The good Boy

The Good Boy

In 1946 we were living in Bell County, KY, in a section called Fern Lake. We were really poor since the mines had closed down. Our family had been forced to leave the mining camp we had lived in for years, because my mother was a Catholic.

The day I was baptized by the traveling priest at the mining company commissary, the KKK came and burned the chapel down. And they killed the priest, and his helper. The Klan spread the word that all Catholics must leave, or be burned out. We left. My dad took us over to Bell County, where they had a Catholic Church.

My dad worked doing home repairs and building houses, while he sought work as a miner, and my mother and we kids raised vegetables to eat. Corn, beans and potatoes and tomatoes, but you had to wait until they were grown to eat them. And we raised chickens to eat, and for the eggs. I gathered the eggs, and helped mama with the chickens.

We picked poke salad and wild onions and wild kale in the woods, and I liked to eat those wild vegetables. My father really loved vegetables, and wasn’t keen on eating meat. The vegetables were better than pinto beans. I ate so many pinto beans and fried potatoes that you wouldn’t believe it! Man, I hated those darned old pinto beans.

Sometimes we would have squirrel or rabbit for breakfast. That was good eating, but I wasn’t allowed to use my dad’s rifle to hunt with. I was limited to my slingshot and fishing pole to get any food for mama to cook. I loved to go into the woods, and never worried about ticks or snakes or any other varmints.

My pals and I slept out in the woods whenever we could. We didn’t have a tent, so we slept in the open. It was fine unless it rained during the night. We ate a lot of squirrel and fish for breakfast and dinner in the woods.

We picked ginseng in the woods to sell to the druggist. At $12.00 per pound, it was a lot of money, to us. There wasn’t much ginseng to find, however. It only grew in certain spots, and everybody was looking for it. Mama picked bitterroot and milkweed root for our medicine, since she knew all the roots and herbs to cure sicknesses.

I had a whole bunch of brothers and sisters, since I was number seven out of thirteen kids. Two of my sisters had died before I was born, but we still counted them as part of the family. All my brothers were going around making smells all day, from those pinto beans, so I stayed in the woods with my dog, Pete. Most of the time, anyway.

My mama always said I was a good boy. I was a good boy, too. Usually I was a good boy. I always obeyed my mama. Mostly, anyway. Not always, of course.

Pete was a good little dog, too. He was white and black, and my dad said he was a Jack Russell. He was very brave, and would fight any dog, no matter how big. I made him a collar studded with roofing nails to protect his neck from dog bites. He went everywhere I went. He stayed right by my feet as I walked. I loved Pete dearly.

I went fishing a lot, and mama didn’t mind because we always ate the fish I caught. Mama would fry them up in a big pan, and they made a good break from those darned beans and potatoes. It was three miles to the lake from where we lived, my dad told me, and I had no problem walking through the woods to the lake to fish.

This day Pete, my dog and I, went fishing. We just walked along real slow, and looked at everything. It was a beautiful summer day, but you had to be careful with snakes. I didn’t miss anything, since I always stayed on guard for enemies, in case the Japs or Germans came to invade Kentucky. The Kentucky woods were deep and very green with vegetation. It was easy to hide yourself from the Japs, and pretend you were an Indian warrior in war paint.

You never could tell when something like a bombing or an invasion would happen, since we had air raid warnings every night. The war was going on, and one of my older brothers and one brother in law were “over there.” I wasn’t sure where they were, but they were in the war somewhere on the other side of the world.

We had to shut the shades and turn off all the lights at night so they couldn’t bomb us. Those Japs and Germans would bomb Kentucky any day now, if we weren’t careful. “A slip of the lip can sink a ship.” That was on the news reels at the movies every Saturday. I was ready for them. I usually carried a slingshot and some steel balls to shoot in it. We would fight to the last man, just like Custer. Maybe, I guess, anyway.

I had my fishing pole and some bait in a sack over my shoulder. We had to walk by Mr. Norton’s place to get to the lake, and we always hurried past so we wouldn’t make him mad. He got mad just looking at little boys and dogs. I was afraid of him, because he was always saying “get out of here, you little rat” and other mean stuff.

Sometimes he would throw cans and rocks at me and Pete. I hated him! He was a mean and dirty man. I was trying to avoid seeing him.

As Pete and I rounded the bend, there he was! Wearing the same old overhauls he always had on, and a checked shirt and straw hat. “Darn, I thought. Now I have to get around old man Norton.” I walked on the opposite side of the path, hoping to get around him, but Pete ran right up to him to smell his leg. “No, Pete, I screamed.” Too late, as Mr. Norton drew his leg back and kicked Pete.

Pete yelped and limped away. I could see he was hurt pretty bad. “Here, Pete, come to me,” I called. Pete limped to me, holding his back leg up. “You mean old fool, why did you kick my little dog? I yelled at Norton.

“I will kick you, too, you little punk,” he said. I picked up Pete and ran around him into the field. When I got pretty far away, I stopped and put Pete down and took my slingshot from my back pocket. I put a steel ball in it and took aim at Mr. Norton.

“If you shoot that slingshot at me, I will go get my gun and kill you, you little bastard,” he screamed at me. I decided it was too risky to shoot him, so I just ran. Pete limped after me and we headed through the woods. “I will get him, Pete. Don’t worry,” I said. No mean old man was going to kick my dog and get away with it.

I went back home to get my mom to fix Pete’s leg, but when we got there, she was gone to visit someone, or something. I told Pete to stay home, and went to my parent’s room. My dad kept a .22 rifle in his closet, way in the back, behind some clothes. I got the rifle and the box of ammunition he kept in a drawer, and loaded the rifle with seven bullets. Then I carefully put the rest of the bullets back in the drawer. I headed back toward Mr. Norton’s house, staying in the woods so as to not be seen.

When I got close to Norton’s house, I lay down on my stomach and crawled to within good seeing distance of the house. Then I waited. Old Norton had to come out some time, and I was very patient. I just pretended I was an Indian warrior scouting out some white man’s fort. I made a very good Indian scout, at least to me. I don’t think my mama would have approved of me scouting Norton like that, though.

It got mighty itchy and scratchy lying there waiting, but so what? That was part of the work of an Indian scouting the white soldiers. It was hard to keep from scratching my butt, which was being bitten by ants, but I maintained my silence and stayed motionless. I must have laid there for an hour.

Finally, the front door opened and Mr. Norton came out and stood on his porch. He looked all around, and it seemed he looked directly where I was hiding. “Does he see me? Surely not,” I thought. I was too well hidden to be seen.

I took careful aim at him and fired the rifle. I saw blood jump from his head, and I shot twice more. Both those shots hit him in his chest, as best I could tell, from the blood spots that appeared on him, and now he was sitting down on his porch screaming for help. His wife came out and saw him and began screaming, too. I didn’t shoot her.

I crawled away, and as soon as I was safely in the woods I got up and ran home. I didn’t stop running until I got to my front yard, and I stopped then because I didn’t want any of my older sisters to see me, if they were home. Any of them would tell dad that I had his rifle, if they saw me. Then it would be all over for me.

When I went in the house, my mama and all my sisters were gone. I would find out later that they were all visiting grandma, who was sick. I was glad to be alone. I took all the bullets out of my dad’s gun and put them back in the ammo box in his drawer, ran a rag through his gun barrel with the gun cleaning rod he kept in his closet and put the gun back where I had gotten it from. Then I washed my hands.

“Well, Pete, I told my dog, old Mr. Norton has kicked his last dog, because I have killed him dead as a door nail.” Pete wagged his tail. I sat with Pete and rubbed his sore leg, until my mama and sisters came home, and mama took over. “What happened to Pete, David?” mama asked. “A mean man kicked him, mama,” I said. “Who kicked him, son?” “Mr. Norton kicked him, and I brought him home to get doctored,” I told her.

“You stay away from old Norton, son. He is a mean man, and when I see him I will kick him in the butt.” I kept my mouth shut, but I was close to telling her that Norton would never kick another dog. I would be glad later that I hadn’t told her.

My sister ran in and said to mama “Mama, mama, a truck just went by with someone laying in the back. It seems to be Mr. Norton, because his wife is in the back with him, and he is all bloody, and laid out on a mattress”. Mama looked at me.

“Maybe he had a heart attack, mama, or fell, or cut himself whittling or something,” I said. I put on my most honest face when I said it. I was very earnest.

Mama raised her eyebrows and looked closely at me, and scratched her head. I could tell she was thinking hard about this. She was hesitant to believe her little boy could do something bad to someone, like shoot them, I could see.

I put on my best smile and said “maybe God is punishing him for being in the KKK, mama.” That got her attention, alright. She looked at me and said, “How do you know he is in the KKK? “I heard that at school, mama,” I said.

I hoped she would believe me, since she hated the KKK so much. If Mr. Norton was in the KKK, then it was probably alright to kill him. It made sense to me, so I was as serious as I could be with her. God help you if she caught you in a lie!

“Well, I never heard Norton was a Klansman, but if he was, then damn him to hell, and let him die,” mama said. It looked to me like I was going to get away with shooting old Norton. That made me feel really good. I had avenged my dog Pete for getting kicked for no reason.

Mamma went into the kitchen and started supper for my dad and his brothers, who worked with him, and us kids. My two older sisters helped her. I went outside to play. I was still high from killing old Mr. Norton. I grinned and smiled thinking about it. I danced a couple steps. I knew my grandpa had killed men, and his dad before him. If my dad ever killed anyone I didn’t know about it, but I thought he probably had.

My father and two uncles came walking up the path. They were all dirty from working, and headed to the wash trough which sat by the well. I watched them as they washed up. I knew my mama would tell them about Mr. Norton when they sat down to eat, and they would question me about daddy’s gun. I had my story down pat, and looked forward to matching wits with them. I waited for the storm to break. Praise the Lord.

My dad and uncles came in and sat down. My mama and sisters served the plates and poured coffee for them. I got my own food and sat on the back porch with my younger brothers and sisters. In a couple minutes, my dad called “David, come here.” I thought “the game is afoot” as Sherlock Holmes would say. I went in the kitchen looking as innocent as I could look. My dad had the rifle in his hands, looking at it.

“This gun has been cleaned, and I didn’t clean it, David. Did you take my rifle hunting, and then clean it? Dad asked me. I hesitated to answer, because that wasn’t the question I had prepared for. Why didn’t he ask me if I shot Norton? How to answer his question bothered me. Grownups are full of surprises, I guess.

I said, “Yes, I cleaned your gun, but I didn’t take it hunting. I just looked at it.” My dad stared at me, and then looked at his two brothers. They put their heads together and whispered to each other. I tried to hear what they were saying but couldn’t.

“Then why are three bullets missing? I know I had a full box of bullets, and now three are missing,” dad said. My Uncle Toots looked at me and said “you may as well confess, David, because you have been caught.” Oh, heck, I thought to myself. My mama and all the kids were listening to us, and my dad saw that bothered me. “Come out in the backyard so we can talk,” dad said.

I couldn’t think of anything to tell him that would make sense. When we got to the back yard, the three men sat down on a bench and lit cigarettes. Then they looked at me. I felt like a cow about to be killed and eaten for supper.

“Let us have the whole story, David, it won’t go any further than us” Uncle Josh said. Suddenly I wasn’t so happy about killing old Norton, if I couldn’t get away with it.

“Alright, I killed old man Norton for shooting Pete,” I said. My dad dropped his cigarette and his jaw at the same time. “Killed Norton? What are you talking about? He said. Then he called my mama to come outside. “Leave the kids with Mabel and come out here, Nancy, and tell us what in the world is going on.” Now it would get bad for me.

Mama came out drying her hands on her apron. She looked at dad and his brothers and said, “I don’t know what is going on, Bill, I only know Norton kicked David’s dog. And then a truck went by with Mrs. Norton in the bed of the truck with a bloody man. That was probably Mr. Norton, but I don’t know how he got hurt. Surely you don’t think David had anything to do with it, do you?”

“No, no, of course not, Nancy. Go back in and make me and my brothers some coffee, please. We are going to set here and talk for awhile. David will stay with us,” dad said to mama. Mama left to go make the men their coffee.

“Now tell us the whole story, David. We can’t help you if we don’t know what happened. Plus the constable may come around to talk to you about all this, and we need to know what to say.” Uncle Josh and Toots nodded their heads in agreement, and Toots grinned at me. I suddenly felt better, since I was getting some family support.

I said, “me and Pete were going fishing. We ran into old man Norton, and tried to go around him, but Pete ran up to smell of him. He kicked Pete real hard and hurt him. I asked why he did it and he said he would kick me, too. I got Pete and ran away. I stopped and turned back to shoot him with my slingshot and he said if I did he would get his gun and kill me. I came back home and got your rifle, and went back and laid in wait until he came outside. I wanted to kill him for kicking Pete.

Then I shot him three times. I tried to kill him, but I didn’t shoot his wife when she came outside.” My dad and my Uncles were listening raptly. “Well, Bill, he is a true son of his mother, which means he is descended from Jesse James, and has that killer blood,” Uncle Toots said to my dad. Dad didn’t see the humor in that remark, I could tell.

Dad said “well, if anyone asks you about Mr. Norton getting killed, if he is dead, just say you don’t know anything about it. You don’t even know how to shoot a rifle, if anybody asks. Especially if the constable comes and talks to you. Do you understand?

I did understand. And when the constable came the next day, that is exactly what I told him. He didn’t like old Mr. Norton either, so he didn’t push me very hard.

“David, did you have anything to do with Mr. Norton getting shot, he asked? Can you shoot a rifle? “No sir, I said. I don’t know how to shoot a rifle, but I can shoot a slingshot.” “Well, you keep out of Norton’s way until you are big enough to shoot a pistol, and then if he bothers you, kill him. Whoever shot him this time failed to kill him, and he will be meaner than ever when he gets out of the hospital,” the constable said.

The constable was mama’s first cousin, and when he finished he went in the house and had coffee with mama and my sisters. Praise the Lord for kinfolk!

I stayed outside. I wondered where I could get a 30.06 rifle to shoot old Norton with. That 22 caliber was too small to kill him, but maybe a 30.06 would be capable of killing him. I went to play cowboys and Indians with the neighborhood boys. I had a really good day! When I went home, mama told me what a good boy I was.