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FOREWORD This book preserves a lively story which happened in a Tennessee village in the late 1950's. The events and characters are drawn from real life but are fictionalized here to protect identities. The details are drawn from memory since the people and places are much altered now and cannot be revisited except in the mind. The quiet village is louder and busier now, with residential developments and new shopping areas. The characters have grown older and have drifted away. This little book is dedicated to the people portrayed, whose personalities were so bright and whose antics provided so much entertainment. May the reader find enjoyment and the characters find pleasant recollections.
By: Lawrence Anderson
They sat in front of the grocery store, the half-grown boy and his mother, in the family's blue, '54 Chevrolet. A tall man leaned against the car, resting his large hand on the warm surface of the top. He bent close to the open window to talk to the young woman in the driver's seat. He looked across the car at the boy seated beside her. Just moments before the boy had learned that his mother had arranged for his first job! He took the news like an announcement of death. His mother had secured the job for him a few days earlier. Now the man, who operated some small businesses in their Tennessee village, was taking delivery of his newest employee. "Well, let's see if he'll make a worm man," he said heartily as he walked around the car and opened the door for Martin. He led the bewildered boy around the store to a nondescript collection of buildings, junk, and weeds. After gathering materials for a few moments from different places, the man turned to the boy and began to explain the job. "What we do here is grow fishing worms to sell. Now, here's how you dig the worms." He led the boy to a long, open box made of cement blocks. He sat on the low block wall and dug in the dirt which half filled the box. After a few minutes Martin noticed that there were other boys working, too. Presently the man introduced the other boys, though the lad was too confused to remember any of them. One boy was called the "strawboss" and he was the leader while the man was away. Blinking his eyes and trying to cope with this new information, the boy turned speechless back to the digging. So did the others. The dirt was cool and wet even in the late afternoon sun because of the shade of a wooden shed built overhead. The worms were of every size, but all longed to be underground. As soon as they were dug up, they hastened to wiggle back into the soft dirt. They were good at their trade. The largest worms were to be picked up quickly by the boys and counted. A hundred large wigglers were to be placed in each cup, which was a clean, quart oil can. The man had left eight cups with Martin for him to fill. When half the cups were full, the strawboss came to look at them. He said to call him Ralph. He was Bobby's brother. Little was said and the work continued. When the eight cups had been given their quota of worms, fatigue was beginning to set in. It was a relief to hear that the boys were quitting for the day. They helped Martin put the worms he'd dug into paper cups with vented tops so the worms would stay healthy until sold for fishing bait. Someone casually mentioned to Martin that they were paid five cents for each cup of one hundred worms. In two hours of stretching and grasping for worms the boy had earned forty cents. He reflected on that as the boys showed him how to use a water hose to get the mud out from under his fingernails and off his hands. As everyone left, Bobby said the boys would begin work again at seven in the morning. The next morning Martin met the other boys and began to learn their names. There was Ralph, the head of the workers. He was taller than Martin but not big. He was slim and had a kind of delicacy mixed with his tough air. He laughed a lot but usually kept in mind that the boys were paid to work and should do so. Bobby his brother was Martin's age, and they were classmates in the village school. Bobby had a lot of confidence and was more fun-loving than Ralph. Sam was the largest boy in the crew, and was a year older than Ralph. He worked hard and got a lot done. However, he loved more than anything to be having fun. His talk was hardly ever serious and his pranks were endless. It was easy to see why the boss had chosen Ralph to lead the workers. Sam would have been ringleader of a circus had he been the leader, maybe. Ralph kept things under control by not let the fun get out of bounds.
When Martin arrived for work, Ralph had already gotten the instructions from the boss about the day's work. He told each boy how many cups of worms he would need to dig. On other days Ralph would divide maintenance chores among the boys. One of the boys told Martin that he now worked at a worm ranch. More news. Chapter 2 The worm ranch or Live Bait Hatchery was owned and operated by J.T. Mastin. He raised the bait for himself and other fishermen who gladly bought the worms. Mr. Mastin also owned a nearby lake where he charged a small fee for fishing. The "ranch" stood behind the grocery store in Mr. Mastin held part ownership. Figure 1 shows the general layout of the ranch, and Figure 2 shows how the worm ranch might be called the heart of the village.
Figure 1
Figure 2
In the ranch a person was always aware of two things, moisture and shade. The walks between the beds were always slightly muddy, and the beds of worms were varying degrees of wet. A rare and thick mud developed in the worm ranch. It had a peculiar clinging quality that made the worms love to live there and made the boys love to make mud balls with it. The quality of the mud could hardly have had a greater influence that it enjoyed at the ranch. It was supreme. It benefited the ranch financially and it was ever present ammunition for mud ball battles. The mud had another quality which enhanced it effectiveness as ammunition. It was filled with millions of time, itchy creatures, known for their vigor and quickness. The unfortunate person hit boy one of those horrendous mud balls died a thousand deaths. Not only was he plastered with sticky mud, but the mites invaded his hair, his clothes and ... other places. The worm beds themselves were usually several inches deep and were surrounded by walls of concrete blocks a foot or two high. These walls kept the beds from spilling into the paths and provided an uncomfortable place to sit while digging worms. Sometimes worms were placed in a temporary bed consisting of only a long, low file of dirt. These temporary beds looked like graves, but they teemed with life. If touched, a good bed would move briefly all over like a reflex as the healthy worms moved in surprise. Most beds were not so full of worms, however. Indeed many of the beds contained just a few worms. These were the bane of the boys because they meant back breaking work and few cups filled. A wooden shed stood over the beds and shaded them. Direct sunlight would have dried the beds quickly, and the worms would have vamoosed. The shed was about eight feet high, and covered virtually all of the ranch. Since economy was the hallmark of the worm ranch, all sorts of materials were used. The shed was a picturesque as a football locker room and about as organized at the track of a tornado. It had all the variety of an antique store, and it bristled with every size and shape of wooden plank. Nails, wire, rope and string were pressed into service to hold the shed together. Burlap sacks could be seen flying like flags occasionally. Caring for the shed was a constant chore, and the boys used it to express their lively sense of humor. The spent almost as much time grooming the shed as in caring for the worms. The boys liked to add texture to the thing and would throw a tin can or soft drink bottle on top occasionally, just for effect. The worms got a lot of petting. They were illuminated at night, with bare light bulbs hung over the beds, to keep them from leaving the ranch. They were watered daily with fat, green garden hoses to keep the beds wet and easy to wiggle in. They were even fed daily with crushed corn sprinkled on the beds. The dusting was then turned into the beds of pitchforks by the boys. In the fall, leaves were raked from lawns all over the village and hauled to the ranch in Mr. Mastin's old truck. There the leaves were spread on the beds and stirred into the beds with pitchforks. All this treatment kept the beds loose. It made the worms grow fat and juicy. Chapter 3 One of the first chores of each day was to prepare the cups needed for that day. The cans were partially filled with wet peat moss. The peat moss began the day powder dry in big bags. The boys had to break of the stuff by hand and place it into a five gallon can. Then water was added and a boy stirred in water by hand getting peat moss up to his armpits and dust into his nose. He always got plenty of moss under his fingernails, too. When the mixture was just to the liking of the strawboss, a handful of moss was placed into each can. Cans were then divided among the boys. The strawboss knew how fast each boy could dig and count worms. He gave Martin a few cups on his first day and went about his business. Martin spent a few minutes testing beds to see if there were lots of big worms. The boys soon stopped that. He was told to start in one bed and dig through the whole thing before going to another bed. He as just scaring the worms needlessly. Scared worms are hard to find. Digging and counting a hundred worms is not mentally stimulating. Before long one's mind wanders and so the count is lost. The slower one digs, the more times one had to recount the handful of worms. One doesn't make much money counting and recounting a group of increasingly impatient worms. Disenchantment comes quickly to the boy, and the worms. The initiative is lost. Inertia sets in. By midmorning Martin was inert, sitting on an uncomfortable block wall, gazing at the two or three cups he had filled and watching in awe as the other boys filled row after row of cups. They left the cups in groups of ten or twenty on the beds. The summer sun heated the air and the insects began to work in earnest. The ranch seemed isolated from the world, and the air grew thick. Even Mr. Mastin needed a change of scene, and presently his old blue truck rattled out of the drive. He went to check on business at the lake. The moment the boss was out of sight, Sam split the air yelling, "BREAK!" at the top of his lungs. The boys slowly left the beds and gathered near the water hose to clean their hands. The boys told Martin that J.T. their boss did not mind if his workers rested in his absence. "How nice," Martin thought. After washing the worst of the mud away the boys scurried into Stenson's Grocery through the back door to buy drinks and candy. Mrs. Stenson, the store operator, was the boss's daughter, and she did not greet the little band of boys with much enthusiasm. Moments after buying their snacks the boys were sitting on boxes, cans and blocks in the worm ranch eating and airing their minds. After a few minutes Ralph put the boys back to work. He didn't want them to waste so much time that the boss would know they were taking breaks. The fun of taking breaks was the danger of getting caught in the act. Of course, the boss knew about their crime since his daughter was selling them the supplies. It was just understood that it was to be done discreetly. There would have been stormy times if the boss had actually found them taking a break. Back at the diggings boredom sat on the sun shed like a vulture and soon Martin was fair game. Occasionally, he would stir for a few minutes and dig some worms, more to avoid embarrassment than from any sense of purpose. Now he noticed that his back was aching from having to do some actual work. A few minutes later his nose and head itched, and his hands were too messy to be used for scratching. How does one get comfortable and work when insects are swarming about? His eyes started to water because his nose itched so terribly. He tried to scratch it with his elbow, but it didn't work. Nothing worked. Noon came on a snail's back, but when it arrived, the boys cleaned up and rushed away on bicycles to eat lunch at home.
Chapter 4 Morning and afternoon diggings soon flowed in routine order. The work was hard and was varied only by other tasks equally hard. One of these tasks was to take a pitchfork and turn the beds. The wooden handles of the pitchforks were regularly broken because of the terrible stress put on them by the workers. There was always the haunting thought that if one's fork broke, the job would have to be put off until a new handle could be found. Mr. Mastin bought a lot of fork handles.
One day the boss returned to the ranch just as Sam was bearing down on a fork which had a shiny new handle. All watched spellbound as Sam put more and more of his weight on the long new handle as he tried to dig out a huge scoop of dirt. The boss walked up behind Sam just the handle broke. It cracked like a shot and for a few seconds there wasn't a sound. Finally, J.T. said in disgust, "Sam, you could at least wait until the new wears off before you ruin these things." Sam, finally realizing that the boss was behind him glowed with embarrassment! He was used to criticism, though, so he laughed it off and left awkwardly to look for another fork. Occasionally there was a day when Mr. Mastin did not need the crew for any work. On one such day the crew was loafing around the soft drink cooler of Russell's grocery, up the street from the ranch. The owner asked if they were busy. The boys discussed the matter for a few moments and finally decided that they were not very busy. They were curious to know why he was asking. He had some work for them to do. For an hour or so they moved sacks and boxes around the owner's storage building, more or less glad to have something to fill the time. When the job was done the owner opened the soft drink cooler and let each boy choose any drink he liked. What a pleasure it was to relax, drinking the cool bottles of soda and watching the cars pass on the sleepy street outside. Man! There were, of course, other things to do when not working. One favorite occupation was bicycle trading and repairing. Each bike which came into the fold had its own personality. Ralph found a flashy one somewhere with a purple finish, thin English-style wheels and hand brakes. All the boys admired the bike and envied Ralph until someone noticed that the bike had only one foot pedal. It was like horse on three legs. Ralph had a hard time saving face as he tried to ride it. He was always enterprising and tried a number of ways to beat the problem. He said it coasted well, so did not need much pedaling. Unfortunately, he lived up a long hill from work so coasting wasn't always practical. Ralph tried lashing one foot to the bike's only pedal. This worked fine for his left leg, but it was rough on the right leg which had to do all the work. The real strain was during uphill runs. Ralph soon found a buyer and let it go. Bobby usually rode a bike which must have been older than the town. The main feature was the tires. Bobby was determined to avoid spending any money for new tires, so he took to keeping a roll of black tape with him. He used the tape to wrap around any bald spots in the tread, and to bind up any of the little balloons that came out where the tire was very thin. In those days tape was cheap and Bobby thought he had found the answer. Often, then the boys were stopped during a trip across town, Bobby would add a round or two of tape on some tender spot before moving on. Sometimes the gang would be lounging at the ranch, and Bobby would take out his roll of tape and bring his tires to a better balance. The first sign of trouble with Bobby's tires was the way the tape began to rub against the fenders as the bike moved. That was noisy and worrisome, but Bobby found a solution. He took the fenders off. He said it made the bike more racy to be without fenders. Soon, Bobby began to complain that the bike was riding rougher than before. It seems that the tape was difficult to apply uniformly around the tires. Knots began to be noticeable, even from a distance. One day the tape got so thick that the tires would not pass through the frame openings. Martin was walking home on the day after this tragedy and knew that Bobby had been forced to retire his tires. Suddenly Martin heard a strange racked on the road behind him. Turning he saw Bobby riding the bike on just the metal rims. Bobby was beaming and allowed that tiding on the rims was even more racy than doing without fenders. He was having more fun now than riding any other way! People could tell Bobby was coming a long time before he came into sight after that. At least they could until the bile got out of control on the hill behind Bobby's house one afternoon. He jumped clear and was saved, but the bike fell into a cesspool and into disuse.
Chapter 5 The boys often gathered to talk and joke before work began, in the early morning air. The favorite spot to do this was the concrete walk which ran in front of Stenson's Store. It was a few inches high so the boys used it as a chair. On one morning the boys were feeling energetic. As they talked about racing they'd seen on television, they decided to have a race themselves. Every boy had a bicycle and all wanted to compete. The track was to be the gravel drive which ran around the store. The rules were: no holds barred. The finish was to be determined at a later date. Without preliminaries, the bikes were rounded up, put in line and the race was on! The track was smooth but challenging, with gravel to make one's wheels skid in sharp turns, and there was an open well at one corner of the track. Round and round the store they raced growing louder and more daring with each lap. Some of them skidded and overturned. Most continued the race. Finally, Mrs. Stenson came out of the store and "waved the checkered flag." She threatened to wring their necks if they didn't get quiet and go to work. Mrs. Stenson paid a high price to make her store a place where customers could shop in peace and safety. * * * Martin learned about the local swimming hole as soon as it was hot enough to go swimming. He had known about the place vaguely but had never gone there before the worm herders took him. Leaving the bikes in the grassy ditch beside the main road, the boys climbed over a wire cattle fence and ran along a path to the creek. The path ran across the field of a friendly man who tolerated the swimmers. The creek itself rarely did more than fill the bottom of the creek bed. If left to itself, it would have been no more than a few inches deep. The boys had to build a dam each summer to make a pool deep enough for swimming. The dam was not a thing of beauty, but served well. Behind it stood a pool four feet deep all summer. The boys began making it by filling feed sacks with sand and dirt and using them to build a wall across the creek. The width of the creed and the flow of the water made it necessary to have a dam twenty feet long and two or three feet thick. This meant a lot of digging to fill the sacks. In addition to the sacks, the boys piled large stones and sticks on the wall. The result of two or three days of work looked something like a beaver's dam, a beaver with access to lots of feed sacks. After doing the initial work, the boys got to watch the basin fill with water. Finally, they got to swim in the cool water. The deepness of the creek bed was a good things for the boys, and for the neighbors who lived some distance from the pool. It gave the boys some privacy to change clothes and protected the modesty of others. When Martin first went to the swimming hole he thought that people always wore swim suits when swimming. He was wrong. The ranch workers and others who frequented the swimming hole were "men of the world." Young and older boys were careless in their dress at best, neglectful at worse. Some brought faded trunks to wear. Others hid an old pair of trunks in the underbrush near the creek to save the trouble of having to bring a suit. The towels that some brought to the creek were left hanging on limbs or fencing wire. They were used by any boy present, and grew rather stiff. Occasionally someone interested in looking smart would bring a pair of stretch style trunks, but the water ruined them soon. Most of the boys became used to the cavalier atmosphere of the swimming hole and took to swimming in underwear, or in nothing at all. Though the boys were immodest, they were cautious of being seen by the general public in "a natural state." They knew this would cause a row in the community, and finally reach the ears of their parents. Though lots of foolish comments were made by the boys about not caring who knew of their swimming arrangements, all quietly avoided the public eye. The public reaction to the swimming hole was interested to the swimmers. One parent, on hearing that his son was swimming at the place, got in his car and rushed to the scene. There the offending son was removed amid lots of embarrassment. Occasionally the man who owned the creek and field would come quietly to the boys and ask them to be more modest. The owner sometimes also grew concerned about the litter which was left near the pool. The boys respected these quiet requests, but sometimes forgot. At least once some of the village girls ventured near the pool to satisfy their curiosity. They made enough noise to give warning of their arrival, laughing and wondering out loud if the rumors they'd heard about the swimming hole were true. The boys reached in a variety of ways, but generally in ways more shy than they expected. Swimming was suspended until the offending girls grew tired of teasing and left. * * * Anyone who has seen the eager struggle of a robin trying to tug a worm from the hard ground can understand the lure of the worm beds for birds. There were thousands of the juicy worms near the surface of the beds at the ranch, and the soil was so loose that the worms could not get a good grip on the dirt to prevent being pulled out and eaten. The worms were an easy meal and the diner was always full of customers. The birds even developed a kind of carry out service in which they would swoop down on a bed, grab a worm and sail away with no interruption in flight. This kind of unwanted charity was too much for Mr. Mastin. He experimented with several ways to keep the birds from getting fat at his expense. By far the most effective thing he tried was to pay a bounty for birds killed in the act of eating ranch property. No bounty was to be paid for birds killed outside the ranch. For a time most of the boys kept a BB gun near them while digging. This did not last long, however, since the birds soon learned to stay away while the boys were working. They simply sat in neighboring trees singing until the boys left. Paydays were a big event at the ranch, and Stenson's store. Each boy kept a record of the cups he had filled during a week. Mr. Mastin paid in cash in the store. If a boy had been extra fast, this was the time when it was known by all. Much was made of any boy who made as much at thirty dollars in one week. It was a fantastic record and Martin never came close. His pay was closer to five dollars per week. Most of the workers supported charge accounts an the store and ran up bills almost equal to their pay in soft drinks and candy. The usual routine was for boys to troop into the store on Friday morning and line up for pay. The next stop was the cash register to reduce the balance of their charge accounts. Mr. Mastin had a good thing going. He had reasonably good workers. When he paid them he knew that they would spend much of their take in the store in which he was a major partner. Knowing they took breaks while on duty need not worry him. The old man was smart. The boys were dumb, but happy. This convenient system was not without flaws. One day the boys discovered that another grocery in town was giving away trading stamps. Stenson's did not. After a few days the boys took their trade to the competing store. Mr. Mastin was peeved to learn this new development. It was an outrage that the boys had so little loyalty. Try as he might, he could not think of any way to keep the boys in line. The boys appointed Stanley to hold the common collection of trading stamps. The plan was to buy some sort of game to use at the ranch. After a while, though, they tired of riding the extra distance to the competing store for every break. So, without fanfare they took their business back to Stenson's. * * * One sunny day in the middle of the summer there was a stir at the ranch as the boys realized they were being fired upon. The Watkins brothers, two of them, had decided to create some fun by hiding near the railroad tracks and heaving some stones at the ranch. Sam was the first to organize the defense. He called the other hands to the fight and began throwing rocks back at the Watkins. A few worms found new homes as they sailed out of the ranch in mud balls. The ranch hands were about to win, until they realized that the Watkins had brought BB guns as secret weapons. Seeing the air full of BB's the ranch hands laid low. By the time that the fight was over, meaning that everyone had lost interest, it was time for lunch. Work had to wait for a while longer. Only two or three of the boys were working one rainy day in one of the ranch buildings. They were replacing dirt in some cups which had been set up a few days before. The worms in the cups had not been sold quickly and had eaten all the food available. It was beneficial for the worms that the moss be replaced, but it was tedious for the boys. At mid-morning it was decided that Stanley should go purchase goodies for a break during a lull in the rain. The boys told him he was chosen because he had such a good memory and could remember all of the orders. Stanley did have a fine memory. He was away on his errand for a few minutes and the others continued to work. When they heard his footsteps returning one boy had an idea. He watched the path outside the building until Stanley was directly under a small tree. Then he pulled hard on a wire which ran from the building to the little tree. The tree had been catching rain all morning and when Bobby pulled on the wire it dumped all of the cool water onto poor Stanley. The cool water took away his breath for a moment and he stood in disbelief a moment longer. Slowly he understood that it was a joke and smiled as the other boys enjoyed the fun. Then they all shared the snacks, even though they were a bit wet. Stanley had the patience of Job. On rare occasions adults were hired to work at the ranch. They did not dig worms but worked at various construction jobs. Mr. Mastin hired one man to pour some cement. The job took two or three days, and the man worked close to the boys. They became partners of a sort. As he worked, the man talked to the boys about his life and freely expressed his opinions. He bragged that he had outlived two wives and hoped to outlive more. His present wife had just left him to seek safer companionship. The man said he planned to go to Alabama to live when his present job was done. He said he planned to paint a big sign on his pickup truck saying, "Women of Tennessee Failed Me, Women of Alabama Love Me," or words to that effect. Even Mr. Mastin noticed how hard the man worked at mixing and pouring cement and told him to rest occasionally. The man replied that he always worked hard when it was time to work, and played hard when it was time to play. When the boys took a break, the man usually continued working. A few times he stopped to share a brake with the hands. He could drink whole quarts of milk and eat some little cakes, too. He was a man of extremes and the boys admired him. * * * For a rough and tumble boy Sam was awfully fastidious about the physical arrangements at the ranch. It wasn't unusual for him to follow some violent outbreak, during which he threw things around recklessly, with a bout of grumbling that something he needed was out of its place. He was especially picky about the height of the block walls around the beds. At any time during the digging he might decide that the part of a wall on which he was sitting was too high. He would fume for a few seconds then go off to find something to blast off the offending blocks. One can imagine how Mr. Mastin felt when walking in the worm ranch after duty hours and finding half a wall destroyed, with parts of several blocks lying in the path. Sometimes he must have tried to think of ways to get his workers to be more careful with his property. Sometimes he must have trudged on through the debris feeling a little more tired, a little older.
Chapter 6 One July morning Martin rode his bike to work, feeling much as usual. He felt no anxiety about the job now and felt that he was part of the crew. He had no great expectations for the morning but was about to see a profound and wonderful change take place at the ranch. As he arrived at work and leaned his bicycle against a wall, he heard the other boys laughing and talking excitedly. He strolled to the place they were gathered and listened from the wings. During the past evening some unnamed villager had called Bobby and Ralph WORMHERDERS! The term was meant to be insulting, a curse even, but the boys liked it immediately. Until now they had been a loose organization at best, merely employees. Now they had something they could call themselves, a label that gave their chores professional status. The term seemed to be a sort of revelation that let them see how they had all achieved notoriety. It was about the only thing that they lacked to achieve notoriety. They already had all of the other qualifications! Soon all the villagers who had dealings with the worm ranch boys called them wormherders. Later, as grown men, the workers would still feel closer because of the discovery of this slanderous but accurate name. It tied together all the parts of their work, their profession. After the boys started to think of themselves as wormherders they did not necessarily improve their work habits, but they did take pride in their status. For instance, Sam was inspired to improve the shed. He found some wire and three rusty metal fence posts. Then he got Bobby and Stanley to help lift up some of the shed's frame pieces. This allowed Sam to slide the iron posts into place. After the posts were securely wired into place, the boys stood back to admire their work. Sam bragged at every opportunity for the rest of the day that the sun shade was now steel reinforced! A little pride makes amazing progress possible. * * * Just before lunch an outside boy was visiting the ranch for a few minutes when Bob Stenson, teenage son of Mrs. Stenson, came out the back door of the store, with a BB gun. The boys did not pay much attention until Bob began to rake the ranch with BB gun fire. Everyone ducked quickly as Bob got a little ire out of his system. The BB's rattled and ricocheted off the walls of the ranch. Bob called cheerfully to the wormherders as he showered the ranch with copper shot. When he ran out of ammunition he laughed and went back into the store. The wormherders then resumed their visit with their friend, hardly mentioning Bob's interruption. The boys forgave Bob since no one had been hit. They even enjoyed the excitement. Had anyone been wounded, there would have been a full scale war, for the fun of it. * * * Rainy days were trying for the boys since the rain limited their activity and bottled up their energy. Sam was most cramped since action was life and happiness for him. Stanley made the mistake of crossing Sam in some small way during one miserable, rainy afternoon. Sam burst into a mock rage, pretending the Stanley had offended him in the worst way. He snatched up a pitchfork and the chase was on! Stanley moved like a deer, quick, agile and scared. After negotiating all the walkways, doors and windows in the ranch, the two boys began to explore the village. Still working, the other boys looked up occasionally to see Stanley leap over the hood of a car or scramble up a muddy bank, with Sam's pitchfork flashing right behind him. The two boys ran through big mud puddles, splashing water as high as their heads as Stanley tried to tire Sam. Once or twice they left the area of the ranch completely. Contact with the ranch was lost except for faint cries from Stanley, or the slightly louder, savage yells from Sam. When Sam grew tired he heaved a few rocks after poor Stanley, and returned to work. Stanley drifted quietly back to the ranch a bit later. Sam fussed at him for wasting time at trivial matters, but peace returned. * * * Late one afternoon the boys thought of a prank to play on Ralph. They knew that Ralph was away from the ranch for the afternoon and would probably return late. He'd probably go into the central building to check on things. They would use the door as a trap. Filling a two gallon bucket with crushed corn, they balanced the bucket above the door so that it would fall on Ralph as he opened the door. With the trap set, they headed for home. Just after dusk Mr. Mastin needed to get something out of the building and walked into the trap. As planned, the bucket of corn fell, and neatly capped the boss' head. The dusty corn stuck in his gray hair and dusted his clothes from collar to pants cuff. Much later the boss spoke of the incident with a younger man. "You know, the worst part of it was having no one to yell at," he fumed. He could only stand there furious in the dark and try to dust off his clothes. He never knew who had set the trap, or even if was set for him. The boys certainly stayed away from discussing the trap, after they learned who had been the victim. They knew danger and avoided it. * * * Mr. Mastin, or J.T. as the boys always called him, knew the joy of living. He enjoyed keeping the ranch and looking after the fishing at his lake. His work was his play. By accident the ranch provided him with something he especially liked to do. When the worms stayed in bed material for a few weeks, all the food would be eaten. The worms digested what they ate, making the dirt very rich but useless for raising worms. The material in the beds and old cups had to be changed to keep the worms healthy. The old material was thrown onto a pile at one end of the ranch. This pile grew into a ten foot mound during the summer, and was gradually sold to village gardeners. The dirt pile was in an open area and the air above the pile became the favorite feeding place for birds on late afternoons. The chimney sweeps would swoop low over the pile as they fed on flying insects. Mr. Mastin noticed these birds and became fascinated with them. He began trying to chase them away, swinging at them with short boards as he stood on the pile. Fortunately, he was no match for the fast flying sweeps so they all enjoyed the game. The birds were eating their dinner and Mr. Mastin was relaxing so that he could go home and enjoy his. * * * A huge pile of leaves was kept at the ranch. Each fall Mr. Mastin and the boys would go to several houses in the village and rake leaves from the lawns. This was a welcome service in the village, and many people came out during the raking to say thanks. There was an air of cheerfulness in the task. The cool mornings were fresh and sunny. Everyone enjoyed taking part. The boys placed the leaves in the bed of Mr. Mastin's old truck then rode on top of the load back to the ranch. They then tumbled and dived into the leaves as they added to the pile of leaves there. Mr. Mastin enjoyed watching the boys have fun and took his time before starting out for a new load of the colorful leaves. * * * Since Martin was never known for his speed in digging worms, Mr. Mastin looked for jobs for which he had more talent. He began to call on him to work at the lake to watch the property. He knew Martin wasn't making either of them rich digging worms. Martin was always happy for the change. He enjoyed climbing into the seat of Mr. Mastin's ancient Ford pickup for the leisurely ride to the lake, Hidden Cove Lake. Mr. Mastin always wore homey clothes and big rubber boots. His talk was of fishing and hunting, so Martin tried to talk of these, too. Unfortunately, he knew nothing of either subject. The road near the lake was very rough so the little truck rattled at every joint, and bounced the passengers badly. The lake itself was very nearly perfect, set in a green glade dotted with darker green cedar trees and oaks. The water was deep and blue. There were a few wooden shacks at the edge of the water. One was an abandoned snack bar with rusty candy and soft drink signs hanging on the weathered wood walls. Another was the office and storage shed. It had a wood burning stove for winter use. There was also a rickety wood pier used for fishing. A few rowboats were tied to the pier. When they arrived Mr. Mastin would always putter around for a while, getting into the mood to leave. He usually had Martin go around the lake to collect fishing fees from all the people who had started to fish before Mr. Mastin arrived to open business. Mr. Mastin liked doing business in a casual way, so did his customers. When the $1 fees were collected Martin was free to settle down to a day of lounging in the sun, rowing one of the boats for short trips and enjoying an occasional soft drink from the machine. The drink machine was chained to one of the trees near the office. It was a moment of interest when a fisherman wanted to buy a cup of worms or a new roll of fishing line. It was a good life, and the twenty five cents Martin was making per hour made it even more enjoyable. Sometimes Mr. Mastin would do some fishing himself while Martin was keeping the gate. He was a master with centuries of experience. His specialty was fly fishing and he loved to fish late in the afternoon when the fish were feeding at the surface. Sometimes the old man would get someone to do the rowing, so that he could concentrate solely on casting. As the two men moved slowly over the mirror of the water, the yellow loop of the fishing line would flash through the calm air, touching time and again the green and blue surface of the lake. It was a pleasant way to end a day, in a kind of meditation, though none of those who saw it knew about meditation. * * * Although Sam was usually the first to think of pranks to play on friends and enemies, there were times when the tables were turned. Sam wore incredibly battered and dirty clothes on the job, and it was a source of pride that he never allowed them to be washed. He did not take them home for fear that his mother would make him clean the things. It pleased him to keep his street clothes spotless and "cool," but he never spent a minute worrying about getting any more mud on his work pants. They were eternally muddy. He usually wore one pair of pants for all occasions at the ranch, and the boys enjoyed slandering them at every opportunity. One day Bobby found a stray package of unused Fourth of July firecrackers and brought them to the ranch. He and Ralph were looking for something to blow up with the fireworks when they saw the pants. Sam was away from the ranch for the moment, so the pants were hanging on a peg on a wall. Seeing the pants was inspirational, and they set to work making a big affair of firing up Sam's favorite pantaloons. The called the other boys to come and watch as they set the charges of explosive in every tear, seam, pocket and bulge. Bobby then lit the fuses and the party warmed up. Sam's pants danced around the path for several seconds as the firecrackers popped, sparks flew, and dirt which had been caked on the pants burst into dust. Sam returned a few minutes later and changed into his work clothes. As he went to work he remarked briefly about the smell of gunpowder and how odd it was for his pants to feel so warm. The boys had a good laugh telling Sam how they had just dry cleaned his pants. * * * The day was hot and still, the kind of day that no one finds stimulating. The boys moved in slow motion, forcing themselves to make each tiresome move. Despite the weather, a number of cups needed for the day was extra high. The boys tired easily and became irritable after the first hour of work. Sam and Ralph were especially touchy since the lion's share of the digging had to be done by them. The atmosphere became explosive by mid-morning when a couple of horse flies began to buzz first one boy then another. Soon a mudball or two were thrown at the flies. This put the boys in the mood for a serious mudball battle. Sam saw Bobby sitting on a wall across the ranch and thought it would be laughable to see how he would look with some mud caked in his hair. He carefully launched a ball that set Bobby howling. Bobby threw back a hastily made ball that fell apart in flight, showering both Sam and Stanley. Ralph, sitting on the southern edge of the ranch heard the yelling and prepared for the worst. He began packing together several balls and piling them in a neat stack, within easy reach. A moment later two boys trotted around the central building and Ralph let them both have it broadside. The battle lasted for nearly an hour, leaving the ranch spotted with mud stains, the boys winded and happy, and not a stitch of clean clothing in the place. * * * Whenever a train passed through the village the boys had a front row seat. The tracks were just a few feet from the ranch. With each approach, the engineer blew the whistle giving warning so that anyone with business on the tracks could make plans to get off. Sam noticed that the train was usually going slow enough that he had time to run to the tracks before the train arrived. He then got the idea of placing a penny on the track to see what would happen to it as the train passed. He placed the penny and learned that the image on the coin was smushed by the great weight of the engine. The next time he heart the whistle he ran and put the same coin on the tracks. When the train had gone, he found the penny among the gravel of the track and ran to show the other boys. The penny was growing larger, and thinner. This continued through several cycles and Sam began to brag that he'd soon have to carry the coin in his back pocket, it was getting so big around. He lost it, though, somehow, and went on to other experiments. * * * In their off duty time, the boys provided the village with a short-lived bicycle mounted police force. Sam and another boy owned two old bicycles, which were without the blessing of fenders, chain guards, brakes, and paint. The wheels were severely out of balance, and were often flat. They decided to fix them up, to get rid of the drabness. They found several colors of paint and applied it in one inch stripes along the entire frame of each bike, without much regard as to matching colors. It was amazing the difference that the orange, purple, green, orange, silver, red, yellow and blue stripes made. Now the bikes commanded the attention of everyone who saw them. Now that the bikes had gained new value, the boys searched for a new use for them. They decided to volunteer themselves as police officers. They didn't waste time naming the police force, they just hit the streets and chased every bicycle in town. Since they didn't know any traffic laws, they made them up. No one was spared. They stopped everyone on two wheels. Any kid who failed to stop was subject to immediate expulsion from the road. Usually they were expulsed into a road ditch. * * * Small, portable, and cheap the transistor radio came on the market just as the wormherders had learned their identity. These tiny radios gave the work ranch the closest thing to piped in music it would get. Stanley got one for Christmas and carried it with him everywhere, even to work. It stayed tuned to the local rock-and-roll station, and the hit of the summer was "Little Egypt." Whenever this song played there was a lull in conversation so that the wormherders could hear the masterpiece. Even with his poor memory Martin could still call to mind the lyrics years later. The singer is at a fair midway hearing a barker calling, "One thin dime, one tenth of a dollar....She walks, she talks, she crawls on her belly like a reptile!" The song had a heavy rhythm and the singer was a man with a coarse, deep voice. It had the hint of evil that made the song appealing to the boys. Anyone who tried to make noise during the many repetitions of the song each day drew growls from all sides. Strange things are sacred to growing boys. * * * It was late afternoon when Ralph strolled into the ranch from the village drug store and soda fountain. He had news for Sam who had long dreamed of buying an old car. Ralph said that Mr. Hughes, a native of the village, had driven his antique car to the soda shop and was trying to sell it. Ralph said that the best offer was $150. Sam, taking the bait, said he'd give $200, in cash! He scurried out of the ranch and headed for the soda shop ! A few minutes later he returned, red faced and subdued. He said he had rushed up to the owner who was sitting at the counter, talking to a circle of friends. He was telling them how much he prized the car. Sam had blurted out that he would pay $200 for the car immediately. The owner had not given his offer any consideration at all. He said he wouldn't think of parting with the family heirloom. Having nothing to say to save face, Sam slunk back to the ranch, with the sure realization that he had been the sucker in a practical joke. When his face cooled down, Sam enjoyed the joke as much as everyone else did. * * * An aged, outdoor toilet stood at the edge of the ranch for years, left over from another era. Its wood rotted and its nails rusted, it finally came to have a slouching posture. It felt that it had seen all it could see in its profession and had grown tired of it all. The boys had no respect for age and felt that the outhouse was an eyesore, as well as a nosesore. Sooooo, the boys decided to send a subtle hint to management that the building should be removed. They pushed it over on its side. Much to their frustration, management merely stood the outhouse back onto its feeble feet. For days the boys discussed their next diplomatic move. They pushed the outhouse on its side a few more times, with no breakthroughs. Toward the end of the summer Martin was home when heard that there had been a dramatic turn. Smoke was seen coming from the ranch. The boys had poured gasoline at the base of the outhouse and set it afire. The watched to make sure that the fire did not spread beyond the outhouse. Then they left for home. It was never known for sure just who had done the deed. A new cement block outhouse was built to replace the historic facility, and the boys were secretly proud of having been instrumental in progress. They knew better than to brag openly about their work, though. * * * The fight was going satisfactorily. Work was completely halted. The boys had just enjoyed a break, knowing that the boss was away for the morning. Everyone was in the mood for a long, enjoyable flight. The boys were even more energetic that usual and everyone was expecting great things. Every weapon in the arsenal was being brought to the battlefield. Bobby had a garden hose with a pistol grip nozzle, and was making sure no one had any dry clothes to hinder them. Ralph had hustled his finished cups of worms to safety. Now he could enjoy the fight uninhibited. Martin had made a big pile of mud balls, and Stanley found a big trash can lid to use as a shield as he pressed close to the enemy. Everyone enjoyed a good position. Just then Sam made the famous yell of Tartan calling his elephants to battle, his head thrown back and his arms thrown up in triumph. All eyes swung to Sam's position on top of the tallest building in the ranch. He was standing astride the ridge of the roof near the crumbly brick chimney. A long moment passed silently as all admired Sam's brilliant position, and cursed their own. After the silence, Sam rained down terror on the Philistines. The Philistines scrambled for cover as bricks and chunks of mortar threatened every skull and bone in range of Sam's throwing arm. The battle ended as soon as the chimney bricks were gone, but Sam's gales of laughter did little to insure a lasting peace. * * * Bobby and Martin were friends before Martin became a wormherder. They were the youngest members of the crew so they became friends. On days off they got together to go hunting and swimming. In an act of friendship Bobby explained one day that he had noticed that Martin did not have much experience with fighting. He offered to be of service. The two boys were digging together one morning when Bobby brought up the subject of boxing. They put aside their work for a moment for a boxing match, under Bobby's direction. Martin was his usual naive self, a babe in the world of hard knocks. Bobby was confident, offering instructions as to the best stance to take and the best way to hold the fists. In a few moments Bobby had delivered what seemed to him as a fair amount of warnings and encouragement. He signaled that the fight would now begin. In a twinkling it was over. The boys swung their fists at the same time and their knuckles smashed together in mid air between them. They stared at each other through the pain and stars for a frozen instant, then danced apart moaning and smarting, massaging their smarting hands! When the pain subsided they enjoyed the laugh they had on each other, and continued being buddies. * * * One afternoon Mr. Mastin headed towards the lake in his usual manner. He drove out of sight before remembering some tool that he needed back at the ranch. This gave the boys enough time to wash their hands and form a line coursing to the store for snacks. As the troops were crossing the road to the grocery, Mr. Mastin's truck rattled into view. The wormherders reversed engines and headed back for the diggings! Mr. Mastin might have thought he was "seeing things" had he not been sure of his sanity. When he walked through the ranch after slowly parking the truck, anyone would have admired the diligence of all hands. They were digging for worms at an amazing rate. More worms were dug in the next fifteen minutes than had been dug all the rest of the weary day, and no one grumbling either! * * * Marty happened to stroll past the ranch late one afternoon as the boys were gathered around a five gallon can. They were admiring a big snapping turtle. Someone had captured it at the swimming hole and brought it to the ranch. The boys were wondering what to do with the turtle, whose shell was a foot across. There seemed to be no market to sell it, and it wouldn't make much of a pet. Marty exclaimed that he'd just take it home himself. With that he reached for the wooden handle of the can. It was sticking up in the air above the turtle. As he did, the turtle sprang up, biting the handle with its powerful beak, splashing water all over the boys! The handle splintered and bristled like a bunch of toothpicks. The turtle clung for a moment to the wire which had held the wooden handle, then dropped back into the bucket. Marty allowed that he'd changed his mind, since coming so close to losing his fingers. He didn't need any turtles that day after all! * * * As summer ended and school threatened to start its fall activities, the boys learned that Stanley was changing jobs. He was to be a "junior executive" in the grocery store. (He became the sack boy and wore a long white apron.) It was a move he wanted to make for it meant more money and less mud. He left the ranch without ceremony, and though he still talked and joked with the wormherders, his leaving marked the end of a glorious time. The boys went back to school, and as the years went by they began the gradual drifting that often happens. They drifted as all do, like boats on a sea, paddling one direction then another, carried by currents beyond their control at times, ceasing to be children. All are men now, without much regret for having become adults. Still, they look back on occasion across the rippling sea, recalling their wormherding careers, and they still enjoy pranks that keep them from getting bored drifting.
The End |
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