Uncle Dud Doolittle and the rickety ladder

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I am sitting on experience overload as we all are dealing with the nationwide pandemic shutdown and my local region is reeling due to tornadoes and flooding. So, I am turning us to a bit of levity to raise the spirits:

My great Uncle Dud Doolittle was an entrepreneur extraordinaire who operated the little general store at Flintville Crossroads.

Now Uncle Dud was as swift as could be. He stood about five-foot-five and was wiry as a well-strung bed frame.

His circular Ben Franklin spectacles offset his gray hair, and he was seldom seen outside his wool, dark green-striped suit and favorite gray beaver hat.

When working in the store, he also wore a black visor on his head that looked odd because it made his bald spot shine as he worked below the store’s light bulb.

With the variety of folks who made his store a regular place to be, he was always finding himself in unique and unusual situations.

Folks were always eager to give a hand, especially Cousin Clara who made a drop by the store a daily ritual.

It was a quiet Friday afternoon in July of 1948. Uncle Dud stood on a rickety wooden ladder putting a shipment of canned peaches in his favorite pyramid display. As he drew his task to close Cousin Clara came in saying, “Sure is hot out there.”

She noticed a can lying below the ladder so she walked over and stepped under the ladder to pick it up. As she raised up, she knocked over the ladder sending Uncle Dud to the floor.

“Doggoned it,” Dud said. “I told you before to stay away from that ladder. Don’t you know it is bad luck to walk under a ladder?”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious,” Clara said.

“About the only time I am superstitious is when somebody like you walks under a ladder and deliberately sends me to the ground,” he said.

“Do you believe it is seven years bad luck to break a mirror?” Clara asked.

“No sireee! My Uncle Corn Walter broke a mirror, and he did not have a bit of bad luck,” Dud said.

“Why didn’t he?” Clara asked.

“He got bit by a rattlesnake and died two days later,” he said.

Throughout the conversation, Dud remained as he had landed on the floor — standing on his head.

“Why are you still like that?” she asked.

“When I stand on my head the blood rushes to my head, but when I stand on my feet the blood don’t seem to rush to my feet,” Dud said. “I didn’t know why, so I wanted to just stay here and think about it a minute or two.”

“Why, that’s easy to figure out in your case Uncle Dud,” Clara said. “Blood can’t go in to your feets because your feets are full, but it can go into your head cause your head’s empty.”

(The characters of Uncle Dud Doolittle and Cousin Clara are the property of Peach Picked Publishing in association with Katona Publishing and are used by permission.)

A refuge under the covers

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When I was a little boy, my brother and I shared a room with two maple single beds, a maple night stand, and a maple dresser with six drawers – three on each side with a large mirror spanning its width. The beds had pineapple finials on their posts. My older brother left me behind in the room early in my life after he graduated high school headed off to the Navy. There was 15 years between us. The room was lonely once he was gone. He often had friends over that allowed me to be the annoying little brother! I reveled in all the mischief I was able to cause as a toddler.

That room became like a cavern to me. In the dark, there were definitely monsters under both beds, in the closet and walking down the hallway leading to the room. I could hear every creak and pop. Any little thing would have the handmade quilt pulled so high over my head, it was doubtful I would ever dig myself back out again.

When the fears of nightmares were too hard to bear, my parent’s bed was a refuge, and off I would run up the hall, open the door, and jump in between them in their cedar bed. After they calmed me, I would soon settle in warm and snug between them.

As I grew, my bed became also a sick bed, as my tenuous health caused me to take extended stays there. The maple night stand became a regular place for bottles of medicine, damp wash rags would remove the vanish over time as they would hang there between my fevers.

In my childhood, the room had none of those things children have today. There was only one TV in the house in the living room. Only what could fill my imagination with the toys from my closet were what I had to keep me occupied in the healthy times. I also had a candy red tricycle which allowed me some freedom in the back yard and, of course, like many I had my own cowboy outfit, with a cap pistol, so I could chase after the bad guys.

That room was my world as a kid. I knew every flaw, every loose board, and where I could hide from company if they came. Despite being alone, I filled it with lots of imagination.

As the years passed, I remained there until I was in my teens and the den was converted into a more adult bedroom for me and the childhood bedroom became a guest room.

Years later, we decided to sell the suite and it moved along to a family that had a set of twin girls who would then call it their own. I hoped they found as many happy hours there as I did and experienced a few more joint memories as siblings. The bedroom suite was second hand to my brother and I, so I imagine it has moved on a time or two more since then.

While furniture does not carry memories with it, the pieces certainly can leave a memory legacy within each of us. Today, I still sleep in that cedar bed I once jumped in as a toddler. A few feet away are the dresser drawers which served as my bed as an infant. I imagine, if it is the Lord’s will these items will be with me the rest of my journey and then will pass along in the family.

Joe Barger

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Award-winning author Randall Franks joins long-time Ringgold Georgia Mayor Joe Barger in writing his autobiography

Testing the Metal of Life (The Joe Barger Story) by Joe Barger with Randall Franks is released in October 2023.

Randall Franks and Joe Barger

“Former Mayor Joe Barger called me several months ago and asked me to come over to his home,” Franks said. “He asked me to help him write his autobiography. This began months of Joe and his wife Barbara spending hours with me completing interviews, going over notes and photographs spanning his 93 years. From his early years in North Carolina to American military service in the Philippines; then from Ringgold to China and around the world, as he also led a small Appalachian town through 48 years of amazing growth.

“Writing this book with Joe is an amazing experience. It is a fascinating American story that I think anyone might enjoy and I  am so honored that Joe and Barbara place such trust in me.”

See Joe Barger and I share a program about the book at the Catoosa County Historical Society in February 2024:

Joe Barger died on April 10, 2024, we mourn his passing and ask for prayers for his family in the coming weeks.

Copies may be ordered either via mail (see address below) or by PayPal button below. In addition to cost and shipping, the button includes additional cost to cover PayPal fees. The book is also available via Amazon.com



Autograph Request by Co-Author Randall Franks? Please Provide Name Desired To


Order by mail by sending $25 check or

money order to

Barbara Barger

Peach Picked Publishing,

P.O. Box 42, Tunnel Hill, Ga. 30755

 

Can I be recreated in a computer?

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As Labor Day passes by this is the first one that I actually recall being on strike on the day we acknowledge the contributions of American workers.

I am part of the film and television industry and earlier this year, the screenwriters went on strike, and shortly thereafter the actors followed suit.

While I am sure there are many intricate elements to the negotiations with the producers, ultimately, I think on all fronts the impact of artificial intelligence is what will hold the members of SAG-AFTRA and other industry unions in negotiations for the indefinite future.

As I understand, with current technology, basically, writers, and we actors may become obsolete and AI can take the basics of writing stories, our vocal patterns and our facial and body movements and can basically recreate all of the talents in a box.

This may be a simplistic view, but the future of what that looks like and its impact on the worker are far reaching.

While I am sure many see Hollywood’s absence from creating new television shows and films as a relief, there are good people in the industry who create positive and uplifting content who now not creating also.

I imagine, AI and robotics will continue to touch every imaginable job across our country in the coming months and years.

While the genie in many respects is already out of the bottle, we the workers of America, must be mindful to return and create opportunities for our selves and others in our home communities.

We may have to start thinking of the models used by our ancestors when every town required at least one person to have a particular skill to meet the needs of the residents and make the products we need.

I have a feeling, we will not be able to depend upon these AI and robots to look after our interests and create what is best for us.

Those who have let the critters into your homes through various devices, you may want to rethink that.

While it may seem convenient, is it in your best interest?

That answer is still far into the future when we find out who exactly is listening and collecting the data and for what ultimate purpose.

Being far removed from the mainstream of production, I am picketing, but only in my mind. Like many of my relatives have through the years as their unions have went on strike, we must stick together to make sure we do not lose the world we depend upon and love.

Spending until it goes out of style

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It is only through paying attention that we can save our hometowns.

In big cities, its often difficult to understand who does what, and
how they are spending our money.

In a small town though, it’s your city council that is responsible
for deciding what is spent annually within its budget, or bi-weekly
if the expenditure is unanticipated or requires an additional
approval through the bid processes required in your city.

It is your money they are spending and often we don’t even think
about the fact that by our vote we are putting people, we wouldn’t
even allow to balance our checkbooks in charge of millions of dollars
in cash and multi-millions in infrastructure that belong to us.

On average, most councils meet twice monthly. Since the advent of
social media, many share their meetings on some platform so you
don’t even have to leave your home to know what they are doing.

Did you ever take the time to see how they are spending your money?

Is there some pet project that one or several of your elected
officials decided is more important than providing the basic services
that cities are suppose to provide.

In a time when most cannot afford to put food on the table and gas in
the tank, communities are often spending rather than cutting back.

The same can be said in a much larger scale about counties.

We all get wrapped up in our own lives trying to care for family,
keep a business going, or simply working. But if our local
governments are taking money from us and wasting it, its our own
fault for not holding our council people accountable.

I know I have recently realized funds being wasted in my hometown and
it made so mad I couldn’t hold in my frustration.

What can you do. Well in most cities this is an election year. Mayors
and council people will be hitting doors, doing gatherings to get you
to vote for them. Ask them questions, but most of all be equipped
with facts about the waste and let them know you will not support
them if they are not willing to change direction in spending
policies.

Every thing is going up, but at the same time, cities can cut back
just like we are having to do.

That means cutting back on services and eliminating the frills in
your community. If its good enough for our household, the same should
be true for our town.

Now, I can just hear every excuse that they might give as why they
cannot cut back.

I can also hear all the reasons in my head why I can’t vote for
them.