Vibrant Village ™

These stories are in the words of Charles Aloysius Cathcart, known to ‘most everyone here in Coltrane as Grampa Charlie Loy. Most evenings except Sundays, he occupied a wobbly old straight-back chair in spitting distance of the squat, rusty pot-bellied stove in Homer Henderson’s dry-goods store. They were collected by Mr. Cathcart’s grand-nephew Ernest, who took to hiding in the back room on Thursdays and listenin’. Thursday was only night that his mother left the house after supper. She did her visiting on Thursdays.

Once Upon a Telephone

Now, it wasn’t until nearly half-past midnight exactly three months and two days later that Agatha Pond mostly forgave her husband Ellsworth for what she says he said the night before her last birthday. Catch him off by himself, he might tell you how he never did say what she says he said, an’ maybe even add that the gettin’ forgiven was harder than the doin’ without it, but Agatha never lets him start explainin’ any more now than she did when it first happened, her mind is made up.

Longer’n he can remember, he has to ask his ma if anybody asks him, Ellsworth Pond has been buyin’ and sellin’ stuff, anything made of iron or wood or leather or glass or rope, up to and includin’ ol’ rusty plows, used nails, leaky barrels, saddles, fence wire, bottles, jugs, an’ iron frypans. Learned it from his pa how to spot a bargain.

He’s got a wobbly old wagon an’ a swayback nag that looks less’n half a step away from the glue factory, travels around clankin’ and rattlin’ and tradin’ as far as from here to Robsonville in every direction. Not home much, sometimes even stays out a night or maybe two if he comes up on a barnful.

Agatha’s half used to it, but the half that isn’t keeps after him about bein’ late for supper and not sayin’ where he’s been or where he’s goin’, so Ellsworth’s generally in enough hot water to boil his boots. It doesn’t help that before that night he’d already forgot their anniversary more’n twice in thirty-nine years an’ her birthday only once, but that once was once too many and he’d got reminded over six hundred and eighty-two times about it.

Oh, he’s altogether careful about birthdays. When she says he said what he says he didn’t say, her birthday was on a Wednesday and it was closer to supper time than lunch the Monday before when he happened up on a barn entirely full, plus a house PLUS a rickety shed.

It was over to Robsonville and he was havin’ such a good time figgerin’ out what of what there was, was something he could use (now knowin’ Ellsworth that was close enough t’ all of it not t’ make any difference), then how he was gonna haul it off and where he was gonna put it and who he was gonna sell it to, that he entirely lost track of what day it was.

Somewhere between sunset and dark on Tuesday he developed a convincement that it had got to be Wednesday without him noticin’ and his troubles had already begun. Not surprisin’ that about then he started spendin’ half his time worryin’ about it and the other half thinkin’ up seventy-three good reasons to hand Agatha.

Now before you get altogether curious about how it is I know about Ellsworth Pond and birthdays, it’s not so complicated to be next to the only telephone in town and it in Gilmer Madden’s barber shop and him hollerin’ out to Agatha what Ellsworth’s sayin’, she’s not about to come into any barber shop she says, and her hollerin’ to Gilmer what to say back, and me in the chair with half a shave, that’s how.

So here’s Ellsworth, he’s wonderin’ what he’s goin’ t’ do to keep Agatha from plain bitin’ off his ear about missin’ another birthday, doesn’t see much chance of gettin’ back in time, and he’s walkin’ by the hotel there and he hears shoutin’ and then quiet, shoutin’ and then quiet. Naturally his curiosity bump is itched and he looks, and the shoutin’s into a telephone and the quiet is the listenin’ after.

Pretty soon Ellsworth’s got a beard full o’ teeth from him smilin’ ‘coz he has such a good idea, and he waits for the shoutin’ and listenin’ to stop, then he goes in the hotel and after a while of explainin an’ repeatin’ himself he’s talkin’ to Gilmer.

Now the one sure thing about telephones is, they’re over twice as good as a hail storm on a tin roof for makin’ it hard for two people to understand each other, mostly what you get is pops and crackles and hisses, so it took Gilmer a while to figure out who it was and what he wanted, but bein’s it was only the second time his telephone had ever rung he waited, and hollered “WHAT?” every so often, and finally he said, “Agatha’s standing right outside, Ellsworth, but she won’t come in.”

Right after that the shoutin’ and listenin’ between the three ‘em got goin’ good, but pretty soon after nothin’ half important enough to truly need a telephone was gettin’ talked about, Agatha puts the eye on Gilmer and says, “Just you ask that bowlegged whiskerchops weasel-face husband of mine what it is that couldn’t wait one more day, he had to tell me right now.”

That’s when Ellsworth, now there was a man who could turn a phrase when he had to, he says he said, “Tell her I’m lonely and sure miss her kisses, and I didn’t forget it’s her birthday.” Gilmer leaned out the door and got a look on his face like he didn’t want to see what was goin’ t’ happen.

“He says, ‘Tell her to go home and mind her own business, and I don’t care a bit it’s her birthday!’” was what Gilmer told Agatha. Agatha turned seven different colors and she tried and tried for the longest time to say something but all she could make was a gurgle, then she let out a screech and ran off. Wasn’t much Gilmer could get out o’ that t’ tell Ellsworth, so he hung up. That left Ellsworth satisfied he’d have an easy time of it when he got back so he didn’t hurry. He even thought about gettin’ his own telephone.

About Scott: Scott Bogue lives and works in Greensboro, North Carolina. Five days a week he’s a freelance technical editor and writer who specializes in manufacturing and industry—but he vacations in the small town of Coltrane, somewhere in America, and the year is perhaps 1915. It might be 1912, or it might be 1925, he doesn’t know. Grampa Charlie never says.