Raney (11 page)

"Wait a minute. Let's take that one. What does that prove?"

"What does what prove?"

"That he's in church like he's supposed to be."

"It proves he's obeying God's word."

"A monkey can obey God's word."

"Don't be ridiculous, Charles."

"I'm merely responding logically to your argument."

"Charles, a monkey can
break
God's word too. And I'd rather have the monkey who
kept
God's word. This argument don't make sense because a monkey don't even know what God's word is, and a man does, so you can't have a monkey breaking God's word, but you can have a man breaking God's word."

"What about a man who doesn't know God's word
—
has never heard it. Those
kind
of men live and die every day."

"We're talking about Mr. Earls who
does
know God's word. Stick to the subject."

"Raney, the whole point
—
"

"Charles, the whole point is that you think you know what you're talking about and you've just met Mr. Earls and you're jumping to all kinds of conclusions about him."

"Raney, I'm talking about the Civil War. Who do
you
think should have won the war?"

I waited a minute. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not taking a stand either way, Charles. You should have been born a Yankee
—
that's all I know. Some of my relatives were killed in the Civil War. Who do you think I am, a traitor?"

Charles gave up. We were at home anyway.

Aunt Flossie was real happy to find out that Mr. Earls would help out. After Charles and
me
had a banana sandwich I drove straight over to tell her. I've finally got Charles to eat peanut butter and potato chips on a banana sandwich
—
along with mayonnaise. He used to wouldn't eat anything but mayonnaise on one.

II

On Golden Agers' day, Mr. Earls met us (we were in three cars and a van) in his Confederate uniform. Birdie was standing beside him in a granny dress and a blue bonnet. On the front porch was Mr. Earls's mama, sitting wrapped up in a quilt and with a tight navy blue knit hat pulled down to her neck. We turned into his driveway and all piled out
—
thirteen Golden Agers and six people who were helping out.

Down across the yard, close to the woods, was the cannon, and on beyond that in the edge of the woods was a shelter built out of pine tree limbs with a burning campfire close by. Beside the campfire were three bunches of rifles, stacked with their barrels coming together at the tips.

The Channel 9 TV van turned in the driveway. Aunt Flossie had called them and they said they might be able to come.

Mr. Earls was walking around shaking hands with everybody. "Glad you made it. Glad you made it," Birdie headed toward the campfire
—
to keep it going, I guess.

"Birdie,"
hollered Mr. Earls, "get those hats and coats out of the lean-to."

Birdie brought Civil War hats and coats and Mr. Earls put them on several of the men, including Charles. Aunt Flossie told the TV men
—
Bob Ross and a cameraman
—
that me and Charles had our banjo and guitar in the car and might be willing to do a little back-up music. They asked us if we would and we said we'd be glad to. I got nervous and Charles got fidgety
—
kept tuning his B string.

Bob Ross got a bunch of people to stand and sit around the campfire, and he put me and Charles off to the side picking "Salt Creek," while he interviewed Mr. Earls and Aunt Flossie about the Civil War and the Golden Agers' day. We played through Salt Creek three times before they were through. I asked Bob Ross when it would be on TV and he said Monday night probably. He looked lots older than he does on TV. He seemed like a normal person, though.

The cameraman took a few more shots of people sitting around the campfire and then a close-up of Charles and me picking and singing. Then Mr. Earls says, "Okay, let's fire the cannon.
Birdie, gunpowder."

Birdie hurried over to a wooden box, got out a little package, and hurried back to the cannon where Mr. Earls was. He went straight to work while he hollered out for the men in uniform to get a rifle and line up beside the cannon and to be careful because the rifles were loaded. The men ambled over with the rifles. Everybody else stood in a group over toward the cars
—
to watch. Mr. Earls made a short speech to the group about the use and movement of field artillery in battle. He was wearing a sword which he pulled out and pointed as he talked. The cameraman filmed part of that. Then Mr. Earls starts toward the cannon and says to the cameraman, "Take your picture from anywhere you want to."

"I think I'll stay here," he said. He was over with us watching.

"I ain't shooting nothing but wadding. You could get right out front. The rifles ain't got nothing but wadding, either."

"I think I'll stay here."

Mr. Earls went to work ramming a long stick, with a cloth balled up on the end, down the barrel of the cannon. Then he walked around to the back of the cannon, picked up a smaller stick with cloth on the end
—
soaked in kerosene, I guess
—
walked to the campfire, lit the cloth, came back and stood behind the cannon. A fuse was sticking up from the rear of the cannon, looking like a little white rope. The men were lined up on each side of the cannon. "You men back up over here," he said. "No, you. Right. Camera ready? Ladies and gentlemen! Here we go."

Charles was holding a rifle, wearing that little Rebel hat, standing beside Mr. Goodman, looking at me with his eyes real wide,
pretending
he was scared to death.

"Men. Prepare to fire.
Sir. Raise that gun a little if you will. No, not you. Yes, you. Good.
Ready on the left, ready on the right, ready on the firing line. Ready.... Aim....

Mr. Earls touched the fire to the fuse
—
which I guess was stuck down into the gunpowder somehow
—
then stood back. The fuse sparkled and fizzed, and just as the spark reached the cannon he said,
"Fire."

The rifles fired. The cannon just sat there.

"Birdie.
Get the drill."

Birdie ran over to the corner of the house, bent over and picked up something, then went running to the cannon with this electric drill with a long orange extension cord dragging along behind.

I got in the front door of the TV van and moved to the back where an extra camera was and sat down on a little bench. About a minute later Charles was in there. "Did you see what he's doing?" said Charles.

"Yes, I did. What's he doing with a drill?"

"I do not know."

I buried my head under my hands and Charles got the giggles. Then I got the giggles. "Charles, I don't want to die in the Civil War." We could hear the high whine of the electric drill.

"Maybe it'll be on TV if we do," said Charles. "I guess I'd better sneak back out there."

"I'm staying put," I said.

In a few minutes I heard another "Ready, aim, fire," and there was
a
awful loud boom along with the rifles firing. I got out of the van. Everybody was clapping and white smoke was drifting up into the air.

Next was the bluegrass festival. We got everybody loaded into the cars and van and drove to Hardee's for lunch, then out to the Templeton Highlands
—
two big pastures
—
for the Fallfest Bluegrass and Gospel Show. Charles and
me
were scheduled for two o'clock. Mr. Rittle, from church, called us in August and asked us if we wanted a spot on the show; two acts had cancelled. His son, Ferrell, was in charge and had asked him if he knew anybody who could take the places of the cancelled acts. They have it every year in late October, usually the last bluegrass festival around. So since August, I've been promising Mary Faye and Norris that if they'd learn one of our songs they could come up on stage and sing with us. They both have good voices and Mary Faye can sing harmony better than Charles. Charles has to
learn
his part whereas Mary Faye picks it up natural. Well ... like I do.

The stage was at the bottom of a hill and people were sitting around on blankets and in lawn chairs. Mary Faye and Norris were there with Mama and Daddy; they had lawn chairs down front. Mr. Rittle saw to it that all the Golden Agers got in free, and the church provided fold-up chairs that we set up a ways behind Mama and Daddy. We got everybody settled at about 1:30. At 2:00 Charles and
me
went up to play.

Charles is getting better and better on banjo. He's been working on "Devil's Dream" and "Doug's Tune" all summer and they're the two instrumentals we did Saturday. Then I sang "Careless Love," "I'll Go Stepping Too," "Farther Along," "Keep on the Sunny Side," "You Are My Flower," "Fifty Miles of Elbow Room," and "When the Roses Bloom in Dixieland." Just before Mary Faye and Norris came up we did this beautiful song by Alice Gerrard and Hazel Dickens that we've been working on: "West Virginia," with Charles singing harmony. (Charles bought me the album it's on as a surprise. He buys me about one album a month. He'll remember a song I like on the radio and the next thing I know, when I go to bed there's the album under my pillow.)

Then Mary Faye and Norris came up and sang "I'll Fly Away" with us. I was going to dedicate it to the Golden Agers but Charles said I'd better not. I saw why he thought I ought not to, but I decided he was being too sensitive, so I dedicated it to them anyway. They appreciated it.

Norris and Mary Faye
were
jo
excited and they did a perfect job. We got our biggest applause after their song. So when we were coming down the steps off the stage, I told them they caused all the applause.

Of all the people in the world, there at the bottom of the steps was Cliff Clawhammer, who does The Kiddie Show on Channel 9 every Saturday morning from 10:00 to 10:30. He plays the banjo and sings a little song at the end of every show. He looked just like on TV except older too
—
like Bob Ross. I
g
uess TV does that to you. He looked about sixty, whereas on television, about fifty.

"Let me shake your hand, Miss," he says to Mary Faye at the bottom of the stairs. "And yours too," he says to Norris.

"Ain't you Cliff Clawhammer?" shouts Norris.

"That's right. On television, anyway. He tipped his cowboy hat
—
it was felt and making him sweat
—
and shook Charles's hand and said he enjoyed the music. He had on a shiny red shirt and a black western tie.

"What's your name, honey?" he asked Mary Faye.

"Mary Faye Bell."

"And yours?"

"Norris Bell.
I seen
you on television."

"Well, keep watching. You all excuse me. They want me to sing a few songs after this group and I've got to tune up."

I thought he seemed a little tipsy, but I figured it must be my imagination, and didn't think
nothing
else about it.

I went over to where the Golden Agers were. They were all very complimentary about our singing. I made Mary Faye and Norris go along and meet them all, and say thank you to the compliments
—
which they do without my help: Mama has seen to that. The Golden Agers were all having a good time and doing okay so we put our lawn chairs and blanket down front with Mama and Daddy, got settled and listened to the rest of Cliff Clawhammer's songs: "Peach Pickin' Time in Georgia" and "Curly Headed Baby," which he dedicated to Mary Faye and Norris: "This here's for two future award winning country singers: Norris and Mary Faye Bell."

Norris and Mary Faye were excited to death.

When he came down off stage he went up and sat with the Golden Agers and talked to them for about half an hour. Norris and Mary Faye went over and listened. I would have gone too, but Charles didn't want to.

But here's what happened late in the afternoon: At 3:30 Aunt Flossie loaded up the Golden Agers. Two had already left with somebody in their family, and one had been dropped off at home after the cannon firing, so Aunt Flossie thanked us and told us we could stay if we wanted, that there was plenty of room to take everybody home without us. So we decided to stay. At about four, Mama and Daddy left, but Mary Faye and Norris stayed to ride back with us.

At about 5:00, during a break,
me
, Charles, Mary Faye, and Norris decided to walk up the hill to the parking area where three guys were playing guitars and fiddle. Charles took his banjo and joined right in
—
sounding good.

I hadn't seen Cliff Clawhammer since before lunch. All of a sudden I saw him and this woman coming from the stage area, walking up the hill toward us. She's about fifty and is walking beside him and for some reason she's wearing this formal black dress and black high heel shoes. You could tell her hair was dyed because her face skin looked like it definitely would not have black hair
—
and she's wearing high heel shoes of all things, and all of a sudden it looks like this yellow page from the phone book floats down out of her mouth. Then another one. Well, it's of all things
—
I hate to even say this
—
vomit. She's not even stopping walking
—
just bending over a little, like she's too proud to stop, and all the while not getting a speck on her dress. It was like she knew just exactly how far to bend over while she walked.

And Cliff, he's sort of stumbling along, talking to her, and I realize they're both drunk and headed toward the portable outhouse not far from us.

Charles and the three boys were going strong: playing "Little Maggie."

Norris says, "Here comes Cliff Clawhammer!" and him and Mary Faye start toward him and the woman.

"Mary Faye, you and Norris get back here," I said. They could tell I meant business.

Mr. Clawhammer and the woman walk right past us like they don't even see us and he's saying, "Go ahead and puke, Alice. Don't be so 'g. d.' proud. Go ahead and puke."

I couldn't believe my ears. He really was cussing like that. Cliff Clawhammer. Talking like that to a woman. She won't his wife because she didn't have on a wedding ring. She was in a trance, and he was wobbling along beside her with his eyebrows pulling up his eyelids like he was trying to stay awake.

He led her over to the bathroom,
then
waited for her, then they walked back by us without speaking, him stumbling, with his red shirt tail all out in back, and her walking with her head up like she's walking down a aisle.

It was a disgrace.

I had hoped it wouldn't come up on the way home, but it did.

Norris and Mary Faye were sitting in the back seat.