A YOUNG MAN COMES A COURTIN'...

The subject of Aunt Monnie Louise was a rare one for my dad. This was his older sister, whom I believe was situated between Alma and Vivian in the female portion of the family tree. Dad was very close to Monnie, and always had a wistful smile on his face whenever he did speak of her. Monnie died at a very young age (23, I believe), in childbirth. She was married to a preacher, and back then during a difficult childbirth, most times the father had to make a choice to save the mother or the baby. I'm not quite sure how this story goes, but it was a sad one, to be sure. At any rate, both mother and baby died, leaving the family bereft of a lovely daughter and sister, to be sure.

In this particular story (one told by Aunt Bib), pretty young Monnie Louise captured a young beau, a tall, gangly-looking young man who opted to venture to the homestead for a date with her. I'm guessing they went on this date, and eventually ended up back at the house, sparking- or attempting to, as the case may be, on the front porch. The younger kids thought it would be a great lark to hang out near the front windows to harass Monnie Louise while she sat with her young beau. In those days, there was no air conditioning, and the windows were almost always open to catch whatever breezes were available during most times of the year. So one could hear everything on the porch from the front windows, and vice-versa. At any rate, the gang scrunched under that open window in the front room next to the porch chairs. They listened to the conversations of these "young lovers", half bored, apparently, until the errant young man would whisper something ardently to Monnie, and then the snickers would prevail. Now Monnie was well aware that her siblings were under the window, but was doing her best to hide this from her beau, according to Aunt Bib, whom she didn't want to scare off on the first date.

According to Aunt Bib, the thwarted couple eventually moved to the chairs under the window on the other side of the porch- a ploy by Monnie to hopefully divert the little rascals who were antagonizing her and her potential boyfriend. Unfortunately,the routine started all over again, as this was most decidedly more fun for the bratty siblings than harassing their parents, or spending the evening dangling from the orchard trees in the back. After a while, Monnie got a tad frustrated, and came in to the house to report the 'little eavesdroppers'. For once, either Granny or Grandpa, who were usually prone to punish the little marplots for the "sin" of eavesdropping, were apt to allow this harassment to continue. I'm guessing, as did Aunt Bib, that this form of chaparoning was much preferred to having the parents do the exact same thing, and try to make it look like they were not eavesdropping! Whatever the case, this boy didn't last long, by Aunt Bib's measure. I'm thinking that the art of dating was not by any means an easy task back in those days! And most especially not with a bunch of young kids hanging around to ensure a complete lack of privacy, or a even a brief moment of passion for even the most ardent young couple.

GIT EM, GEORGE!!!!!

Not a particularly sweet tale of the Cloer boys, but one that just about everyone will find humor in, as we've all had experience with a cranky, pesky neighbor who just can't seem to find any joy in living near young kids.

The nearby community/town housed quite a few rambling old two-story homes, with long staircases, wide veranda porches, and neatly manicured yards filled with window boxes, flower gardens, and for most- well-trimmed, stately hedges. I'm sure all small towns back in the 30's and 40's had residents who took a lot of pride in keeping up with their neighbors, mostly because there wasn't a whole lot else to do but yardwork, gossip, moseying down the street to visit, and planning for the Sunday afternoon church socials. This resulted in the elderly townsfolk being quite territorial about their properties. This particular couple I am writing about were certainly no exception to that rule. They pitched a fit over the various local dogs 'managing their business' on their neatly manicured lawn, and apparently blamed most of the deposits on the family pets that accompanied the Cloer boys on most of their regular jaunts into town.

George, and his wife (let's call her Martha) were an elderly couple that apparently swept their yard, and shooed the local kids off in the process on a fairly regular basis. After one-too-many broom escapades, where the couple evidently made quite a few disparaging remarks about the local boys (including the Cloer sons) to the authorities, the boys decided enough was enough. They found a grocery sack, painstakingly deposited a number of recent doggie droppings into the bag, and late one night placed it onto ol' George's porch steps, setting it afire as they vacated the premises. They rang the doorbell, scattered in several directions and watched the lights slowly pop on upstairs, as George trudged down the stairs into the foyer to answer the doorbell. Of course, he starts stomping immediately, the result of which was that "the shit went flying in every direction". I'm thinking if I recall this correctly, George got a tad bit upset, and went off to retrieve his rifle, or pistol, or whatever weapon of mass destruction he had handy. And there was old Martha-right behind him, hysterically yelling "GIT EM, GEORGE", as loud as she could.

To hear the Cloer boys tell this tale, old George was dumb enough that they managed some very similar pranks on a regular basis. Without fail, he fell for every one of them - hook, line and sinker. I once asked my dad if anyone ever felt guilty about picking on the old man and his wife. To quote dad, they were the meanest, most gossipy, crotchety old couple you could ever imagine, so no- I don't think any of the kids ever felt like when they got to the pearly gates that they were gonna have to ask God for forgiveness after picking on dear old George and his lovely wife Martha. I can pretty much imagine George searching diligently for them when they each got to heaven, to lecture them one more time about his yard!

JUST A LITTLE SUNDAY MORNING PRANK

The family was pretty infamous for their humor that was often daringly perverse for this age, and at times involved pranks that would at most other times been considered 'malicious criminal mischief', at best. This particular prank will go down in history as one of the family's best told stories.

During their teen years, Buck, Mac and several of their friends apparently opted to play hookey from church one Sunday morning. How they managed this, with a family that counted skipping church as being 'one with the devil', I don't have a clue. But they did. I'm guessing they weren't exactly fans of the interminable hour-long sermons, and especially, the long afternoons that entailed both family and neighborhood gatherings on front lawns in their Sunday best. The 'church socials' on Sunday afternoons were undoubtedly big events each week for these small southern towns. But for young men who much preferred bare feet and overalls to the Sunday duds, I'm guessing they decided this was a way to get back at the Good Lord for requiring them to stay clean, polite and respectful to their elders for such extended periods of time.

On this particular Sunday, they found a small car, which I recall as being similar to a volkswagon doodlebug, and lifted it to the front of the small quaint little wooden church that the local community attended faithfully every Sunday. They propped it on the steps, up against the doors, which swung open to the outside and therefore couldn't be budged with the car against them. Evidently they decided it would be even greater fun to ring the local fire bell, just for larks. This they did, and it was awfully good entertainment to watch everyone- from the minister right down to one or two of the fat, dowdy old biddies in the community, trying aimlessly to scramble out of the windows and any other various and sundry openings on either side of the church. 

I have no idea if they were ever punished for this prank, or if they were even caught. I just know my dad and his younger brother Dave were far too young to be a part of the prank. So for once, I can say my daddy was an innocent party to this "fun little family lark". Nowadays, these hoodlums would be arrested, booked, and fined quite heftly for their handiwork. But back then, it was just a prank pulled by a bunch of mischievous teens, to get some fun out of their required 'day with the Good Lord'.

AN ODE TO TOM TURKEY

Daddy had a pet turkey when he was growing up. I'm not sure how old he was when all of this occurred, but I do remember him recalling many times over how much he truly loved that turkey. The loss of that pet was a hard story for him to tell, so mostly we heard it from Aunt Bib, who recounted his genuine affection, and the very painful demise of that much beloved pet.

Tom was unusually attached to daddy, who had a true way with the animals on the farm and used to hide behind the trees when Grandpa would call the kids to help him round the chickens up to be slaughtered. No one particularly liked that job, which was a weekly chore for the farm hands, including the kids. But dad had a particularly tender heart where it came to 'all things nature'. He purportedly did everything he could to avoid being a part of that detested chore. Lucky for him, Grandpa's own tender streak meant that Tom, in his exalted position as daddy's pet, was exempted from the trip to the chopping block.

This turkey evidently had a fair mean streak, and was known to attack anyone who picked on my daddy. One day, I guess what one would call the 'local town bully' decided to test his fate with ol' Tom, and with daddy, who was much younger and small for his age as well. The bully got walloped by Tom for his efforts, and if I recall correctly, Tom had spurs, so the walloping apparently left this kid slightly worse for the wear after the fight ended. That night, the bully's father paid a visit to Grandpa, the result of which meant that Tom's days were numbered. As it happened, it was near Thanksgiving, and Grandpa decided that Tom would be the Thanksgiving Feast for that year's festivities.

I'm sure it couldn't have been easy on Grandpa to manage this. No matter what, he loved his children very deeply, but feelings aside, Tom was a liability to his family, and he was getting meaner in his old age, to boot. It must be said that regardless of the fact that this was during the Great Depression when every meal was hard-earned, and especially savored for the sacrifices it took to bring it to the table, not one family member was able to partake in the Thanksgiving Turkey that year, according to my Aunt Bib, and my Granny.

Dad never spoke of Tom's death, nor would he convey his feelings about the incident that sent him to the chopping block. This was one of the rare times when his infamous humor, and his wonderful gift of storytelling quite failed him. And one story that will go down in the family annals as a painful, indelible memory for them all.

THE GREAT TRAIN TRELLIS ADVENTURE

Not too far from the family homestead, there was a long train trellis bridge that arched out over a river traversing through a small gorge. This trellis bridge was both a source of great fascination, and many games of "chicken" throughout the years for the local kids. I have often heard that kids during the depression apparently had nine lives, the result of which were many fantastic tales to regale their offspring with years later. I can tell you that we would have been in a great deal of trouble if we'd have gotten into the myriad scrapes that my daddy and his siblings managed on a regular basis.

One summer day, Mac and daddy were exploring near the trellis, and decided it would be great fun to cross it. Now, this structure was pretty formidable, with its high wooden beams, and the only footing being the steel train rails, and the cross ties between the tracks. According to dad, it took awhile for them to start making a steady pace as they jumped from one cross tie to another and had to steady their balance each time in order to progress. Some of the cross ties were missing, and some were weathered enough that they splintered with the full weight of someone hopping on them. Just as they were right about in the middle of the trellis, the whistle that signaled an oncoming train began blowing. The train was headed right in their direction, and there was no where for them to go. They were fairly well trapped on that trellis, and it was a sure thing that they were gonna lose this game of "chicken" with that train.

I guess Uncle Mac, being the eldest, must have made the decision that they had to find a way to crawl underneath, and hold on to the wooden boards that held the rails together. This is exactly what they did. Dad said this may not have seemed hard, but at the time- for two small boys to have managed to swing underneath and hold onto the cross ties was quite a feat. They both held on for dear life, quite terrified, as the train passed overhead. Dad remembered just closing his eyes and having a death-grip onto the tie that he was holding, with Uncle Mac encouraging him to keep hanging on.

Both Mac and dad recalled that tale many times, and I believe of all the escapades they had during their adventurous lives, this was undoubtedly the closest encounter with the potential for death that they ever experienced as young boys.

"I AINTA GONNA LEAVE MY LITTLE BROTHER!"

Back in the 30's, it was a long, arduous trek to the old schoolyard in Hickory that housed the small elementary and high school buildings. To hear dad tell it, it was uphill both ways, and about a 30 mile walk, mostly under incredibly inclement weather conditions. Its funny- but dad, who was prone to wonderful tall tales as we grew up, always had a way of making us believe every word of his tales - like the oft-told story of the time he pulled a plug in the Pacific Ocean and sank the entire Japanese fleet to win the war. Compared to that, the unlikely hours-long trek that was purportedly uphill both ways was quite believable to us. One thing is for sure... regardless of the exaggerations, they certainly had to walk a fairly long dirt road to the bus stop. And with Granny at home managing any little kids, the house, the laundry and all the family cooking, she had little time to manage watching them as they trudged to and from their daily hikes.

On this particular day, Mac and daddy- who were two years apart to the day, were trekking from the elementary school, which let out earlier than the older siblings were released, so they managed the walk together daily. They were let off of the school bus, and headed in the direction of home. Uncle Mac was rather in a hurry on this day, and daddy, who was almost never in a hurry, opted to enjoy the scenery along the way, or found something of interest to slow down his gait to a painful crawl. To Uncle Mac, this was unacceptable, and after a few attempts to coax dad to speed up, Mac turned in the direction of home and headed off on his own, leaving his younger brother behind.

I have no idea whether daddy was worried once Mac rounded whatever bend, or hill, that put him out of dad's line of sight. But as told by Granny, when Mac arrived home, sans brother, Granny set off down the lane to find her small son. Fortunately, Granny hadn't gone too far when she spotted young Johnny, obviously to her great relief. But before she had gone more than a few steps to meet him, behind her, running down the lane, was a fairly distraught Uncle Mac, yelling "I ainta gonna leave my little brother!" at the top of his lungs. Either his conscience, or his heart, got ahold of him, and he was upset at the thought that his little brother was all alone on his walk from the bus stop. Granny didn't speak much about the affection she held for the kids, or about their closeness with each other, but always, without fail, I found a few tears running down her cheek when she told this story of two boys who were "thicker than thieves" for the better part of their younger days.

A MEMORABLE RIDE ON THE OL PACKARD...

My father, who was known to be fairly obedient (for the most part), evidently had a mind and will of his own when it came to experimenting with the art of testing his will against his father's. In this story, my daddy- once again as a small boy- tested his fate, and his father's temper, and barely made it out alive from this particular scrape.

Dad had decided one day that whatever his father did during his frequent trips to town must have been much more interesting than life back home on the farm. So during one particular afternoon when he was either bored, or simply inherently curious as to how Grandpa passed the hours "in the big city", dad decided to join him in his venture. He asked if he could tag along, and was gently rebuffed by Grandpa, who evidently had some banking business for the farm, and felt it was best to not have the distraction of a small boy in tow. Dad was not about to take no for an answer, but several requests were turned down most decidedly by Grandpa, who loaded his suit jacket and various papers into the old Packard, and proceeded to climb in to start the car. Apparently that process must have taken a while, as I think he had to crank the car in the front, and then adjust everything inside to get the car running. Anyway, once that task was completed, off he went down the little winding dirt lane toward the paved road that led to town.

Along the way, he had quite a few honks, seemingly from friendly neighbors calling out a "howdy" and waving as he drove the several miles on this small two-lane road. When he arrived, he parked, exited the vehicle, and turned to face a friend who approached him rather rapidly. The friend informed him that he had a passenger on board, and asked if he was in the habit of allowing his kids to ride on the running board while he drove. Grandpa walked around the car, and there, hanging on to the handles of both doors on the passenger side, was dad. Now those were some very wide running boards in those days, but not meant for anything other than a footstep, and most decidedly not for errant passengers who wanted to hitch a ride.

Grandpa apparently turned as white as my dad, who evidently got much more adventure than he bargained for in the process of hopping that ride. What exact punishment he received, no one recalled. But he returned a much wiser, and quite unhappy little boy, as for one of the few times I can remember from the family storytellers, Grandpa's method of punishment definitely met the crime, so this was much less gentle than what he met after his time in the backyard tree. Dad never tried this stunt again.

MINNIE ADELINE...

Granny was a tiny, diminutive figure of a woman who always had the exact same hairstyle, black horn-rimmed glasses, and a familiar, slightly arthritic shuffle to her gait. At 4'11", she wasn't much more than my height as a small child. I can still remember her voice, calling out to "Lawrence" on a fairly regular basis, as he seemed to be the answer to every problem, and the one who carried the wisdom of many generations on his shoulders. As I remember, she deferred to his decisions on a most regular basis, although she most definitely had a mind and will of her own. And a voice to boot.

One of my funniest recollections of Granny's typical demeanor with her kids was a lovely story told by Aunt Bib (Vivian), who it seems inherited the most incredible gift of storytelling that just about every person of Grandpa's older generation seemed to be wonderfully gifted with. The setting for this particular story was, I believe, in the early 30's, with a brood of 7, six of which were of school age by this time. It was summer, and most likely a time which would try the patience of a saint with all of those kids out of school and looking for a way to pass the time. Granny was not a model for sainthood, but she was an interesting study of contrasts, for sure. Especially in the area of discipline.

At this one particular time, the oldest kids - I believe it was Buck, Vivian, Mac and Alma who were the culprits here - apparently found a way to mix cocoa and some other substance (possibly dirt) to replace tobacco, which was fairly expensive, and also not too tasty to any of them. They had apparently just learned how to chew and spit, most likely the result of watching relatives and friends who usually gathered at one porch or another in the evening time, to 'chew the fat', and the tobacco. So, as the story goes, the kids lined up on the back porch one morning with their latest pasttime, and held a spitting contest - apparently to see who could spit the farthest into the wind. Unfortunately for Granny, the only target within spitting distance of the back porch was the clothesline, upon which she had earlier hung out her morning's freshly washed laundry to dry.

Granny apparently decided she had a vested interest in seeing who won the contest as well, for according to Aunt Bib, she waited rather patiently at the back screen door for them to complete their dirty work with the cocoa. Whether the contest was actually completed, Aunt Bib never recollected. But Granny eventually called them to the back door, lined them up, and each were bent over to take their punishment fair and square. After that, they were ordered to remove the laundry from the clothesline, and told to proceed with washing every last item (even those not targeted by the hapless spitters) on the family washboard. They never attempted that contest again, and learned that for them, passing time meant passing time AWAY from the home, and away the ever watchful eyes of their mother, as well.

THE PATIENCE OF A GREAT PATRIARCH...

Grandpa Lawrence was a slender, gentle sort - one not often prone to losing his temper, and one who evidently valued his vocal cords enough that his tone rarely rose above a soft-spoken eloquent timbre. So it was not hard to suppose that for my dad and his brothers and sisters, even when it came to disciplining his sometimes unruly brood, Grandpa seldom rose above that soft level. It mattered not; he got his point across in a variety of ways - most of them fairly quiet, but nonetheless, quite effective.

As told by my father, this is a story of one such occasion where Grandpa managed to cure my father of one or more bad habits in a single fell swoop. Young dad, it seems, had apparently found himself a fairly large stick and was proceeding to tease the chickens in the coop, which ended up being a free-for-all of feathers, flying eggs, and squawking hens that usually meant an interruption of egg laying process. On a farm where these chickens were the bulk of the income, a day or so of lost egg revenue during the depression was a big loss to Grandpa's revenue. So, when dad got caught, and Grandpa gave him a reminder of what was to come when he caused such a ruckus, dad promptly bolted, and scrambled high up the huge oak tree next to the house. He was not about to come down and "take his lickin'", as he aptly put it.

Grandpa calmly watched him climb the tree, and promptly went into the house through the screen door, returning with a small chair and a newspaper. He propped the chair up under the tree, sat down quietly, opened the newspaper, and proceeded to read. An hour or so passed, with Grandpa still reading, and my dad still squirming in the uncomfortably hard branches of that tree. Lunchtime came, with Granny offering a nice plate of food to Grandpa, most likely complete with a fairly descriptive discussion over what Grandpa had on his plate, so that dad could hear, and salivate, over what his empty stomach was missing.

What seemed like quite a few hours passed in this same state of affairs, and it was getting on toward dusk, and suppertime, when dad finally "gave up the ghost", as they say, and began a painstakingly slow and reluctant descent down the big oak, where Grandpa was waiting calmly. Dad knew the routine. He collected a switch, and gave it to Grandpa to mete out his punishment. Dear old Grandpa, with his strong sense of justice, felt that 7 or 8 year old Johnny had enjoyed enough punishment on his backside by sitting in that tree for hours on end. Dad said that he never remembered the brief licking, but he definitely remembered looking down on his father's head for several successive hours, while his father commented out loud over the various articles, chortled over the comics, and made darn sure dad knew he had the patience of Job, and wasn't leaving his coveted spot under the tree until dad came down.

Apparently, he guessed correctly that several hours of thinking solemnly about what he did most decidedly ended dad's days of "funning" with the chickens. According to dad, he never messed with that chicken coop again, and from there on apparently opted to take his punishment right away from that day forward.