BOB: "THESE LURES AREN'T JUNQUE!"

 by Bob Snipes, Guest Writer

One Saturday I was having a sale at my Junque Store and a friend of mine dropped by to shoot the bull.   He told me of a garage sale at the north edge of town that had 3-4 tackle boxes full of fishing tackle and lures.  He said there were some good Heddon lures in the bunch.   Well, it was almost 3:00 and business slowed down about that time on Saturday afternoon and I sure wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to buy some more fishing tackle because I only had one barn full of the stuff. 

So I shut my sale down and hustled to the north part of town.  When I arrived, they had already put the stuff up but they were cordial and let me peek at the fishing stuff.  I poked through the boxes right quick and said "what would you take for the whole mess?"  He said it belonged to his Dad who had passed away and he needed to sell it all and he would take $105.00 and he would throw in 3-4 rods and reels.  Since it was his Dad's (who I knew) I didn't even try to negotiate a better price,  I just paid him, loaded the stuff up and hustled home and unloaded in the barn.  

A couple weeks later I decided to go through the tackle box, which I had not looked at real good.  I decided to pick out a couple of the Heddon lures and do a trial run on Ebay.  I knew that Heddon was a good name and I think the company went out of business around the 80s and I checked Ebay and saw some groups of Heddons selling for $25-$30. 

I took my photos, did some research, found out that one of the lures was a Heddon Chugger Junior.  That didn't mean a lot to me because I wasn't a collector and I didn't know the vintage stuff to collect.   I was just an old retired business man enjoying selling old junk.   But I was most interested in fishing stuff.   I would buy any fishing tackle, clean it up and sell it and try to make a buck or so. 

I  listed the two lures with a starting price of $9.95.   Well lo and behold, in about one hour the phone rang and this guy was asking about those Heddon Lures.  He said he wanted to buy the lures now and he would give $100.00.  My first thought was that if he offered $100.00, what were they really worth.  My next thought was why are they worth that.  Anyway, I told him I couldn't sell them before the auction ended.  He explained to me that I could by making a change on the listing before I had a bid.  He was correct, it was legal and I was glad to get the $100.00. 

But the story doesn't end there.  This man was a collector of Heddon Chugger Juniors and he had the largest collection in the world.  He explained that my lure had to have been special made.  The color was never produced, was not in any catalogue ever.  It was ONE  OF  A  KIND.  He explained that the Japanese bought nearly all of the old Heddon lures and he had to get it before they did. 

As it ended up,  this man purchased most all of the lures in those tackle boxes.  After that I kept a running total of everything I sold out of those boxes and the total was around $800.00,  thanks to the man who knew more about lures than I did. 

Bob Snipes
For Mil's Place
******30*******

I SENT MY HEART QUESTIONNAIRE TO WIENERSCHNITZEL!

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ABOUT THE TELEPHONE THING...AND CUSTOMER RELATIONS
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Several years ago a federal law was passed that solicitors couldn't just phone people at their homes trying to peddle something. You put your name on a national registry, and you were pretty nearly  guaranteed privacy!

All well and good! For awhile, anyway...Now they are getting around it someway. Is it just plain old belligerence, or what?

Now there are five or six different loud, blatant phone calls coming in to our homes, recurring over and over, every week---

(1) "The FBI wants...blah...blah..." (selling burglar alarms)
(2) "Your credit card may be in trouble"---loud raucous female voice (It couldn't be!)
(3) "Don't hang up!" I don't know what they're selling---I hang up.
(4) "You have won a cruise!" Again, I hang up. I don't think I like cruises.
(5) "This is a water survey..." My, my, are surveys of all kinds popular now!
(6) "Do you own your own home?" Well, how nice. I believe I'll just chit-chat with this stranger about my private business! Isn't it great to be a guy with people interested in you!?

Maybe someone is working in congress---or somewhere to get rid of this new spate of ever-growing phone incursions on our privacy and solitude!

Let's move on to something else. For several decades, in the USA, friendliness and courtesy among clerks, sales people, fast-food workers, waitresses (they still want their tips), medical personnel (even), and government office people have severely declined. One would almost think we are importing our workers from overseas also, like our products!  (Not to  mention that we have to phone India, Bangladesh, or Myanmar to clear up billing problems!)

In high school "Distributive Education" class, we were taught to say to customers: "May I help you?" "Did you find everything you needed?" "Is there anything else?" "Thank you, and come back to see us!"

Recently, and this is true---there was a "thank you" at one store where I traded! Yes, it was I---thanking the clerk--- who never said "boo!" This is sad, my friends.

There may be a ray of hope! There are some positive signs!

My wife and I were talking over coffee this morning, as we always do (and fooling around with our I Pads!) She noted that she was getting a lot of requests from clerks in places she traded, asking her to respond to surveys, written or phoned, telling the employer of the worker what kind of job their employee was doing. She mentioned various businesses, such as Walgreens, her Presbyterian doctor, and KFC. We like KFC's CFS on Tuesdays @ 2.29, and the personnel there are always courteous and helpful to the extreme.

(Presbyterian Health sends a questionnaire to every person treated by one of their doctors, technicians, or after hospital stays.)

It put me in mind of the old Baldridge Hardware in Albuquerque, now closed. They were so good and helpful. A rarity.  And that friendly guy at Subway! Also Appleby's has telephone surveys, to which they hope folks will respond.  The survey which I have responded to the most is Panda Express--they have a super-clean operation, and their people try their best. I respond because I like their free egg roll.

(I must tell you this. Recently, I had occasion to phone Cabella's about a faulty product.  This splendid lady with a cheerful, bright, clear voice answered and routed me to a service rep. He was so good and sharp that I thanked him profusely. He said: "Would you repeat that to my supervisor?" I did repeat my appreciation for both these representatives.)

The wife was saying, "I'm getting behind on some of these surveys---the girl at KFC asked me to be sure and answer and also the girl at Walgreen's...and here's one I need to fill out, from the doctor!" "I'm getting mixed up," she said.

"I get all these surveys too," I answered. "Got one from Presbyterian Health on that leg scan I had, and then I mistakenly sent the survey about my Presbyterian heart doctor to Wienerschnitzel!" She about died over that one, and replied through her laughter: "Just be glad you didn't send the Wienerschnitzel survey to your doctor at Presbyterian Health by mistake."

"I did," I replied!

Anyway, maybe we are making some progress...a little at a time in customer relations. And I thank you very much for reading, and hope you will come back at every opportunity!

 (Writers note: No, I didn't send as noted above. That was merely the clever use of  "LITERARY LICENSE," to maintain for you the joke I pulled on the wife/editor!)

*******30*******
BY MIL
3/01/13


Sent from my iPad

"WHERE CROSS THE CROWDED WAYS OF LIFE"

About a hundred-eight years ago, when the Methodist Hymnal of 1905 was being compiled, one of the editors of that hymnal went to Rev. Frank Mason North (1850-1935), a noted New York City Methodist minister, and asked him if he would write a "missionary" hymn for the new hymnal. Never having been a missionary or having written a hymn, North sat in his New York City office overlooking the city, and saw gigantic mission needs right there in front of himself---and thus his hymn became one about the needs of cities. "Where Cross the Crowded Ways of Life" is one of our best hymns on this subject.

The hymn was wedded to the tune "Germany," arranged by William Gardner, from what he claimed to be a Beethoven tune, though this was never verified.

The hymn, according to graphs, which trace such things, began appearing in church hymnals around the year 1950, and has continued ever since, peaking around the year 2000.

Probably not as popular to the average person in the pew as many gospel songs, nonetheless, it is a well-written hymn poetically, and a splendid supplication to God---that he continue to enter and bless our cities, with their turmoil, sin, and downtrodden humanity.

Who can ever forget the great prayer: "O Master, from the mountainside, make haste to heal these hearts of pain...O tread the cities' streets again 'til sons of men shall learn thy love."

1. Where cross the crowded ways of life, 
 where sound the cries of race and clan, 
 above the noise of selfish strife, 
 we hear your voice, O Son of man. 

2. In haunts of wretchedness and need, 
 on shadowed thresholds dark with fears,
 from paths where hide the lures of greed, 
 we catch the vision of your tears. 

3. From tender childhood's helplessness, 
 from woman's grief, man's burdened toil,
 from famished souls, from sorrow's stress, 
 your heart has never known recoil.

4. The cup of water given for you still 
 holds the freshness of your grace; 
 yet long these multitudes to view 
 the sweet compassion of your face. 

5. O Master, from the mountainside 
 make haste to heal these hearts of pain; 
 among these restless throngs abide; 
 O tread the city's streets again. 

6. Till all the world shall learn your love 
 and follow where your feet have trod, 
 till, glorious from your heaven above, 
 shall come the city of our God! 

Tune: GERMANY
Meter: L.M.   Lyrics:  Frank Mason North

    

*******30*******

        BY MIL

        3/01/13

"WHERE DID YOU GET THE COWBOY?"

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THE LITTLE RANCH LADY WAS BARELY FIVE FEET TALL
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She was about ninety years old, I would guess. She was just a neat little lady---though there was something about her---I had never heard her say a word.

Usually we saw her there at the nursing home, a couple of times a week when we ate in the dining room with "Mama," my wife's mother.

Her assigned seat was at the end of our table, right across from us. I'd always speak to her but she never answered and I had never heard her say anything, so I didn't press it. There are all kinds of situations in those homes. She didn't really pay us any attention either.

She was pretty short, as older folks get, and I think she was short to start with. She seldom ate much---just kind of picked at her food in a bored, uninterested way. She had a way of kind of tilting her head over her plate, as if to see better, or maybe her neck was stiff.

She never seemed to have any family or friends around to eat with her, but there was an attendant always hovering nearby and seeing after several folks. You had to be careful not to offer too much help to people in those homes, because they all had different dietary and swallowing problems.

I had a kind of secret admiration for this little lady because we'd been told she was from an old-time ranching family down in southeastern New Mexico. She'd spent her life living on a big ranch. I was somewhat fascinated by this since I had a number of friends from that part of the state, and some of them were ranchers.

And you know, in my mind I could visualize my little ranch lady out there in the open spaces, maybe on her horse, maybe helping at the chuck wagon and tossing some pancakes during branding-time...or maybe just riding around, checking the grass, after that last rain. She may have even climbed a windmill or two in her day!

I'll bet she looked "cool" in her "size small" jeans, western shirt, and red bandana...not to mention her cowboy boots and ten gallon hat!

Nursing homes are tough places for people to wind up their lives.

That night we were eating over there seemed like any other time---our little ranch lady was eating along more or less, with her head cocked sideways, but...for some strange reason she was really "eye-balling" ME. And for some reason her eyes were VERY BRIGHT and she didn't seem to miss a motion that I made. She was certainly taking me in.

That day, I was off work and was wearing some old faded blue levis and faded denim western shirt, my western belt buckle, a big Indian turquoise bolo, and my boots.

As I was sitting there eating, I heard the little ranch lady say to my wife, the only words I had ever heard her say: "WHERE DID YOU GET THE COWBOY?"

Coming from a "ranch gal," I felt honored!

*******30*******
BY MIL
3/02/13





Sent from my iPad

DID YOU EVER OWN A BARLOW?

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"EVERY MAN NEEDS A BARLOW!"
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If there ever is to be a pocket knife selected because of  lore and literary fame, it would have to be the "Barlow!" And rightly so--it is a handy-sized, rugged, attractive, comfortable, and inexpensive little knife--and how about carrying a piece of history around in your pocket?! When I hear the words "Barlow knife," I automatically think of boyhood.... ever-active, exploring, inquisitive, into-everything, curious little boys.

After all, boys are always needing to pry something, cut something, or if bored, merely whittle (look at old-timer whittlers---we never outgrow it!) And there is always that strange knife game that little boys have heard of---mumblety--peg, the one with the nebulous/multiple spellings, and the even more obscure rules! Little boys just simplify the game---and throw their knives into the lawn!

The Barlows likely achieved some of their "boyhood knife" status due to the writings of Mark Twain. The knives are mentioned in his two most famous and popular books-- "Tom Sawyer," and "Huckleberry Finn":

Mary gave him a bran-new Barlow knife worth twelve and a half cents, and the convulsion of delight that swept his system shook him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was a "sure enough" Barlow and there was conceivable grandeur in that...  ----"THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER"

All the stores were along one street. They had white domestic awnings in front, and the country people hitched their horses to the awning posts. There was empty dry goods boxes under the awnings and loafers roosting on them all day long, whittling them with their Barlow knives; and chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and stretching a mighty ornery lot. ----"THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN"

To me, a Barlow exudes a whole set of mental images, coming to me from real life and from reading. This knife reminds me of a barefoot boy, on the way to the old fishing hole, carrying his cane pole and his Barlow in his pocket. Or hot summer afternoons in Clovis boys out under the shade of the elms, doing some trimming on our rubber guns. It recalls digging a fort in the ground....or whittling on a tree branch for a slingshot.

Whatever it's used for, you can bet that a boy's  Barlow is beat up--as well as dull-- and probably a bit rusted, and who knows--it may have been thrown at a lizard a time  or two! Unfortunately, knife sharpening is a skill most little boys don't have...and alas, they say a "safe kmife is a sharp knife"...I'm not so sure.

The Barlow in its beginnings was a single blade knife, the blade being two and a half to three inches long. A second shorter blade is often added today. It has always been a tough little knife, partly due to its distinguishing characteristic---it has a tough high bolster, comprising a good portion of the handle. The blade is usually of high carbon steel, easily sharpened, and the handle of bone or some durable material. It was not generally highly polished or finished but was a "last-forever" little knife of utilitarian design...and ideal for kids.

(In knife makers' parlance, the material comprising the "handle"---is called "scales." It may be composed of any one of several dozen materials, such as bone, stag, delrin, abalone, jogged bone, micarta, plastic, and even ivory.)

The  origin of the Barlow knife is a bit difficult to pin down. Various Barlows from various generations have laid claim to it, in UK and the USA. John Russell may have been the first American to manufacture Barlows. His company (now the Russell  Harrington Cutlery Company, of Southbridge, Mass.) first made Barlows in the US in 1875, though knives imported from. the UK were available much  earlier.

A number of US companies now make the Barlow-style knife: Case, Bear and Son, Boker, Roberson, Rough Rider, and others.

The knife is a perfect size for carrying and for most utility jobs; it fits handily in your jeans pocket, either front, or hip. It has a nice "heft" just to feel it there with its slight tear-drop shape. It will not weigh down a lady's purse.

Old time guides in Alaska, grizzled farmers, handymen, fixers, and others of that ilk will laugh at you, if you pull out an eight inch Bowie to do your butchering, whittling, or repair---just give a "real man" a SHARP Barlow, and he can do the job!

George Washington is said to have carried a Barlow.

*******30*******
BY MIL
1/17/13

"ECHOES FROM THE BURNING BUSH"

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   THE CHUCK WAGON GANG---"AMERICA'S QUARTET"

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When I was a boy, back in the late thirties and forties, and visiting my granddaddy's farm ("POP'S PLACE") down in Dawson County, I was tuned into the quaintness and "ruralness" of it all---especially the sounds. You could hear a tractor or a truck---any motor--- at night---a long way off, if you were outside. And then there were the sounds...on his radio...

One thing I've never forgotten is Pop's old trusty upright Philco, that stood over in the corner of his bedroom  (his de facto den.) Sometimes, late at night I'd listen to him and my dad talk, sitting there in their rocking chairs, and Pop would have his radio softly playing some religious music---sounded like a quartet...and the total sound was so lonesome...and rural...and it took you somewhere...so awesome that  you could barely stand it.
I almost know that I heard the words, there on Pop's radio---" The Chuck Wagon Gang."

It could have been, for the "Gang" was founded in 1936, in Lubbock, Texas, by D.D. "Dad" Carter, his son, Jim, and daughters, Rose and Anna. Since the day of the group's founding, it has sung all these years with only one or two brief breaks. Due to the passage of time, generations of singers have come and gone and there have been something like thirty-four members in the "Gang" over the years. 

The Chuck Wagon Gang, called a "grass roots"---"Southern Gospel," group is a long-time American favorite and I think we can say that it is practically an American institution. During its seventy-seven year existence, it has recorded over eight hundred songs and sold over forty million records, part of them on the earlier Columbia label, and now on Sony. Many songs recorded in the thirties are still being sung by today's quartet.

The present group, (which in my judgment may be the most talented of all), is made up of four singers and a guitarist. They are: Shaye Smith, alto, manager/owner, (this lady is a joy to watch and hear; she has two music degrees, and an impressive range); Julie Hudson, soprano; Stan Hill, tenor; Jeremy Stephens, bass/guitarist/emcee; and Joe Rotten, guitarist.

They sing their Southern Gospel music, if you listen closely, with great skill and finesse. They begin each stanza together, they sing the words with perfect precision; they have a good blend (so important in an ensemble), and we hear the perfection of their final closing chords.  In "I'll Meet You in the Morning", the alto takes the lead, and this is done with an elegance of diction and style.

My editor/wife and I got  out our ipads out the other morning over coffee, and decided we'd check into and "bone up" on this complicated business of where all the various kinds of American music came from and how it all shakes out together.

We checked "Bluegrass," Appalachian, Negro spirituals, camp meeting, shaped-note singing, Southern Gospel, Country Gospel, Western, English folk songs, Irish folk songs, Scottish folk songs, the "quartet movement," (circa 1910), and the "singing convention" movement of the early Twentieth Century---we spent several hours and I took pages of notes...a lot of which don't apply to the Chuck Wagon Gang---directly, but it was interesting!

The Chuck Wagon Gang sings plain old down-to-earth, gospel-type songs, which touch the heart. They have something going for them that appeals to the American people. The Chuck Wagon Gang has sung at Carnegie Hall, the Hollywood Bowl, and The Grand Ole Opry.

The group has been selected for the Gospel Music's Hall of Fame, and the Smithsonian Institution's "Classic American Recordings."

We have selected several numbers below for you to access. Then you can choose further selections by checking You Tube's right margin.

I’ll Meet You in the Morning

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyDBa7Xo0Ac&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Echoes From the Burning Bush

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk0vTu8H868&feature=youtube_gdata_player

O Come, Angel Band

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnvLQQq9820&feature=youtube_gdata_player

He Wrote My Name

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YspsE4d1Gs&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Looking for a City

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ngHus9NBjg&feature=youtube_gdata_player

My Dream Home in Glory

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBRqAeZtZlM&feature=youtube_gdata_player

I’ll Fly Away

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-hwYP2O1fs&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Jesus, Hold My Hand

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyOWhHf7Rpo&feature=youtube_gdata_player

  

(This is the original Chuckwagon Gang)

When the Saints Go Marching In

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bApnhrU2Zp8&feature=youtube_gdata_player

********30******
BY MIL
2/25/13

"I WILL MEET YOU IN THE MORNING"

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A LOVING TRIBUTE TO ESSIE MARSHALL MOORE
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He was one of the greatest men ever...
He was my uncle.

He had a tender heart.
What a thing to say about someone.

He was born in 1915, in hard times
Out there twenty miles north of Lamesa
On a cotton farm near Punkin' Center.
It was an old house, with gray boards
For outside walls, and no insulation.
The parents and six kids lived there.

His heart had been forever touched by God
When he was a boy.
If ever a man loved God, it was he.
God had come into his soul one day
And forgave him, and lived there from then on.

And God put a song in his heart
That never went away.

Coming from an Irish family, the O' Moores,
Who landed in Virginia in the 1800's,
He was blessed with the Irish talent
And love for singing.
His own dad wrote songs, led singing schools,
And church revivals, all over West Texas.

The big thing is that he was given a clear,
Sweet, beautiful  first tenor voice---
The kind so scarce and in demand
For male quartets.

One time, about 1919, during the Great Flu Epidemic,
His whole family was down with it,

Including my own father;

Out there on that lonely farm,
A long way from anywhere...
And neighbors brought soup and food
And left it on the front porch.

He married in 1936, and though I was only
Two and a half, I was there when they
Came back from their honeymoon.
I can remember that big old black car.

He lived in Lamesa a number of those
Depression years, and he was in  a male quartet
At the First Baptist Church, which sang for
Dozens and dozens of funeral there
And around the area.

He came to Clovis in 1939 to be
The laundry delivery man for the
Magic Steam Laundry, run by my dad.
I often tagged along with him in the
Laundry's old white panel truck,
Delivering clean laundry to motels,
Cafes, barber shops, the hospital, and wherever
We needed to.

A freehearted and most generous man...
He loved kids and always tried to have
A sackful of little one cent candy bars,
Like Baby Ruths, O Henrys, Hersheys,
Jaw breakers, suckers, and some Double Bubble,
When kids were around.

That was partly why I liked to help him deliver.
He made it his business to always have candy
For little me.

While working in Clovis, he was in a male quartet.
They met every day  at noon at the Fox Drug
At Fourth and Main; a piano had been placed by the front door
And they sang there or out on the sidewalk
For fifteen minutes each day at 12:45 p.m.
On KICA Radio.

On December 6, 1941, we closed the laundry early---

Essie's family and our family

All went home to Lamesa. I don't remember why.
We went in one car and it was crowded.
On returning to Clovis, on Sunday afternoon,
December 7, 1941, we stopped at an old filling station

 in Lubbock to get gas.

There was 14 cent gas, and an old cold drink case, out front.
Essie went into the station to get some candy
For the kids, and came back with his face pale,
And said to Dad, who was wiping the windshield:
"The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor,
and the U.S. is expecting fighting in the Phillippines."
I remember that...like yesterday. I remember thinking...
What are the Phillippines?

He later returned to his "home" at Lamesa
And resumed singing with his old quartet.
In 1948, we had a new Chevrolet.
Sitting in it on Sunday afternoons,
With the radio on and the antenna up,
I picked up his quartet broadcast each week,
Listening to Lamesa Radio... 150 crow miles away.

When I went off to college in 1951, and was
In the Hardin-Simmons University A Cappella Choir
And was taking private voice lessons from our
Esteemed director, Dr. Euell Porter, a tenor,
My Uncle Essie drove down from Lamesa to Abilene.
And also took private lessons for a semester.
Dr. Porter knew of the Lamesa quartet, which was
Known all over that area.

He took a hungry college boy out to eat a number
Of times, and I had my first banana split, and
First shrimp dinner.
One day he pressed some bills into my hand
And said: this is for high school graduation.

It was twenty-five dollars!

I had no radio and didn't want to squander the money,
So I went to Ward's and bought a radio, which I still have.

One time, much later, when my dad was in the hospital
In Lubbock, after heart  by-passes, and my mother had
Big motel expenses, Essie came to visit, and on leaving
Pressed a rolled up bill into Mother's hand.
It was a hundred dollar bill.

When he and and I talked on the phone,
He always wanted to harmonize,
Over the phone and I did too!

He died of cancer when he was 78, after he made
One final trip to his home of many years---Lamesa.
Before passing on, he said: "It has been a good life...
and I am ready to go."

 One of the most tender-hearted and free-hearted people

 who ever lived. A man who was a credit to the earth.

There is one particular quintessential quartet number
That will always remind me of Essie...
It's hard to keep a dry eye and hear it...
The first-tenor part was made for him...

"I will meet you in the morning by the bright riverside..."
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I Will Meet You in the Morning

I will meet you in the morning on the bright riverside,
When all sorrows have drifted away.
I'll be standing at the portal with the gates open wide
At the close of life's long, dreary day.

Cho: I'll meet you in the morning with a "How do you do?"
     And we'll sit down by the river, and with rapture, old acquaintance renew.
     You'll know me in the morning by the smile that I wear.
     When I meet you in the morning in that city that is built foursquare.

I will meet you in the morning in the sweet by and by,
And exchange the old cross for a crown.
There will be no disappointments and no body shall die
In that land where life's sun goeth down.

I will meet you in the morning at the end of the way
On the streets of that city of gold,
Where we all can be together and be happy for aye
As the years of eternity roll.

Bill Gaither Vocal Band:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycV_XGwegoY&sns=em

     BY MIL
*****30*****
Sent from my iPad