"SWISHER SWEETS" WERE GOOD JUST TO
CHEW ON....AND MADE YOU LOOK TOUGH!
***********************************************
Way back through the mists of time into the late
forties, in the lovable little town of Clovis, Levi
and I were growing up.
Not to worry---we were basically good boys---we
sang bass in the church choir---every Sunday,
both services. Nary a drop of booze ever touched
our lips!
Now, being red-blooded American boys, we committed
a small misdeed now and then---we liked to occasionally
sneak out somewhere and light up a good cigar.
(In those days a "good" cigar was likely a John
Ruskin at a nickel or a King Edward at six cents.)
Why, we'd never heard of Cuban cigars at six
dollars apiece. You could buy a whole box of
John Ruskins for less than half that.
Those were the days---we'd (several of us) put
together five or six quarters and buy five or six
gallons of 25 cent-per-gallon gas for Levi's car,
and thus have plenty to carry us up and down
Main Street, out Seventh...up Thornton and out
to 21st Street...or wherever. On rare occasions
it might be Portales, Melrose, or the pool hall
in Texico.
We didn't consider ourselves to be actual
"smokers"---we just strayed occasionally into
this "sinful" habit. Stuff like that was bordering
on being "sinful" in Clovis in the forties.
So we would light up now and then while driving.
It made us feel sort of suave, sophisticated,
macho, and grown-up!
We had a farm and I drove a tractor many long, hot,
dirty, thirsty, gnat-buzzing miles for hours and
hours, blue denim shirt fading out on the
shoulders from the sun---and NEVER ONCE
did I ever have a good cigar to chew on and
keep me company.
Dad had them...in his pocket...a supply of them in
the pickup...one in his mouth...you could see it
across the field! He bought them fifty at a time in
a box! Oh how I envied him, but I was only 15
and "not a man" yet!
Around and around that wheat field I drove,
on a Wheatland tractor, pulling a 22 1/2 foot
One--Way plow @ about three mph. I needed
something...anything to break up the monotony!
But no...nothing ever did, unless I went to sleep
and had to circle around and come back into
my rut. If you didn't circle back, the first rain
would produce a long strip of weeds showing
from the road---some plower goofed up!
Anyway...on with my story. One night my
parents had a meeting of some kind at the
church. And Levi came up to the house
to hang out and shoot the breeze a bit.
Now, we were sitting there talking and happened
to glance over at Dad's desk! There was
sitting on that desk an almost brand new box
of John Ruskin cigars.
It was one of those unspoken times when...
our eyes fell simultaneously right on the box and
click---our eyes met. Thinking the house probably
already smelled of cigars from Dad, I likely
said: "Quiere fumar," as we were big Spanish
speakers in those days.
So we lit up. We smoked those suckers. We
destroyed the wrappers, disposed of the ashes,
threw the butts outside, and aired the house out---
good and proper. He'd never notice a little bit
of extra smoke. He was used to it. Boy, were we
"clever guys!"
We talked about old times, new times, school,
girls, and finally got on with our rat-killing---
buying some gas and running around town.
I didn't give this event another thought after
that, other than to figure we had gotten away
scot-free.
Then one hot summer day, a strange thing
happened. Dad and I had finished plowing
our section at Ranchvale and were headed to our
place NW across the draw, six or seven miles away.
our section at Ranchvale and were headed to our
place NW across the draw, six or seven miles away.
We stopped at Herb Baker's Ranchvale Store
to get some soda pops and candy, peanuts and
potato chips. (Any time a hungry farm kid got
to go into a country store, he loaded up on
snacks!)
We were leaving and I heard Dad say: "Herb,
give me one of those John Ruskins there in the
counter." And I heard him say, as my heart
skipped a beat: "Mil, do you want one too?"
I said: "WHAT? WHO, ME?" He said: "Well, you
and Levi smoked a couple of mine the other
night, didn't you?" (Obviously very proud of his
detective work.)
I embarrassedly mumbled, "Er...no thanks," and
went off to the back of the store.
So there I was: caught redhanded!
Be sure your sins will find you out.
He never brought it up again.
*******30******
BY MIL
3/28/14
Sent from my iPad
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