There were more than a few folks on the hill that were inclined to over indulge on the fruit of the vine . They all had the same favorite holiday that they celebrated . It was not St Patrics day as you would probably think. No their favorite day invariably was the 3rd day of any given month. "Check Day," as they all referred. They would all be up at the crack of dawn on the 3rd getting ready for that all important event, the arrival of the Mail Truck. The closest thing I could use to describe it was waiting on Santa to arrive on Christmas morning. They all would be happy as pigs in the mud - everything was beautiful on this day.

 

     From my house I could always tell when that eagle flew, usually about 10:30 am, but I didn't need a clock to know as I could tell by the sound of all those old dinged up 20 year old luxury cars cranking up about the same time. I guess you could say it was kinda like a NASCAR track around there.

 

     "GENTLEMEN START YER ENGINES". At first they would sputter and backfire from sitting dorment for a week waiting for gas money to get 'em going. Then down the road they all would go like a CW McCall convoy, headin to Richmond Road and Slack's Grocery to pick up their two favorite friends, "Bud" and "Miller". Now the day is set and away they go to ride and drink and get into mischief. Most of the time they would ride the "River Hills" or some similar, remote location where they were less likely to encounter "The Law Dogs," a name most of them used when referring to county deputies. Yes, everything was blue skies and turning up roses - "Good Ole Boys" and loyal comradery at its best, all enjoying life and just having a good time. All the bills they had to pay, they would deal with later.  All they had to worry about was their wives getting home from their regular jobs in time to chop some wood, get a warm fire going and cook their supper. Well, this blissful Good Ole Boy party would go on just fine until the inevitable event happened.

 

     THE LIQUER RAN LOW! Then its every man for himself. You would see all these sweet, generous vagabonds turn into facimilies of  "Attilla the Hun"! What I have always referred to as The Jekyll and Hyde Syndrome. I have seen some of the most violent altercations and tragically even a couple of killings over that last drink of wine. Now it doesn't just have to be over the last drink, most of the time its just the intoxicating state the guys are in that cause this mayhem.

 

     I recall my good friend Buster, nicest, most fair-minded fellow you could ever meet, but one evening he was drinking with some good ole boys, ( they were not from Pee Dee). Well they decided that Buster had drank enough and that he shouldn't be driving his car. They, wanting to do the right thing after all, took Buster's keys away from him. They had heard that old "do gooder" commercial on TV about "Friends don't let friends drive drunk." Its too bad for them that they didn't see the old Pee Dee proverb "If you take a man's car keys, you just might get beat with a lead pipe!"

 

     Then there was the time that Hub and Jerry got into it down in the field by Hitchcock Creek. If you have ever crossed the bridge just past the bottom of Steele Street, there is a small field on the right just as you get to Aslington Street. That was once part of the old mill pond, before the big dams broke back in the 40's. Now that field is where a lot of these folks ended up after a day of drinking because they could take shelter under the bridge. On this particular day, Hub and Jerry ended up there. Now they had been bosom buddies all that day until the last bottle got down to the last drink. Hub had a certain notoriety all his life for his strength, and he was very strong. Many days he would transport a whole railroad crosstie down the track from Midway pond, all the way to "Junk Browns" and sell it for  3 dollars to get a bottle of wine. Well, on this afternoon Hub was so drunk, he was down and couldn't get up. Normally Jerry would never even think of crossing Hub, he knew what the risks were if Hub was to get even a little upset, so he always walked on egg shells around Hub.

 

     But now he felt safe enough to stand his ground, so after an argument ensued, Jerry became so bold as to slap Hub while he was down and incapacitated. Well, he got braver and braver and slapped him again. He felt like it was smooth sailing so he slapped Hub one more time. Now you have to understand that I'm just a kid who stopped to watch the action as I often did walking home from school. There was always something going on with these winos in that field. Anyway,  when Jerry swung for his 4th slap, it turned out to be his last for the day. Hub's hand caught Jerry's wrist like a steel trap. Jerry, sensing his ultimate doom was fast approaching, began to pull and jerk for his life. Hub, being too drunk to get up, but kinda like a blind Sampson slowly but steadily bent Jerry down like a green sapling. And as soon as he had Jerry's glass jaw in range he brought that other iron fist "all the way from the country" and for Jerry, it was "LIGHTS OUT."

 

     The funny thing was, later that day, I came back by the field and they were both there laying in the same spot, like buddies once again. But Hub was doing all the talking. Jerry, on the other hand, was still out cold, and probably would still be out by this time the next day.

 

     Another regular patron of this field was a guy named "Dink." Now Dink was usually just laying in the field, because when his money and beer was exhausted his drinking buddy would just dump him out there and leave, like he was discarding an old piece of furniture. Walking home from school I would without fail see him laying there in the field, passed out every third evening of the month. It was as normal to see him laying there as the grass and the trees. Dink was like part of the terrain around there. The snow was there every February, the flowers were there every April, the fallen leaves were there every October and Dink was there every 3rd evening of the month.

 

     You may have seen Dink strolling around town, he was a short little fellow with close-cropped grey hair and very thick eye glasses. You could flash 'em in the sun and start a fire in seconds. He had a speech impediment that made him even more unique and fun to listen to. He pronounced Ss like Ts and Gs like Ds. If he was talking about Sonny Grooms, he would say "Tonny Dooms" and he didn't always do his sleeping it off out in the field. It was a very common occurrance to see a policeman hoisting him out of some irrate person's car. If you left your door unlocked up town, you just might come back and find Dink snoring in the back seat. And don't let this little codger fool you, he wasn't afraid of anybody, and had his time in the court system as well.

 

     I recall an incident that happened just up the hill from my house. And once again, it was over booze. His wife was another good Christian lady that wouldn't allow no drinking in her home -  so Dink had his bottle hidden under a bush in front of his house. After several trips out to the bush it was almost gone, and what was left was silently taken care of by some of the local juvenile delinquets. When Dink came out and found an empty bottle he was furious. The teal was dry now and he had not had driving privileges for years. Needless to say he was upset and in his mind the only person he had given a friendly drink to was Joe, the guy in the house across the street. So in his limited capacity,  Joe had to be the culprit.

 

     So, that next morning Joe came out on the porch to enjoy his coffee in the cool autumn air. He took his time, blowing it a little and sipping on it like anybody else would do that didn't know a drunken lunatic was just a few yards away with a 12 gauge shotgun pointed at him. Well, Joe's quiet, relaxed morning was shattered with the blast of that shotgun, peppering Joe like the play page on an antique organ. Stunned and not sure how he got into the front yard , Joe just got up, went inside and called the Police. They arrived expecting to be on a long manhunt but were totally caught off guard by what they found. Not only did Dink not flee the scene but was rolling all over the yard like a crazy person, laughing out loud like he couldn't stop. He continued this loud laughter all the way to the back seat of the police car, shouting "I toltem I wad dona toot'em!" and I did toot'em!"

 

     Another guy that had a reputation for boldness was my friend Charles. Now Charles wasn't just bold. I guess you could categorize him as downright "dangerous."  He had nerves of steel. If you crossed Charles, you had better be ready to go all the way because he was. He used to "spot light" on a regular basis. To you non-hunters, "Spot lighting" is hunting deer at night. It's illegal because a deer is blinded when a bright light is shined in his eyes, therefore, making them easy pickens. But Charles didn't worry about game wardens, deputies, policemen, or anything. He ran the local gas station across from the Orange Bowl and it was a common thing to see him down at the station on a late Saturday night with as many as four deer hung out over the grease pit. The fact that the Sheriff and Police Depts were just a 100 yards up the street didn't worry him a bit. I remember one time he got in trouble just across the line in South Carolina. Every cop in two counties was after him. He took every back road he could think of and finally got away. He managed to flatten all four tires from the speedy chase but still wouldn't stop. He came rolling into Rockingham about 2am with no lights and no rubber, just four rims.

 

     Charles' "in your face" style got him into many altercations over the years. One that comes to mind happened in a beer joint out at the Pee Dee River bridge one Saturday night. Ben Thomas owned the place and it didn't take too many beers til Charles got sideways with some fellows. The only friend Charles had with him was Steve Burns and being out numbered about 20 to 1, Charles and Steve got thrown out of the place. I mean literally thrown out. So Charles got in his car and left but stopped at the top of the hill on the Richmond County side. He loaded his automatic rifle and with Steve driving came barreling down the hill, unloading every round into the beer joint as he passed, heading across the bridge toward Anson County. He then stopped, reloaded and came back across the bridge and did it again coming from the other direction.

 

     Charles mellowed out quiet a bit in his later years becoming a good ole nurturing Grand Pa to his grandkids. But in his day ,you couldn't stand under the same sun with him.

 

     The last bunch I want to tell you about had a more humble and peaceful spirit about them, but they still did their share of drinking. They all hung out in an old run down house down the street from me. As a kid I used to love going down there. Jerry Thomas, my best friend was kin to them, and we would go down there for entertainment. There were four of them all together; lets see now, there was Billy Shavers, Dorse Flowers, Leo Thomas and the old man, Van Thomas. They all rode around in this beat-up old car. I remember when they opened the door it would come completely off. Once they got ready to go, they would put it back on.

 

     Well anyway, one of the most humorous things was to see all four of 'em drunk and laying in this old run-down bed, that had collapsed completely on one side. They looked like the  "the four stooges" laying there snoring so loud the window shades would be flapping. It used to be so funny to watch old man Van just sit up in bed with eyes closed and his arms straight out with his hands in the perfect position to get the bottle. Jerry would place it between his palms where he would turn it up, then extend his arms again so Jerry could take the bottle . Then Van would lay back down , doing all this without ever opening his eyes.

 

     Leo would always be the one who cooked breakfast . There was an old cast iron water meter case sitting on the back porch right beside the outside kitchen door. Well an old Domineker hen would lay eggs in that thing. Leo would just reach out the door and pick those eggs up and start cooking. I'll never forget that. Leo later became an alcoholic because of a lost love. He loved a woman so much, that when she married someone else while he was doing his duty in WWII, he never got over it. He never had anything to do with another woman for 40 years. Then they were reunited when her husband passed and as far as I know had a lot of happiness in their golden years.

 

     Dorse Flowers was the breadwinner of the bunch as he had sold a piece of ground to Dan Allen, as if Dan needed any more land. This purchase from Dorse put him in at about 1000 acres. Well, with this little nest egg they lived high on the hog for a while. I  remember clearly the last time I saw Dorse. We were all down at Hitchcock Creek fishing. Dorse had hid his booze under a bush. I was only about 10 and to his credit he didn't like to drink in front of kids. He kept waiting around for me to move away so he could get a drink. In a short while he was getting plum shakey and I stayed on, not moving. Finally ole Dorse couldn't bare the shakes any longer and said "Boy, would you hand me that brown bag under that bush there?"  Sure," I said and handed it over to him. Well, Dorse eased that bottle out of the bag and removed the cap. He put the bottle to his lips but suddenly paused . Then he looked over at me and with a dramatic tempo in his voice said "Boy, I hope you never have to do this!" And with that turned the bottle up.