Cousin Rufus Hears About the Pool Hall Fracas



Laughter can be good medicine; I thought you might need a chuckle today. A more serious blog is coming on Thursday. R.S.


Dear Cousin Cletus,


Ah hope this finds you happy as a bumblebee in a clover patch. Ah started mah garden and drank sassafrass tea this week. The tea is to thin mah blood, like ah do ever’ spring.


They ain’t too much happenin’ ‘round the holler unless you count the ruckus down at the pool hall Saturday night. Aah heerd about it from Lem, down at the Gen’ral Store.


“The Calhoun boys showed up to the holler from the big city,” says Lem. “You ‘member they moved to the big city to get jobs a couple years ago. Now that they’s got some eddycation, they’s gettin’ a little big for their britches.”


“Ah do ‘member, now thet you mention it,” ah said.


“Wahl, Ollie Calhoun strutted up to Leroy Ledbedder and knocked a Mountain Dew out of his hand. Then Leroy broke a pool cue over Ollie’s head. Things got uglier and somebody called the new marshall, Jake Andrews.”


“Lem, ah feel sorry for guys whut wear blue uniforms,” ah said. “Seems like things get outta hand purty quick and they gotta walk on eggshells so somebody don’t take pitchers and git ever’body offended. They gotta be psychiatrist, lawyer, judge and jury, all in a split second. And they’re probably thinkin, ‘All ah want is to get home alive at the end of this shift.’”


“Ah gotta hand it to thet young marshall Andrews,” says Lem. “He walked right into the middle of the fight and asked ‘em what wuz goin’ on. Ah woulda been afraid a chair would have got busted over mah back.”


“Whut happened next?” ah says.


“Wahl, it took Ollie and Leroy by surprise. Ollie started inchin’ toward the door. ‘Bout that time Lester McConnell’s hound dog Bones come slinkin’ up behind Olllie and caused him to fall over backwards. He didn’t see the cat Bones wuz stalkin, and fore you know it, the pool hall turned into a big catterwompin’ mess. Cat fur and dog slobber flew ever’whar, and right in the middle was Ollie, scramblin’ across the floor on his hands and knees. The cat jumped on his head and ran down his back, followed by Bones. Ollie’s friends wuz placin’ bets who would git out the door first, the cat, Bones or Ollie.”


“Hoo-eee,” ah chuckled. “Thet woulda been somethin’ to see.”


“It wuz,” laughed Lem. “Then outta nowhar come Reub Blake, owner of the pool hall. “He’s about six foot eight, 270 pounds. He grabs Ollie by the back of the neck and seat of the pants (cause that’s whut was pointin’ toward the ceilin’) and threw him through the door. Marshall Andrews didn’t have to do a thing, ‘cept haul Ollie to the hospital.”


“Whut? Did he land too hard?”


“You might say that, Rufus. The door was closed.”


An’ thet’s whut went on in our usual peaceful holler, Cletus. We ain't had that much excitement since last year, when Widder Smith got her hair caught in the wringer washer.


Your cuz,

Rufus


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