thenorphletpaperboy: The Day My Daddy Cried

thenorphletpaperboy: The Day My Daddy Cried:                    The Day My Daddy Cried October 25 th , 1948 Well, I'm really upset, so just listen up, and I’ll tell you wh...

The Day My Daddy Cried

                   The Day My Daddy Cried

October 25^th, 1948

Well, I'm really upset, so just listen up, and I’ll tell you why. About this time last year, I was standing out in my front yard, when I heard our neighbor across the road, Mr. Lonnie Henley, just a-hollering, “Richard, head off that old sow of mine! She’s done busted out of her pen again!"

I looked down toward the El Dorado highway, and that old sow was cuttin' a shuck heading my way.

"Yeaaaah! Souie! Get!" I yelled.

Well, that hog did a u-turn, and headed straight up the highway, and then I heard, "Hoonk! Hoooonk"   A big tank truck was heading for me and that stupid pig. I jumped out of the way, but that pig went straight to hog heaven. Mr. Lonnie came up and pulled the pig off to the side of the road, and  my daddy, who had heard all the yelling and honking, walked up, and then Mr. Lonnie said, “Well, Jack, I’m gonna cut off the hind quarters for hams, but that’s all I can use. If you want any of what’s left, help yourself.”

            Daddy nodded, “Richard, go get a hatchet, butcher knife, and one of your momma’s big dish pans.” Naw, ‘round our house nothing goes to waste, so I hurried home and in a few minutes I was there with all the stuff we needed, and as Mr. Lonnie loaded up the hind quarters and Daddy and I filled our dishpan with what was left, Mr. Lonnie said to Daddy, “Jack, that old sow done had a littler of six, and they ain’t big ‘nough to fend for themselves. I’d give you a couple if you’d like to raise ‘em.”

Well, I was all for it, but Daddy shook his head. “Richard, your Momma and I would be taking care of those piglets, after you got tired of ‘em.”

“No sir, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, if I don’t take care of the little pigs.”

Finally, after three more “No s”, I dropped down to one pig, and when Daddy hesitated, I offered to wash the car. “Yes.” And off we went to Mr. Lonnie’s busted down hog pen.

Heck, which pig to pick was hard, but finally I pointed to one with three white feet.

 I’ll admit it. I did exactly what Daddy said I was going to do, and after about two weeks I got tired of fooling with the little pig. Daddy took it out to the barn and put it in the stall with our two mules. I kinda figured he was hoping one of our mules would step on Mr. Pig. Yeah, that’s what I named him.

Okay, the mules didn’t step on Mr. Pig, in fact, after a few weeks, they really took to him, and he would trot around the farm with the mules like he was one of ‘em.

As soon as Mr. Pig got a little bigger, it would stand by the barn gate to wait for Daddy to come in from work, and I kinda wondered why, and then one afternoon I watched as Daddy took out a carrot and gave it to Mr. Pig. Well, as the weeks past, Daddy and Mr. Pig went everywhere together.

Well, it was a late October day when I heard something that really upset me. I’d finished my paper route, and as I started to walk into the kitchen, Momma said, “Jack, there’s a strong cold front blowing in tomorrow, and temperature is going to drop down below freezing---hog killing weather.”

“What?” Heck, we’ve raised hogs most years, but this year we didn’t raise any….but…no, no.

“Momma, what are you talkin’ ‘bout?” I had this really bad feeling, and Daddy said, “Richard, that’s just what folks say after a cold snap.”

Naw, I didn’t believe him, but Daddy was working graveyards, and since he had worked all night, he headed for the bedroom.

I was up the next morning at five, a north wind was whistling, and the danged paper route was worse than horrible. I finished about 6, ate breakfast, and headed for the chicken yard to feed the chickens. That's when I started getting really upset. Mr. Tommy Benton and Daddy were there, and they’d built a fire under a black wash pot, and Mr. Benton had a .22 rifle. Then it hit me. They’re getting ready to butcher a hog---Mr. Pig. Yeah, I went into a panic, ran around to the back of the barn, and let Mr. Pig out.

"Get, souie! Get!"  Mr. Pig trotted off toward the swamp, and I ran back around to where Daddy and Mr. Benton were standing. About that time Daddy walked over to the barn to get Mr. Pig, but no Mr. Pig. Then Daddy kinda nodded and looked at me. Yeah, he’d it figured out.

“Richard, go finish feeding the chickens."

In a couple of minutes, I was throwing chops to about thirty old hens and one mean rooster, and that's when I heard Daddy banging on the feed bucket. I stopped breathing for about a minute, and then there was this awful sound of a rifle. I headed for the feed lot, and then, as I rounded the corner, our mules started going crazy. Yeah, Mr. Pig had been shot and Mr. Benton was already cutting ‘em up. Course, I squalled out and ran up to Daddy and yelled, "Why did you kill Mr. Pig? He was part of our family!"

Daddy didn't say anything, but he took me by the arm, and we walked around behind the barn.

"Son, I hated to butcher that pig as much as you do, but we live on a farm, and we just can't have pet animals. That pig will help us get through the winter by providing meat. I know you’re upset and I am to..."

Then as my Daddy turned around, I could see tears just dripping down his face. He took a deep breath, looked down at me, and said, "Richard, you're old enough to understand how things are on a farm, so let's go back around to the feedlot, and help Tommy dress and put up that hog."

Well, yeah, it was hard to do, but after a while I got over being upset, and I helped scald the pig in that pot of boiling water to remove the hair, and the later I helped Daddy carry the hind quarters to the smokehouse where we hung them up to smoke. We didn't get finished till late in the day, and I was resting up in my room when I heard Momma, "Richard, Jack...come to the table; supper's ready."

Wow, I was so hungry and whatever Momma was cooking smelled so good, I could hardly wait. I walked in the kitchen, and Daddy gave me a little shoulder hug and said, "Richard, you were a lot of help today."

I made a small smile and we sat down as Momma walked over from the stove with a big platter, and when I took a good look at it, I just sank down in my chair—pork chops.

  

thenorphletpaperboy: Money Isn't Everything

thenorphletpaperboy: Money Isn't Everything: Money Isn’t Everything Tell me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the overriding goal of a society to steadily improve the quality of life of...

Money Isn't Everything

Money Isn’t Everything

Tell me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the overriding goal of a society to steadily improve the quality of life of its people? Of course, everyone would agree with that statement, but the how-to’s are the sticky question, and there are as many answers to that question as they are countries in the world. Yes, and each county’s leadership would tell you their methods of achieving an enhanced quality of life, is the way to go.

 I'm a red, white, and blue American entrepreneur, a free market proponent, and a small business owner. I’m convinced the opportunities to make a profit here in the good old USA is the key to our great standard of living and a super quality of life. However, the American dream to have a high standard of living and to make a lot of money in order to achieve our dream must have its limits. In other words, we can't possibly be allowed to do virtually anything to make a dollar. A whole host of things do not only have a negative effect on our quality of life, but many times have a debilitating effect on the individual. The list is as long as your arm; drugs, prostitution, etc. you could add hundreds of items, but the gray areas are the ones I want to address. It’s basically the trade for short-term profit, to the long-term detriment of a quality life. Let's look at some examples. First in Arkansas: By allowing the factory hog farm to ultimately pollute the National Buffalo River, the politicians and other short-sighted individuals are willing to let the need to make a profit take president over protecting the river. (News Flash! New Permit Denied! Evidently, protecting the River took precedent over making money.) Now, let's look at a bigger picture: Coal mining and coal fired plants; that combination is one of the major contributors to climate change. Of course climate change is real, and saying it’s not happening is right up there with the Flat Earth Society, and what is even worst, the climate change deniers are doing it to make a profit. They know better! They are willing to trade our grandchildren's and great grandchildren’s future for coal mining profits. The horrors of climate change during the next 20 to 30 years will be catastrophic, and anyone who supports coal-fired electrical generating plants, is committing a crime against humanity. Yes, you heard me. What our grandchildren and great grandchildren will have to put up with is criminal. However, in order to continue to destroy the environment it becomes cliché to deny climate change, where they can continue to create a horrible world for our grandchildren’s children..

I grew up in and around Norphlet, a small town in South Arkansas, which is almost in the middle of the South Arkansas oilfields, and the last time I checked there was a pumping oil well right in the middle of town. I guess being associated with the oilfields and working in a refinery during my college summers had a big influence on my ultimate choice of professions, and today I’m still working as an oil and gas exploration geologist looking for new oil and gas fields.

However, things have changed since I was a young boy roaming the woods and fishing in the creeks of South Arkansas. As soon as I was old enough to hunt in the woods and swim in the creeks, I was faced with an environmental nightmare. In the 1940s and 50s many parts of South Arkansas producing oil wells dumped the salt water that was produced with the oil into the nearest creek. Because many of these older wells were producing several 100 barrels of salt water a day along with the oil, a tremendous amount of salt water was being dumped into the streams of South Arkansas. Of course, growing up where this was an accepted practice, to a young boy, it was just considered part of the way things were. The creeks that received the salt water became lifeless without any living thing in them, and when the spring rains came and the creeks overflowed their banks, the land, sometimes as much as 50 yards on either side of the creek, became as lifeless as the creek, and in the summer as the sun dried up the water a thin layer of salt covered this lifeless part of the creeks drainage.

Let’s fast-forward to 2017. Today the creeks are full of life, the salt flats are gone, Mother Nature has restored the vegetation, and the saltwater that once made them lifeless is pumped back deep in the subsurface. Well, sure it costs a little more to dispose of the saltwater in this manner, but today, the idea that you would dump saltwater into the nearest creek is unthinkable, and that is the way it should be. There are practices in industry that are detrimental to the environment and to the health of our citizens. It’s trite to say, we should steadily seek to reduce the hazards to our health and to the environment in our society, just as the dumping of salt water into the creeks in South Arkansas. As a country we should steadily move forward with improving our environment, which automatically increases our quality of life, and as our industry prospers and profits soar, the society as a whole should tighten the restrictions against polluting our environment instead of loosening them.

In fact that is exactly what has happened over the past 50 + years. We have cleaner air to breathe, better quality water, and our land use has steadily improved, and in making the USA the economic powerhouse of the world, we have succeeded in not only raising our standard of living through economic progress, but we have created a cleaner, healthier country, which is the envy of the world.

Of all the things in this country that should be bipartisan, our quality of life should always be something Republicans and Democrats alike can embrace. That has been the case during the administration of presidents from Ronald Regan forward. However, the present administration is trying to undo the progress made by Ronald Regan, the Bushes, Clinton, and Obama. Yes, a great deal of the environmental progress to give us a higher standard of living happened under a Republican administration.

Today, unemployment is at a record low and corporate profits are soaring. If anything, we should be strengthen our environmental standards to continue the improvement of our quality of life, but we’re not. This administration is systematically stripping the EPA of critical regulations, cutting its budget, and by allowing the goal to make money take precedent over environmentally policies, it is steadly reducing our quality of life. 

thenorphletpaperboy: Yes, I'm a Southern Boy!

thenorphletpaperboy: Yes, I'm a Southern Boy!:       Yes, I’m a Southern Boy!             Well , I’m a southerner born and raised in the south, and I wouldn’t live anywhere else. N...

Yes, I'm a Southern Boy!

      Yes, I’m a Southern Boy!

            Well, I’m a southerner born and raised in the south, and I wouldn’t live anywhere else. Now let me tell you why: Naturally, living with other southerners is on top of my list, and it’s easy to see why being surrounded by other like-kind folks is so positive. It’s because, within every southerner, there is a streak of open hospitality that is just a natural part of our being. I know saying ‘southern hospitality’ is trite, but it’s true, and there are thousands of examples to prove my point. A wave from a pickup truck driver on a back road to a young girl holding a door open for an elderly man, exemplifies the best part of a southerner’s character. Yes, it’s really who we are, and it’s a big piece of why living in the south is so pleasant, and of course, the best looking women in the country live in the south. Now, I know that going to rub a few transplanted Yankees the wrong way, but let’s just be honest: Name a New England State that can match Arkansas, Mississippi, or Texas in the number of Miss Americas’. Well, not only are Southern gals gorgeous, but by living in the South their conversations can vary from former country girls talking about struggling to get by when they were young, to dining out in New York City. I went to several Christmas parties, and one of the best was sitting around a table for five with four neat southern women. The conversations ranged from tequila stories to working on a Bradley County tomato farm, and it was a delightful evening.

            Yes, I know just being from the south can throw a predisposition from a snooty New York waiter,   if you’re in dining at a Le Restaurant, but I smile when I think about ordering escargots, and I know while I can dine with the best of them in New York City, they would be lost in what to order from the menu at the Superior Grill in Shreveport. Bill Clinton had to overcome that during his first term in office, and yes, that attitude does gives us southerners something of a chip on our shoulders.

            We southerner aren’t perfect, but I’d rather live with our shortcomings in a trade for just living with other southerners. I know we pay The University football coach several times of what we pay the University President, but University Presidents are a dime a dozen, and a football coach who can win six or more SEC games is probably worth several million more than the President. At least that what we’re saying when the morons in Northwest Arkansas negotiate football coach contracts, and when southerners vote for Trump it’s because we don’t mind the lying or voting against our economic interest, it’s southerners are telling New York, California, and the rest the World to “Go to hell,” and that, whether you are a Southern Democrat or a Republican, rings a deep-seated bell in every southerner, whose grandmother or great grandmother raised you with a southern chip on your shoulder.

            I think southerners live a more varied and fuller life because we live in the south. Just to give you an example, we had some New York friends over for dinner one night and the conversation turned to guns, and he asked, “Do you have any guns?” To ask an Arkansawyer if he or she owns guns is like asking a fish if it swims. Of course, I said “Yes” He asked, “Really, how many?” And then before I could answer, he said, “Did you just buy your gun” I answered, “No, my dad bought me my first gun, a Mossberg .20 gauge when I was 8, and later a Sweet .16, and of course I have a couple of twenty-twos,”…Well, I stopped before I got to the pistols because he was looking at me like you might react to someone in an Arab headdress carrying a violin case getting on an airplane. Yes, living in the semi-rural south—And every town under 50,000 is semi-rural---opens up an opportunity to drive 30 minute to a river or lake to fish, and most southerner can walk to a wooded area to hunt. It’s a southern bonus we take for granted, and southern forests are the greatest expanse of trees in the country. Wow, our trees sure add to our quality of life.

            Now let’s talk about the weather, and yes the south is sometimes so hot and humid that you think you’re living in a sauna, but the good Lord gave us the ability to sweat, and I’d rather sweat a bucket full than freeze my ass off in North Dakota, or this year anywhere north of Fayetteville. Yes, we do have a little rough weather occasionally, but I’ll take an occasional tornado over earthquakes and wildfires. Heck, I like to be surprised by the weather, and southern weather keeps you from being bored. My best thoughts around southern weather revolve around a beautiful, southern spring after a cold winter where the temperature dipped down below 30 for a few nights.

            Yep, living in the South is just about as good as it gets, and I not leaving anytime soon.

thenorphletpaperboy: Congressman Westerman, Mr. Back to the 60s

thenorphletpaperboy: Congressman Westerman, Mr. Back to the 60s:         Congressman Bruce Westerman, Mr. Back-to-the-Sixties     Let me cut straight to the chase; Congressman Westerman is part of t...