Yep, another one - not many more: THE PIE DIPPER
By Wilton Strickland My brother, W. B., immediately after graduating from high school at 18 in January 1946, went to work full time to support the family, including himself, Daddy, Mama, Joyce, Jake (a cousin living with us) and me. He provided this major support for several years. His first job was at Atlantic Coast Line Railroad Shops in Rocky Mount. He worked there only about a week cutting up old steam locomotives with an acetylene torch. He then went to Rocky Mount Mills, where he worked for many years as a carding machine operator. An early evening in late November of ‘47, W. B. asked me, then 13, to go to Rocky Mount with him and help him tow home a car that he had bought. He had paid about $100 for the car, a 1929 or 30 Model A Ford that would not run. We attached a tow chain without a “stiffener” bar between the two vehicles and off we went - W. B. driving the tow vehicle, the family’s ’37 Ford, and I, driving the Model A. Most of the floor in the Model A was missing. Temperature that night was in the mid to high 20’s F. Needless to say, I got VERY cold during the 14-mile tow. I was quite proud of my ability to brake (using what little there was) at the appropriate time to keep the tow chain reasonably taut and not hit the rear of the tow vehicle. I began to worry about possible frostbite, though I’m not sure I knew the term then - I just knew that I felt that I was freezing! I was extremely glad to get home, “thawed-out” by the heater in the living room, did my school homework & finally went to bed. About 1 AM, however, W. B. awakened me to inform me that we were taking the car back to the seller. By then the outside temperature was even lower. I put on additional clothing, including two pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, gloves, wrapped something around my head & face, etc., but the return trip in the “airy” Model A was still a test of cold endurance and an excellent training capsule for “chill factor,” another term that I’m sure I did not know then. We arrived at the seller’s home about 2 AM. I waited, shivering in the cold tow car, also with no heater but at least an intact floor, while W. B. convinced the seller to return the money he had paid for the car. I could hear them arguing - not loudly - in the dark, but I could not see them. Finally, W. B. returned to the car with his money, unhooked the tow chain, and we returned home, both much wiser about buying cars and I much wiser about driving and about being cold and preparing for it. (Years later, I put this “cold weather” knowledge to good use in Nebraska, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, California mountains and in Greenland.) Late one afternoon in 1948, as W. B arrived home from work, I was sitting at my usual place at one end of the dining room table doing my school homework. Near the other end of the table was a beautiful chocolate pie that Mama had removed from the oven and placed there only a few minutes before. As W. B. came through the dining room, he saw the pie and rushed to get a plate and a knife to cut himself a piece of it before Mama could return to the room from elsewhere in the house. I saw what he was about to do and said to him, “You’d better not - it’s still hot - she’ll be upset.” There was no stopping him, though, and he quickly made two cuts through the meringue to outline a “normal” slice or wedge of pie. When he tried to lift the slice out, however, it did not come out intact. The knife he was using to lift the wedge was not being very effective at removing the entire piece. He quickly got a large spoon (a tablespoon) to improve the efficiency of his “slice” lifting. With each dip of the spoon, I could see the meringue on the rest of the pie settle slightly as the still hot filling flowed from the rest of the pie into the cavity where his slice had been. He had made several dips and was still trying to remove “his” entire slice when Mama returned. She jumped him, “Well, I do declare, W. B., can’t you wait a little while for supper? The pie is not even cool - it’s not ready, yet! If you’re going to dip it all out in the space of one slice, you may as well take the whole pie! Can’t you leave some for somebody else? Besides, if you’re not careful, you’ll “ruin” your supper!” (She always said that to us when she thought we were getting a snack too close to mealtime, especially if it were a desert-type snack. ‘Don't know of a supper that I ever ruined, though.) W. B. proceeded to enjoy his early “piece” of pie as I laughed at how he was unable to clean out the space where his slice had been. It must not have ruined his supper, though, ‘cause I noticed that he not only enjoyed that, but when the time came, he also enjoyed another piece of the somewhat thinner pie with the rest of us. When the ‘49 Ford was introduced in June 1948, the dealers had a drawing to attract viewers. First prize in the drawing was a chance to purchase the first car of the winner’s choice delivered to the dealer. (Cars had been hard to get since the war, and buyers were on waiting lists.) W. B. won first prize and chose to purchase a light blue four-door V-8, Custom sedan. Many weeks passed with, supposedly, no such car available to the local dealership in Nashville. Finally, in desperation for a car and tired of being put off by the dealer, W. B. accepted and purchased a six-cylinder, light green Club Coupe. Almost immediately, the green Ford learned only two speeds: “off” and “fast.” (By the way, within just a very few days, the dealer, himself, started driving the very car W. B. had ordered - ‘made W. B. damned mad.) One night in about 1949 or 1950, W. B. and I had been to a movie in Rocky Mount. As W. B. maneuvered the car into its shelter/garage, I was standing by the right, rear corner of the car and noticed an intermittent rattle from a chrome extension on the exhaust pipe. In an effort to confirm what was causing the noise, I reached down and gripped the chrome extension. As I touched the pipe, I heard a short sizzling sound (sszhht) as I learned that exhaust pipes get very hot all the way to the end!!! Since early teenage, W. B. had had asthma. After turning 18, he had been called for the military draft a couple of times and had been rejected because of his asthma or deferred as the family’s “major support.” In late 1950 or early 1951, however, he was “invited” again. He and Daddy appealed the call, based on W. B.’s history of asthma and his major support of the family. (Carson had been recalled to active duty in the Army in October ’50.) Denying the appeal, the Board Chairman’s response was that “Wilton can quit school and go to work.” (I was 16 at the time, and when Daddy and W. B. returned home from the appeal meeting and told me the chairman’s solution and comment, I was absolutely appalled, shocked and deeply hurt that a boy’s education could be so unimportant to so-called leaders of our community. It seemed that having another private in the Army was more important to them than my education. I’ve wondered many times since then if the chairman or any member of the board would have suggested such a solution if the subjects had been his own sons - I seriously doubt it. I was already doing very well in school, but such a comment by the Chairman of the Draft Board made me even more determined to excel. I’ve had little respect for any draft board since.) In spring, 1951, while I was at a high school Beta Club (an academic honor society) convention in Asheville, W. B. put his car, the ‘49 Ford, up on blocks and stored it for the “duration” as he “went off” to be inducted into the army and to attend basic training. At the receiving station in Raleigh, he told the officials several times again that he had asthma and had had asthma for many years. Finally, as he was standing in formation to be inducted, an officer interrupted, removed him from the room, agreed that he, indeed, did have asthma, and that the US Army did not really need him as badly as the draft board had thought. By the time I arrived home on late Sunday afternoon, W. B. had completed his stint “in the Army,” had returned home to quickly remove his car from storage and was off to celebrate his “reprieve.” The draft board never bothered him again. After about ten years working at the cotton mill, W. B. worked as a salesman for a seed and feed store. He was a very enthusiastic salesman and seemed to really enjoy it; anybody who knew him said he could sell anything, even “ice cubes to Eskimos.”. After several years at the feed/seed store he became a Pepsi route salesman. He was still working as an outstanding salesman for Pepsi when he suddenly died of a stroke in 1968 at 40, leaving a young wife and three small children. (For many years, I’ve asked the question, “How many 18-year-old boys these days would assume the responsibility of supporting a family of six like W. B. did?” I think the number would be low. This is another example of the strong sense of integrity with which we were raised.) Wilton _______________________________________ http://www.okiebenz.com To search list archives http://www.okiebenz.com/archive/ To Unsubscribe or change delivery options go to: http://mail.okiebenz.com/mailman/listinfo/mercedes_okiebenz.com
