Rainy days

Shoot the Black! SHOOT THAT BLACK SON-OF-A-BITCH! Shouted his partner. The farmer reached up and pulled his weapon down from it's rack. His aim was swift and sure. KA_POW the black was down. Some in the crowd cheered and other bettors groaned with discust.

Even though the day outside the pool hall was now sunny, it was a "rain day". Down on the farm during haying or grain harvesting time, any rain created a Rain Day because it was necessary to wait for the crop to dry before hauling it into the barn. The fear was that damp hay or grain could cause spontanious combustion and burn the barn down.

Rain days were used as an excuse to "go to town". Town contained about 600 people and they depended entirely on the surrounding farming community for their survival in 1940's. Main street with it's two blocks of three or even four story buildings would remind you of an old western movie town except these buildings were constructed of brick. The farmers and their wives used the day off to do whatever shopping they needed and could afford. Afterwards, while waiting for their CHOP, a lot of the men ended up in the pool hall where they drank pop, ate the free nuts supplied by the proprietor and played pool. While it was and is technically illegal to gamble, not many games were played without considerable betting both between the players and amongst the onlookers who backed their favorite "shark". Betting equipment like the "peas" (small numbered balls the size of marbles and their leather pouch) for pea pool which was played on the Boston tables, and skittles which was played on the snooker table, was supplied by the house. Whenever the local policeman (town cop) made one of his rare visits to this den of iniquity, he always stopped at the barber shop in the front of the pool hall to gossip with the barber and to allow plenty of time for the gambling equipment to be discreetly put away. After he was sure there was no evidence of gambling left, he might come in and eat some free nuts. During this time the women caught up with the the latest gossip on a street corner if the weather had turned nice, or in a store if it was actually raining.

Up to about age 9 or 10, the best thing I liked about town (next to the blacksmith shop) was the grist mill. On rain days the farmers each brought a few bags of oats to be ground into 'CHOP". Chop was the main diet of the swine being raised on the farms. The gristmill was water powered from the mill pond beside the river. Even in those days it was old and seemed to be rickety, it was close to four stories tall and had all sorts of mechanical things a small boy liked. Whirring pulleys, long drive belts, grain elevators, seives etc. I always urged the old man to try to be the first to arrive at the mill. To be at the mill when it was first started up was something to behold. When the millar released the water from the sluice gates, the huge water wheel started up slowly with all sorts of moans and groans eminating from the machinery. As it gained momentum, the grain dust began to fill the air and the whole building shook and vibrated until I thought it might collapse. (I think this might have been done to impress small boys, because sometimes the owner would come out of his office and yell at the millar to engage the damn governor before everything flew apart).

The farmers that didn't play pool would hang out in the mill office while they waited to pick up their ground oats. Since kids were not allowed in the poolroom, and little boys did not want to stay with the "women" I liked to hang around the mill office. Inevitabily, one of the farmers would say "do you smoke boy?"After making sure the old man was nowhere in sight, I would reply "you bet sir". The makings would be passed to me and I would roll myself a cigarette. I was quite adept at this because my older brother often let me roll cigarettes for him. By the time we were going home I sometimes felt light-headed and quite sickly from smoking. ( I had learned to refuse the chewing tobacco that was offered).

Compared to the working man in the city then (or now), farmers had a relatively cushy life. While they always portrayed tough times, long hours and hard work, in reality they only had a few weeks during harvesting where they had to bust it. The rest of the time was at their own pace (slow). The toughest thing was the need to be there morning and night seven days a week to do the chores (look after the animals). Everyone has heard the old joke where the reporter asked the farmer what he would do with his lottery win. "Oh I think I will just keep farming until it's all gone".

NEXT -Old records

"A man and a woman will never become incompatible
as long as he has income
and she is pattable"

Ogden Nash