ph. D. from the University of Kansas, all in Physics. He taught and did research in Physics at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology, The Florida Institute of Technology, and Idaho State University, among other universities. JDP now lives in the Black Hills of South Dakota. This fictional story’s origins come from his observations while attending a cardiac Rehab group in Rapid City.

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Copyright © 2013 by Patterson, J. D.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4836-9723-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4836-9724-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 09/16/2013

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Principal Characters

Chapter 1       A Debt To Be Paid

Chapter 2       Saddle Horse And Firebrick Capitol Of World

Chapter 3       Hunting Pigs

Chapter 4       Drifting

Chapter 5       Tyrone Appears

Chapter 6       Working

Chapter 7       Gentry

Chapter 8       Farming Life

Chapter 9       Education

Chapter 10       School Life

Chapter 11       Law School

Chapter 12       Willy Woolf

Epilogue

Appendix 1       Letters From John Harrison

Appendix 2       Missouri (Particularly Central Part)

Appendix 3       Are Other States Different?

Appendix 4       Famous Missourians

Appendix 5       Rural Missouri Farms

Appendix 6       Some Relevant Books

Appendix 7       Some Well Known Mu Physicists (Students/Teachers)

Appendix 8       Some Noted Professors At Mu

Appendix 9       Careers

Appendix 10       Important Dates During Time Of Story

Explanatory Note

There are at least two places in Missouri called Possum Walk. One is in Northwest Missouri (Nodaway County) and is a populated place if not an incorporated town. The other is in central Missouri south and midway between the towns of Centralia (Boone County) and Mexico (Audrain County). This is the Possum Walk of the title of the present book and is in Audrain County but a few miles nearer Centralia than Mexico. It is only a rural community, not a town in any sense of the word. Perhaps not surprisingly this area of Missouri is a part of what is called also Little Dixie.

The possum itself is a native of most of eastern and midwestern United States. Despite its reputation it is a gentle animal. It is a pouched mammal or marsupial called formally an opossum, but colloquially called a possum (technically possums are only native to Australia and a few other places in Asia). If threatened it will play possum as if dead and stay that way for perhaps hours.

There are several other Possum Walks in other states and many Possum Trots.

Finally, I should explain why I placed a short note at the beginning of each chapter about what was going on in the world, particularly in World War II at the beginning of the story. I thought it interesting to contrast those events with the local events of my story. There seems at first glance to be very little connection, but of course there is a strong indirect connection in the changes in the local economy due to global changes.

The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.

Socrates

(From a Sigma Xi Smart Brief)

Here is a parody and a distortion of a famous (and possibly mythical) conversation that F. Scott Fitzgerad and Ernest Hemingway were supposed to have had. It is changed to fit the thinking of this book.

Fitzgerald: The poor are different from you and me.

Hemingway: Yes, they have less money.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the many fine dogs who have been my companion and friend: Duke, Cheyenne, Kochi, Laramie, Syrup, Hunter, Bridger, Colby, and Aussie.

Acknowledgments

My wife read an early draft and made several suggestions and corrections. Mely Rahn read another draft and made several corrections and suggestions. My sister Amy King reminded me of things I had forgotten about Possum Walk and made several suggestions. My sister Patricia Paden also reminded me of things long forgotten.

Principal Characters

Jules Busch

Eloise, Mary, Jany, Jimmy Harrison

Gentry Busch (Myrna May)

Klaus Kuhn

Grecia Kuhn

Willy Woolf

Uncle Tyrone

Frank Bilson (Mary)

Herman and Heintz Kuhn

Ridley Campion

Mr. Croton

Junior Rotan

Frank Moreno

Prof. Ehrlich

Bob Frank

Mr. Leander

Floyd Pringle

Wiley (Dog) and Rhony (Horse)

Chapter 1

A DEBT TO BE PAID

June 6, 1944 was D-Day, the invasion by the Allies to retake Europe. This story begins in the summer of 1944.

The rain was dripping off the shanks of Rhony as I rode along the muddy road. I shifted my poncho to keep the raindrops off my two silver handled revolvers. The day of the gun was past even before I was born. But wearing them still kept people polite, and, as I was born into what some people, even around here in middle Missouri, looked down on as a low caste family, I enjoyed whatever respect the guns gave me.

Respect was also the reason I was riding down this rural road in the rain. John Harrison had died and I wanted to pay his family my sympathy and respect. The Harrisons had been neighbors of my family and John had always treated me as an equal, and it was not because of my guns. He saw I was a bit insecure and I thought I needed them but they didn’t mean a damn to him. He had come from Wyoming, and had seen a few so called tough guys. I got the impression he could take the guns away from me any time and he not only knew it, he knew I knew it.

Like many people in this Little Dixie part of Missouri, locally called Possum Walk, the Harrisons were poor but proud. They were also highly respected. People came to them for advice. Being poor didn’t mean they had bad judgment.

John had helped me more than once, and I wanted to tell his family, especially his son Jimmy about that. I also wanted to tell Jimmy what his father really thought of him. I figured John, being reticent like most farmers, had never gotten around to doing that. I figured that would help Jimmy pull through.

Rhony’s hoofs were getting clogged with mud so I stopped, got down, got Rhony to lift one leg at a time, and kicked some mud off with my boot. The Harrison house was just ahead.

There were two cedar trees in front, and I rode between them toward the L shaped, roofed porch on the front and a side of the house. Jimmy or Jim as he preferred to be called now that he had had his tenth birthday was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch.

Hello, the house, I yelled. I figured Jimmy (I could not think of him as Jim) would appreciate the traditional western greeting.

Hello Mr. Busch, Jim replied. Dad’s not here, he died of a heart attack yesterday.

"Of course, I know. I wanted to stop by and see you. Your Dad and I got along. He treated people right. He once said to me, ‘Jules you’re as good as anyone who ever walked the earth but no better. Don’t pay attention to what some people may think, just be sure you respect yourself.’

He thought a lot of you. He said you were growing up straight and brave. Keep on doing that. Keep on the proud path of your Dad. If you ever need any help—let me know. John did me a couple of good turns and I never got them paid back. Figure I owe you now."

Jimmy didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

O K, I’ll be around, I said. Get up, Rhony.

Some folks might have felt that I was a bit abrupt but Jimmy was starting to cry, and I knew he didn’t want me to see that. Jimmy could always get me through my brother Gentry who lived just down the road and he knew that. Also I was not in a good humor. I was depressed. I had, what I much later learned Winston Churchill would describe as a touch of the Black Dog. When the Black Dog came on me things worked best when I didn’t talk too much or stay around people too long.

Anyway I had a couple of things I needed to do. I needed to rustle up a little money, and I needed to shake loose from Grecia Kuhn, old Klaus’s wife. I had promised John Harrison I would do this. He had said it plain.

As I rode off I thought more about the last conversation I had had with John Harrison. He had spoken of the Grecia situation. He said Jules, you have to do right but sometime it’s hard to discover what is right. You have to look deep inside yourself. You know if you feel bad about it later it’s wrong. And after you’ve done enough wrong things you pretty much know what you are going to feel bad about. You must have done enough bad things by now to have a good feel for what is wrong. Klaus is a man who never hurt anyone. He’s already got problems because he’s a German and people are shunning him since the war began. You know it’s wrong to mess with his wife. You know you’ll be sorry some day so I’m going to give it to you straight. Stop it. Stop it before you ruin your own life as well as Klaus’s.

He was glaring at me when he said that.

I will, I said.

Good, said John, I’ve known you to do a lot of things but I’ve never known you to look somebody straight in the eye and lie.

John was right of course, but I had been putting it off, because just breaking it off might trigger Grecia into making trouble for me.

The mention of the war and how it affected Klaus was also a touchy subject with me. The thing was I had flunked the physical and so was not drafted. Our country was in the middle of a war with evil. That may sound exaggerated, but what else could you call the likes of Hitler and Tojo? And here I was 4 F (heart murmur) and ineligible for the draft and so apparently not doing my patriotic duty

The war also caused a shortage of gas and tires but that didn’t affect me as I had no car. Even the rationing of foods and other necessities didn’t much touch me. My wants were few and I either grew or hunted and fished for much of my food. I can’t say I ever had enough food to choke a hog, but that was good, I kept slim and healthy.

I drifted into thinking about one of Missouri’s most popular types of hunting. Here in Missouri a lot of folks, including town folks, like to do coon (raccoon) hunting. They are nocturnal creatures and so are hunted at night. Most people use trained dogs and wait for them to tree a coon. You can tell when a coon is treed by the sound of the baying of the dogs. There is a whole culture about coon hunting. If you go coon hunting and carry lanterns you will often also find possums in trees. Some people eat possums, some kill them and sell their furs. Neither coon nor possum hunting is to my taste. I like my sleep at night. Anyway I don’t eat them and I don’t kill for sport. Just because they call this country Possum Walk doesn’t mean I want to kill them. Maybe my view is contrary, but I think possums are cute.

My mind returned to the task at hand. I could see Klaus’s house about a quarter of a mile off on the other side of the road from the Harrison house. It looked like Klaus was going out to his car. Pretty soon the car moved off.

I thought, I bet he’s headed to town. Well, I might as well get it over with. I turned Rhony to a break in Klaus’s fence and headed to his house.

It was easier riding in the field which had not been recently plowed and was covered with weeds and grass not mud. Jules get it over, I thought. I felt sorry for Grecia, she had teamed up with Klaus for no better reason than she was hungry, but she was a mess. She had one eye that seeped a fluid and she was pale and still under nourished. Her hair was blond, but usually unkempt. I guess if she took care of herself she would be pretty, but she didn’t. She was too young for old Klaus, but John was right. Klaus had his own troubles and I shouldn’t be contributing to them.

Klaus’s house was part gray from rough milled slabs of wood, and part brown from logs that had been stained a long time ago. The logs formed the wall of the bottom floor, and the slabs had been used to put in a second story. The house was semi-hidden by cedar trees and it was set in a declivity with a forest in back. The front door to the east was seldom used and I approached on the south side where there was a side door. Grecia had seen me coming and was standing in the doorway with the door partly open.

I was never much for being smooth, so I just told her straight out.

John Harrison is dead and I made him a promise. I promised him I’d stop fooling with you. He explained to me that it was wrong no matter how it was looked at, from your, or mine, or Klaus’s, or even the neighbors point of view. I guess he is right. So there it is, I won’t be seeing you any more.

Her eyes fluttered a bit, but she only said, Klaus has gone to town. She thought a bit and added.

Klaus, told me about Mr. Harrison. Yesterday I saw Jimmy going home across our field. He seemed to be crying, so I asked Klaus about it and he found out about the heart attack. Poor Jimmy.

She looked around for a chair and said down in it and stared at me. She didn’t say anything else. I had to give it too her, she had enough sense to see there wasn’t anything more to say, neither for her or for me. I went out the door, closed it, mounted Rhony and rode off. I had some thinking to do.

The place to go was to my shack deep in the woods. A few years back Willy Woolf had sold me five acres of land in his forest. I knew him because I had fished in the creeks there, and had had sense enough to ask Willy’s permission. I had won a bit of money by gambling and had stopped by and told Willy about it. He offered to sell me the land for my winnings.

You ought to do this, he said. Otherwise you’ll probably drink the money up or lose it the the next time you gamble, and I could use you around. I’m gone quite a bit, and I would like to have somebody on the property who would shoo poachers away and generally see that people who don’t belong don’t poke around.

The deal had been a life saver for me. I had build a little shack on it. The shack wasn’t much for size but it was comfortable and snug. Of course I didn’t have electricity or running water or any of the so called conveniences. The rural electrification program had not yet spread to Possum Walk. But I was always handy with an ax and other tools. There was a creek, called Coon Creek, with plenty of fish. The creek wound around on three sides of my shack, but at a comfortable distance. Mostly I caught catfish and bass, but sometimes a bluegill. I stocked the shack with flour, coffee, and other food items that would keep. I even had a small clearing with a garden in the summer. I enjoyed the produce from the garden, but I have admit I hated weeding it. Only Willy Woolf knew about my place. I got my mail at my brother Gentry’s house and sometimes I stayed either with him or at my mother’s house. So people assumed I lived at one of those two places.

Truth to tell, my reputation was worse than I was. Well, that depends on how you judge me. I did fool with women, and sometimes I drank too much. I got my money from odd jobs like fixing fences and cutting trees, and the like but I was a loner without any steady job, so I guess some people figured I stole. I was also a bit skilled with cards, especially poker, and generally won more than I lost. People also figured I cheated, but I didn’t. I didn’t need to.

So anyway, sometimes a filling station would get held up or somebody would be wandering around the railroad tracks in Mexico or Centralia, and they’d get beat up and robbed. Then maybe a Sheriff or other lawman would want to talk to me. That would be a good time to disappear to my shack until the real criminal was caught or things just naturally settled down. It was also convenient that Grecia or other ladies I knew didn’t know about the shack. Gave a man peace.

Rhony liked the place also. I had built her a little rain tight barn like shack or shed and always gave her grain there. Then even if I let her wander around, she would return. The shed was big enough for her and to store quite a bit. It was held together with nails I could find and with bailing wire, rawhide and even some binder twine. It sure wasn’t handsome but I had worked at it enough so that it was pretty tight when the door was closed and Rhony was warm and snug there on a cold winter day.

So now I headed to the