The Great Mule Debate

The Great Mule Debate I: //> 4 11 Vl V"£ <*'¦ "-' m, 11W^ •¿?*'.· e^-\^ß<: ^B ¿¿•.?"'. by Tony Hays There never had been, and never will be, another debate quite like it. The sages of Blue Moon pondered the issue long and hard, and still couldn't reach agreement. Only Uncle Rich Wells, for undisclosed reasons, didn't venture forth an opinion on the matter. It all had to do with Chestnut Marcum and his mule, Oscar. Now Chess, as he was called to his face, (or Nut as he was called behind his back) was an ornery old coot who lived back in the far reaches of Buncombe Hollow. Just about the only people he got along with 21 were Butch Buncombe's boys and that old mule, Oscar. To look at Chess, you'd say he wasn't anything special. He wore ragged overalls , and what little hair he had lay plastered against his wrinkled, pink scalp. Some said the wrinkles came from the way he frowned when he cussed Oscar. And Lord knows, he cussed that mule at least once a day. Those cussings were a marvel to hear. It was rumored that New York cabbies, renowned for their use of obscenities, slipped into Buncombe Hollow to learn from the master. I was just a boy when the great mule debate blossomed. Some blamed it on Grinning Henry Banks. Others said it was all Rich Wells' doing. I figured it should be laid square at Chess Marcum's feet. If he hadn't stopped into Thad Fletcher's store that day, none of it would have happened. No, the sheriff wouldn't have broken a leg, Elwood Prater wouldn't have lost his brand new plate glass window at the bank, and the crew of the Golden Cloud wouldn't have spent thirty days in the jail. Besides, Óscar was Chess' mule after all. It started out simply enough. Most hot summer days, just after the noon meal, some of the old men would gather at Thad's store. They'd play some checkers , drink a soft drink, and swap tales until the heat of the day had passed. This particular afternoon, Thad was sitting on his counter, swatting flies and sipping a Coke, listening to Henry Banks and Rich Wells hold court on the front porch. Arch Hancock, from the feed store in town, was making a delivery. Hubbard Cass had stopped in to sit a while. The topic of the day was the current dry spell in town. By dry, I don't mean lack of rain, I mean lack; of liquor. The new sheriff was a Prohibition man and he had sworn a saçred oath to keep moonshine out of town. Anyway, they were bemoaning the situation when Chess came riding up on Oscar. Being a reticent man, Chess stepped down and tied Oscar to the porch rail without so much as a nod. "Afternoon, Chess," offered Henry, always the first to speak. "Huh." Chess, above all else, was a man of few words. "I can tell that Chess agrees with us, fellers," observed Rich. Chess eyed Rich carefully, but still kept his peace. "Now Henry you was arguing earlier that mules are just dumb animals," befan Rich, the twinkle in his eye showing e was up to no good. But Chess missed the look in his eyes. "No dumber'n you, Rich," noted Chess, moving past the men and towards Ae door. "Prove it," challenged his antagonist. The others stirred with excitement. Seldom had they heard such a sting in Rich's voice. Chess stopped. He turned and considered Rich. This here mule has got more sense'n you ever thought about having." Now this took everyone back-not what he said, everybody knew Chess loved that mule, but no one had ever heard Chess say that much before. "Well, I'll be, if old Nut ain't got a tongue after all." There was some grumbling at that, and Thad sauntered out the door and onto the porch. Basically, Chess was an inoffensive old man, but Rich was baiting him like he would a sworn enemy. Only Henry, among them all, didn't act surprised. "Now, Rich, you don't mean that, do you?" questioned an amazed Arch Hancock . In Arch's mind, Rich might get in trouble, and he might have a touch of the devil in him, but not when it came to an old friend like Chess. "It's all right, Arch. This here mule's a hell of a lot smarter'n Rich and I aim to prove it." This created a pretty big stir. Henry, who had remained silent throughout, eased his fingers in behind his overall bib and reared back. "Just how do you aim to do that, Chess?" They all leaned forward eaiy , this mule is so smart, he can smell trouble! That's how smart he is," 22 stammered a suddenly embarrassed Chess, realizing how talkative he had become. This was too much for them to take. Of course, everybody had heard of someone who could "smell trouble cominig," but to think that a mule could actually smell trouble was just short of ridiculous. Seemed like Rich was telling the truth after all. Embarrassed for Chess, they all turned their heads and an awkward silence ensued. "Go ahead! Come next Saturday, ye won't be turning away. Me and Oscar U show you. In front or the courthouse, up to town!" So angry was Chess, he turned and rode off, his errand undone. Well needless to say, within twentyfour hours, the entire county had heard and Chess was the biggest celebrity Blue Moon Creek had ever produced, second only to Oscar himself. Folks came from miles around to tramp up Buncombe Hollow to see the mule that could smell trouble. Why, Buncombe set up a tollgate and collected a nickel off each tourist. For five straight days, an ever-changing crowd argued the issue at Thad Fletcher's store. Rich Wells, sensing some profit, turned up a Coke case and began taking action. Giving 4 to 3 odds against Oscar, he did a bnsk business. He never admitted how he felt about it himself, but when Chess rode Oscar around, you could see Rich eying that fine, deep brown jack. For his part, Oscar enjoyed the attention . Those big mule ears would prick up and then lay back when one of his admirers came to call. If he felt he wasn't getting the attention due him, he'd sit back on his haunches, throw his head back, bray at the top of his lungs, and refuse to move. And Chess would cuss him. And another crowd would gather. Without a doubt, that big courthouse square was busting at the seams on the appointed day. A twenty by twenty foot square had been roped off on the lawn, and a judges' stana erected to one side. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the platform and courthouse windows, and four lemonade stands and three cotton candy booths were raking in the money. Better than the time William Jennings Bryan passed through town on the train and waved from the caboose," noted the mayor. Now Main Street led all the way down to the river landing, and the sheriff f m m w'*. 23 posted his deputies along its length. Not only was this the final round in the great mule debate, but the tug, Golden Cloud, was due in from Paducah. And the crew, a mean bunch, would be spoiling for a fight. So the sheriff figured he d stop them before they could ruin the festivities. Beyond whether Oscar could really smell trouble or not, the next big question was over the selection of judges. Dune Hoover, local mortician and Democrat, and Elwood Prater, chief Republican and banker, almost came to blows, but it was finally decided that the board would be comprised of an equal number from each party, with Henry Banks as the tiebreaker. This last apEointment met with some disapproval, ut Elwood, of all people, came to Henry's defense. "While Mr. Banks and I have had our differences, I know him to be a morally upright man. Besides, he's a bonafide independent and the only man in the county who hasn't placed a bet." And that settled that. "Gather round my friends," boomed Dune Hoover in his best voice of solace and comfort, as he got things rolling. "Make way!" came the cry from one of the side streets, and like Moses parting the Red Sea, the crowd shifted and a low hum started at its furthest point. It grew, and grew, until everyone, the judges at their table and even the little boys sitting around the edge of the square, had stood to watch Chess lead Oscar into the center ring. "Ooohhhhhhh!" rang a chorus of feminine voices. "Awwhhhhhh!" rumbled the bass counterpart. If Oscar couldn't smell trouble, the spectacle he presented was worth the price of admission. Chess had tied bows on each ear and ribbons all down his tail. But the piece de resistance had to be the necktie hanging around the big jack's neck. For dangling there proudly was one of Chess' best Sunday-go-tomeeting ties, a bright blue with yellow polka dots. They walked slowly and with great pomp, if not circumstance, to the ropedoff area. The hemp held high, Oscar stepped underneath and approached the center. The tension mounted as the crowd buzzed. A lot of discussion had gone into just how to test Oscar's ability to smell trouble. First one, then another, method had been put forward. Some suggested letting him sniff rotten apples. Henry Banks thought giving him a whiff of the mayor's cologne would work. Finally, it was decided to put blinders on him and parade the current residents of the county jail past. If they weren't trouble, nobody was. "Let s get this show on the road," commanded Henry from his seat of honor. The sheriff nodded and motioned to his deputy. "Cater, bring 'em out!" And a disheveled looking crew of inmates emerged from the courthouse basement. As the crowd watched the procession, the expected sounds were heard. "Hey, Pa! Just ten more days an' I kin get back on that 'baccer patch." "Jimmy Wayne, you comb yore hair! Yore a celebrity now!" "Oh, Ma!" came the exasperated cry from a particularly ugly looking prisoner . With Oscar blinded, they had the prisoners march right under his nose. Nothing . Not a twitch. Some catcalls sounded from the back of the crowd, and the whistles from the Golden Cloud sounded down at the landing. People started rumbling about being taken. From somewhere in the deep recesses of the crowd came a suggestion. "Take them damn blinders off. If he cain't smell trouble, shorely he can see it!" Henry conferred with his colleagues and motioned for Chess to remove Oscar's headgear. As he did so, the sheriff moved to get the prisoners back into the courthouse. The next few minutes passed very quickly. Having procured a spot atop 24 c\ ¿Hh'ir.fa y McPherson's Drug Store, I commanded a clear view of the events as they unfolded . And they went something like this. "Golden Cloud just docked, Sheriff!" came the desperate cry from one of the deputies. The sheriff turned to catch the shouted message. When he did, sunlight flashed off the pointed badge on his chest, hitting Oscar square in the eye. Then, all hell broke loose. Oscar went crazy, braying and kicking at everything in sight, the sheriff first. Caught him dead center in the shin and his Teg broke with an ominous crack. Oscar hit the rope chest high and carried it into the crowd, still kicking and braying , dragging people right along with him. The audience quickly turned into a mob, fighting to escape from that crazy mule. Shouting at the top of his lungs, the sheriff called everybody up from the landing. While the deputies made for the square, Oscar kicked and bucked his way over in front of the People's Bank. Folks scattered in his path until smack in his way was Elwood Prater, holding both arms spread out against that big, pretty, plate glass window and looking pale, scared, and determined. For the first time since he started his rampage, Oscar stopped and considered his target. "Oscar, stay away! Don't you dare touch this window! challenged Elwood, and Oscar cocked one ear as if actually listening. Then that argumentative look clouded his eyes and Elwood leaped out of the way just as Oscar's feet entered the bank by way of the window. It took an hour for the deputies to corral Oscar. When they did, tne courthouse resembled a Civil War battlefield. A bass drum and three snare drums, remnants of the town band, lay broken and scattered. Cotton candy cones and shattered pop bottles littered the ground. A few of the wounded were still nursing their cuts and bruises, squatting dazed on the lawn. A couple of the deputies were picking up the sheriff to move him, and Dune Hoover was checking the casualties for any possible customers. Those that had scurried into stores to evade Oscar were just emerging from their refuges. 25 From down at the landing, a long, deep, multi-voiced grumble rolled up the street and burst onto the square. At first, I thought it was some disgruntled gamblers looking to collect from Uncle Rich. As it grew louder, I realized that rather than disgruntlement, the voice indicated a boisterous, almost drunken, satisfaction . Well, not almost. The sheriff looked down Main Street, and horror streaked his face. It was the crew of the Golden Cloud, drunker than they'd ever been. Somebody had slipped some shine into town and the Golden Cloud had made good use of it. Suddenly, it all became clear. The great mule debate had been a set-up. With Oscar on the rampage, a load of white lightning had been brought in and sold to the crew. And now, they were tanked up and ready to fight. Well, the rest is history. By the time the sheriff's deputies got the tugboat crew rounded up, the town was a disaster . And with the sheriff laid up, moonshine soon flowed freely once more. Chess, Oscar, Henry, and Rich had all disappeared during the fracas with the tug crew. They never could prove for certain just who was involved in the caper. Truth to tell, Oscar never could smell trouble, though he was jim-dandy at recognizing the law. Back up in Buncombe Hollow, he served as watchdog for three different stills. Let him see a star, and he was a mule possessed. To him, argued Chess, trying to collect his winnings from Rich later, "The law is trouble. "But," pointed out Rich, as he counted out Chess' share of the sale to the Golden Cloud, "He didn't smell it, he had to see it. Always read the fine print, Chess." And Oscar, well he went right on keeping moonshiners safe from the law. At least until the day of his marriage. Only mule marriage in county history. Biggest social event in a two-state area. But, that's another story. Take Me Down That Row One More Time, Green-Eyed Boy I always have plenty of green for you, Cousin, the green silk corn shucks of our childhood piling us in Uncle's harvest wagon up to the moon or your mama's green peas and fried green tomatoes tasting like hues of shade beneath the fence-line tree on the cotton picker's sack when the noon bell rang. And on days when work was done, we sat on the fat pond moss of our playhouse rug or ran through the tall meadow grass, hiding, rolling, planning in the earth and itching, powerful with chiggers, to be grown, silly things, and the summer blades cut our faces, without pain. In those days, sweet Cuz, even blood ran green. -Bonnie Roberts 26 ...