Merlyn Saathoff, who spoke to Optimists the other day about his special education classes at Senior High, got off the track momentarily to give me fair warning.
It seems that Mr Saathoff is acquainted with my neighbor on the south, Fred Wusk, also a former Sterling area resident.
Merlyn said Fred told him about the antics of hog calling at 5 o'clock in the morning by his bedroom window . . . and of course, because I live next door, I got blamed.
Well, Merlyn, you see it's like this. I'm guilty.
Ole' Fred Wusk slopped the hogs, milked Betsy and spilled feed in the feedlot for years. And then he retired to the quiet life of the city slicker.
Up on the North 40 we have a few codes . . . like you can take the boy off the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the boy.
So it seemed only natural that Fred should be awakened to "whoo-ee, p-i-g, p-i-g" and a slight tap on the bedroom window, a "m-o-o-O," and a "cockle doodle-doo."
. . . besides it wasn't 5 in the morning . . . it was closer to 6:30.
You know what his wife Lucille, told me? . . . and be sure to spread this around Sterling . . . Fred bolted out of bed after he heard those sounds, jumped into his bib overalls, picked up a can of Prince Albert and some papers, and was fussing around in the garage looking for the milk bucket when he realized that times had changed.
You know, a person often comes up to a situation where he sez, "golly, I'd given anything if . . .."
Well, that would have been the time for Howard Vogel to be back on the route for Vogel Dairy, because if anyone can bellow a welcome early in the morning it's Howard Vogel.
"Whenever I have a headache," began the patient, "I take aspirin. When I have a cold, I go to bed and drink fruit juices. If I have stomach troubles, I take bicarbonate of soda. Have I been doing the right things, doctor?"
"Yes," replied Doctor Weekes, "please give the receptionist $10 as you leave."
The February issue of the Statehouse Observer, a monthly publication of the Department of Personnel, printed two pages of pictures of state senators, a helpful piece of information.
The monthly publication is edited by Mrs. Ron Sorensen, Lincoln, the former Suzi Schlichtemeier of Murray. Suzi worked at the News-Press one summer while she was a student at the School of Journalism at the University.
She got a bang out of covering the Legion's July 4th celebration where Stan Gregg made sure the "Press" got free passes (he gave'em all to Suzi, not me) to the rides.
Suzi also covered the Cook celebration in which the community, attracted people by the thousands to help raise money for a kidney transplant for Dennis Armknecht.
Fill yore hand
If you haven't met Sam and Belle of Auburn-Brownville, then you've missed meeting some fine people. Le[illegible] and Barb Headley of Auburn spend many weeks during the year working with historical Brownville.
Ole Sam carries a muzzle loading shootin' iron, and spins yarns.
Like the one he tells when Sam appeared at a blue rock shoot dressed in buckskins and carrying his "iron."
The fellas at the shoot were firing lead at the clay pigeons to improve their hunting abilities for quail and pheasant. They were sporting shoulder pads, brightly colored jackets, protective glasses and some fine quality double barreled, pump, over and under, magnums, and other fine gear.
Now, picture this:
Sam parks his jalopy and pulls his long barreled weapon from the back seat . . . he has to walk backwards and brace himself when the end of the barrel drops off the car door.
"Hi hoss," he addresses the sportsmen.
One of the men turned around with a smile, pulled back his extended hand and said:
"Whaa . . . in blazes are you?"
Sam immediately became the attention and ridicule of the sportsmen. His buckskins weren't what you'd call Sunday dress-ups, but he liked 'em. And that rifle or "iron" as he called it, was a monster to say the least.
With the humor building up, it was bound to happen. They talked Sam into joining them in a blue rock shoot. (He probably could've smashed the pigeons with tobacco juice and saved the gun powder, but he decided to humor his new friends).
They explained that the blue rock are fired into the air by a spring loaded device and his task was simply to hit one. They suggested stance and grasp of his "iron."
It all seemed sorta funny to ole' Sam, but he went along with the game. Since the "iron" was a bit heavy, Sam didn't hold it up like the other sportsmen, so when the blue rock was triggered, he was already behind in the shoot.
Ole' Sam's eyes caught that little piece of round clay spinning off into space with the instinct of a lion after prey.
And with the stroke of Sergeant York's style, he licked his thumb, swished the moisture across the end of the sight and raised the barrel of his "iron" toward the blue rock which was by now almost out of sight.
"B-A-A-L-O-O-E-Y!"
Sam stood his ground, but the impact knocked down three others.
Black smoke and fire belched from the barrel of Sam's "iron" and split seconds later the sailing blue rock became hundreds of little pieces — bull's eye.
Oh, I forgot to tell you . . . Sam's "iron" was loaded with black powder and toilet paper.
You don't believe that?
Would you believe pages from Jerry Hall's Sears catalogue?
Well, to cut this thing off . . . Sam got to spending so much time at the blue rock shoot that he became a delinquent.
He was arrested for taking toilet paper from the public facility at Memorial Building.
Yours truly — JOHNNY DOLLAR.