The following is a Christmas story of sorts that I post ev'ry year~
It ain't about Santa Claus or magical elves or red-nosed reindeers, 'n it ain’t about Christmas snow or a babe in a manger...
It could be about good will among men, I s'poze, but any moralizing on my part was completely unintentional.
I hope you'll take the time to read it 'n I hope even more that you'll enjoy it.
Now, this p'ticklar tale is set in the sumwhat mythical town of Riverton (South Shore) in Greenup county, Kentucky, in the early fifties 'n, give or take a lie or two is more or less true...
Oh, 'n just t'be on the safe side, the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Justin Other Smith
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Old Speed’s Best-ever Christmas
a short story by Justin Other Smith
It was comin’ on to Christmas before there finally come a freeze out on Beauty Ridge. It 'ud been rainin’ off and on since the last week of October and had turned the ridge road into an impassable strip of gooey red mud. The people who lived along the ridge had gone about their own private business pretty much as usual, preparing their homes and barns for winter, stacking firewood and plugging leaks, storing up what foodstuffs they could.
When the freeze came overnight, the soft clay hardened underfoot and them as had horses or mules hitched ‘em up and made their way to town. Everybody else walked or stayed to home.
Old Speed gave goin’ to town a lotta thought. He got out a jug of his latest makin’s and had a taste or two while he pondered. Then he had a few more tastes and decided that if he was goin’, he’d better go while the goin’ was good. He got a old burlap sack and filled it with his trade liquor, hung the latch outside his door and set off on foot for town.
Now if you go by road, it’s seventeen full miles from Old Speed’s cabin to Riverton but way less than half if you cut across the ridges. Which is the path that Old Speed took.
Now you need to understand that Old Speed wasn’t actually all that old since he was just in his early forties but the life of a back-country bachelor, ‘specially a careless, some might say shiftless, kind of fellow like Old Speed c’n make a body look old beyond his years. If you know what I mean.
When Speed started out on his little trek to town, he had six Mason jars filled right to the brim in his burlap sack and a old pint bottle p’ert near to full in his pocket. The day was clear and cold and on top of the ridge, there was a sharp wind could bring tears to your eyes. Cutting across the ridges was the short way to town but it was more up and down than it was straight ahead and being a cool day like it was, why Speed took a little nip ever’ now and then just to keep himself warm.
He’d about half-finished the pint when he ran into the Smith boys. They was out lookin’ for a Christmas tree for their Mama and quarreling fit to bust ‘cause they all had in mind their own special tree they was lookin’ for and nary a one of ‘em ready to give in to the other two.
Well, Speed, of course, being neighborly, stopped to say “Howdy” and ask after their folks and ever’thing and the boys, likewise being neighborly and polite young men were only too happy to stop and pass the time of day.
Well, one thing kind’a led to another and Old Speed offered around his pint and one of the boys had a package of store bought cigarettes that he passed around and they all stood around smokin’ and sippin’ and passin’ the time of day the way men do and before you know it, the pint was plumb empty and Speed felt obliged to get into his burlap sack and open a jar of his trade goods and pass that around and it wudn’t no time a’tall before they’d emptied that one too.
Well, Speed allowed as how it was time for him to be gettin’ a move on and the Smith boys agreed with him because they still had to find a tree for their Mama. And while they was wishin’ each other a Merry Christmas, the oldest Smith boy pulled a plug of tobacco out of his pocket and gave it to Speed sayin’ “This here’s a plug of Daddy's new tobacco and I want you to have it for Christmas.”
Well Speed thought that was real nice of him so he reached into his bag and brought out a jar of whisky and gave it to the boy saying, “Merry Christmas to you and your family and please share this with your Daddy.”
Then Speed set off again for town only now with four Mason jars full of whisky in his burlap sack. He was figurin’ in his head that six jars of whisky would have brought him eighteen dollars and he could’a spent a couple nights in the hotel and had holiday supper besides. Now he only had four jars and that would only bring him twelve dollars. That wuz enuff, he figured that he c’ud still spend one night at the hotel and have holiday supper if he was careful.
On the other hand, it seemed to be gettin’ colder and he had developed an awful thirst for some reason. And if he was to open another jar, he’d still have three jars and at three dollars apiece, he’d still have.........nine dollars and if he was to lay out and skip the hotel, he could still have a nice holiday supper and more besides.
So he opened a jar. And he had a little sip. And another. 'Cause it was awful cold and he still had a long way to go. He was walkin’ and sippin’ and sippin’ and walkin’ and the more he sipped, the more sideways he got 'til he probably doubled the miles he had to walk. And it seemed like the more he sipped, the thirstier he got so when he finally stumbled into Riverton some hours later, it was gettin’ pretty dark.
Now the little town was all lit up for Christmas with lights strung all along the little shops and Roberson’s General Store really decked out for the holiday with window decorations just like the big stores in the city across the river. There was a Christmas tree with gaily wrapped packages piled beneath and a model train set chugging ‘round and 'round. In the corner sat a jolly Santa Claus holding a long Christmas list and Mrs. Claus peering over his shoulder.
Now it just so happened that me and Dog Wooten and Red Bill were standin’ on the corner when we saw Old Speed comin’ down the street. He had a burlap sack slung across his shoulder and we could hear the glass clinking as he stumbled and stuttered and generally took up a lot more of the right of way than any walking person would normally lay claim to.
Red nudged Dog, "Bet Old Speed’s got whisky in that sack.”
Red was seventeen and older than me and Dog by about a year 'n some, and he had lived out on Beauty Ridge for a couple years when he was younger.
"Folks on the ridge got no money this time of year,” he went on. "Old Speed’s run out of customers, had to come to town to peddle his whisky.”
"Well lemme see,” I said, “I’ve got about.......uh, not a penny. How ‘bout you, Dog?”
"Probably got the same” replied Dog. “I guess Red’ll have to get us some of that whisky if we’re gonna have any.”
Now the three of us had spent the biggest part of the evening in Pop’s Poolroom where we had swilled soda pop and shot pool until we’d all run out of money which basically meant that we’d each had a bottle of pop and a couple games of pool before we were dead broke. I’d started the evening with two bits, bought a Pepsi for a nickel, lost two games of pool and sat on a bench waitin’ for Dog and Red to lose their money.
Which, of course, is how we come to be standin’ on the corner watchin’ the world pass by, which now that I think on it, is an occupation common to the very rich and the very poor ‘cuz working folk just ain’t got the necessary time for it. It was getting colder and spitting snow and I was about ready to head for home when we saw Speed staggering down the street.
"Hey Speed!” cried Red. “Come to town for Christmas?”
"Who’s that?” Speed asked, swaying to a halt, his burlap sack swinging, the jars clinking.
"Red Bill” grinned Red. “What’s in the bag? Christmas presents?”
"Well ....” said Speed, "It was just some whisky I brung to town to sell for Christmas but I think it’s pretty much gone by now.”
He swung the bag around, opened it and searched inside, coming up with a quart Mason jar about half-full of what looked to me to be water. He unscrewed the cap, took a drink and offered it to Red.
"Ain’t enough left to sell” he said. "You might as well have a Christmas drink on Old Speed.”
Red lifted the jar to his lips, tilted his head back and poured some down his throat. When he lowered it, he blinked his eyes a couple times, coughed and handed the jar to Dog.
"That’s good stuff” he said.
Dog sniffed the jar, took a couple sips and agreed, "Smooth as silk, Speed” he said. "Thank you.”
And he handed the jar to me. Now right here, I have to confess that I’d never tasted whisky before. I’d had some beer but that was all. I looked at the jar, sniffed at it the way Dog had, like I knew what I was doin. It didn’t look like much and didn’t smell like much neither. I leaned into the corner of the building, out of the wind, and lifted the jar to my mouth and took a deep swallow. I mean a big, deep, swallow. And I got to tell you.....I have no idea what that stuff tasted like going down. But it went down my throat into my gullet where it did a quick u-turn and came boiling back up. Out of my mouth. My nose. I swear I think it might’a come out’a my eyes and my ears too. And it made a stone believer out of this old boy ‘cause to this very day, I don’t drink moonshine liquor.
Anyway, when they got through laughing at me, Red and Speed finished off the last of it.
Speed said, "Boys, I want to have myself a Christmas dinner and I ain’t got no money and no liquor to sell.”
And he reached way down in his pants somewhere and pulled out a big old pistol.
"How much will you give me for this here short gun?”
"Lemme see that” said Red. He grabbed the pistol and broke it open, peered through the barrel, snapped it back together and spun it on his finger like in the cowboy movies. It was an old gun with the bluing ‘most all gone and the hand grips wrapped with tattered black electrical tape and while I ain’t all that bright oftentimes, I don’t think I’d’a fired that pistol.
"We ain’t got no money, Speed” said Red, “but if you was to take it in the La-Z-Boy Shoppe there, Clyde might buy it. Or maybe loan you some money against it.”
Now the thing is, about twenty minutes before Speed showed up, the old Chief had gone into the La-Z-Boy. Old Chief Roy was Town Marshall of Riverton and he stopped at the La-Z-Boy Shoppe ever’ night about this time and had coffee and doughnuts. Chief Roy was an old-time lawman who was working in Riverton ‘cause he and Mrs. Chief couldn’t live on his retirement.
He carried a long-barrelled, double-action .44 caliber revolver with engraved nickel plating and ivory handles that belonged in a museum. And he had no problem using it.
When Red suggested to Speed that he take his old gun into the La-Z-Boy, I’m almost sure that it never crossed his mind that the old Chief might just take it in his mind to draw his own pistol and shoot Speed dead on the spot.
Which of course, he didn’t. He could’a but what he did was draw that old pistol and go upside Speed’s head and knock him colder than a well-diggers butt and drag his carcass off to jail.
The Riverton jail wudn’t nothin’ but an old cinderblock building with a dinky little office and a bathroom and one cell. It was kind of a lonely place to be, considering the time of year and all. And cold. And cheerless, too. And the Old Chief’s wife was a soft hearted woman and she just couldn’t stand the thought of Speed lying in a cell in an otherwise empty jail and she darn sure didn’t want her husband sitting down there keeping his one prisoner company on Christmas. So.......she made the Chief bring him home for dinner.
And she went all out! She and the Chief never had any kids of their own and it had been a long time since they had anyone else to share their holidays with. She made a humonguous dinner. Turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce, potatoes and gravy, corn and peas, fresh baked bread, two or three different kind of pies and a cake. And all served up on her good china that I don’t think had seen the light of day for years.
And she just bloomed. Now everybody knew the old Chief ‘cause he was out and about all the time but his Missus was kind of a stay at home and a lot of people in town had never even seen her, let alone meet and talk to her.
All that changed that Christmas. The three of them were in church together. Speed, almost unrecognizable in one of the Chiefs old suits. The Chief, himself, all dressed up in the suit that he wore when he had to testify in court and the Chief’s wife, like Minnie Pearl, “just as proud to be there.”
After the season was over, I mean, after bringing in the New Year and all, the old Chief and his wife loaded Speed into the Chief’s Ford and delivered him back to his cabin out on Beauty Ridge.
I’d like to say that was just the first of many holidays that the three of them spent together and if this whole entire little story was just something that I made up out’a whole cloth, that’s probably what I would say. But the truth is that this was the one and only time it ever happened.
It was a long time ago and they’re all three of them dead now but I still remember Old Speed sayin’ "Boys, I gotta tell you that was the best Christmas ever.”
