October 24, 2004

Pap’s Ear for Politics

The presidential election now drawing to a close has generated fierce, partisan feelings; but no one has lost an ear. Great-grandfather Pap would consider this year’s campaigns tame stuff.

Pap, as everyone in the Boot Heel of Missouri called our 81-year-old family patriarch, was a staunch Republican. He had been a soldier in the Confederate army, but somewhere along the line had switched from the Democratic Party. There is no more zealous a saint than one converted from sin.

His next-door neighbor was Mr. Ragsdale, an equally fervent Democrat. He also had fought in the Confederate Army and considered Pap a “bush whacker” – or worse -- for defecting to the party of Abe Lincoln.

“No telling what a man will do in his second childhood,” Mr. Ragsdale would mutter darkly on occasion.

“What does he know?” Pap would snort when the insult was reported to him. “If they put his brains in a jaybird it would fly backwards.”

* * *

Pap got his political juices flowing during the 1924 Coolidge-Davis campaign. Boot Heel Republicans decided to hold a local rally for county office seekers.

Grandfather Steve, a political chip off the old block, was an acknowledged “barbecue master.” As usual, he was appointed to organize a feast and “two-bits” (50 cents) fund raiser.

The night before the big event, Grand Old Party stalwarts gathered at the general store to take delivery of a side of beef. Pretty soon, a farmer of proper, political affiliation pulled into town with half a steer dressed out under a clean sheet in his wagon.

With whoops, the party faithful lit torches of sticks and rags soaked in coal oil. Jim Osher beat on his big, bass drum. The group formed a little procession to march to Tidwell’s grove where the meat would be barbecued during the night.

Pap carried a sign that proclaimed: “Keep Cool With Coolidge.” He waved it defiantly at Mr. Ragsdale and other Democrats who hooted from their front porches.

It was a long night for Grandfather Steve and the few men who stayed with him to keep embers glowing in the roasting pit and to turn the spit. A jug of “white mule” -- which the farmer had thoughtfully tucked under the wagon sheet -- helped ward off night chill.

The secret recipe for Grandfather Steve’s heavenly barbecue sauce – passed down only to male descendants (until now) – is: 50 pounds of brown sugar, 25 pounds melted butter, 6 gallons vinegar, 6 bottles catsup, 6 jars yellow mustard, a handful of salt, and 1 bottle Tabasco. Refrigeration unnecessary.

Sorry, he never gave me family-size proportions.

The “orating” next afternoon was stirring. The barbecue was tasty. Pap was pleased with the trend of events. Coolidge was a popular candidate. He had been vice-president under Warren Harding and succeeded to the presidency in August 1923 upon Harding’s death.

A kitty of $23.50 profit was accumulated for “walking around money” on Election Day.

* * *

The Democrats’ turn for presidential candidate John W. Davis came several days after the ox roast. Their local candidates had not scheduled a visit, but this was no problem in Gibson or any other rural village of that day.

The procedure for rounding up an audience was simple. Four candidates – touring in an automobile, itself a curiosity – stopped at the general store and declared they were ‘setting ‘em up.”

A “set up” was exciting. Word spread through the little town with speed Samuel Morse would have admired. Kids could choose a candy bar or “sody pop.” Men got cigars, and the ladies enjoyed store-bought cookies.

All the while, the candidates smiled, shook hands and kissed babies. They invited everyone to follow them to Tidwell’s grove for a “speaking.”

While the hook was being baited, Mr. Ragsdale hurried out to the grove and cobbled together a platform of barrels and planks. He played Sousa marches on a “morning glory” Victrola while the assembling crowd waited.

Bye and bye, the Democrat candidates drove up in grand style, horn honking, to the cheers of all – or, almost all.

Prominent in the back row was Pap, keeping track of the competition. Democrats standing nearby wanted to know – with a lot of eye winking and elbow nudging – if he was switching party again.

“Hell no!” he snapped. “I’m just here to keep my disgust fresh.”

The speaking – by four candidates – lasted four hours. This was once-over-lightly for that time and place. Without network radio, mass circulation newspapers or television – folks got only one opportunity to learn about the candidates and issues.

Likewise, it was the only opportunity for candidates to connect with voters. Both parties made the most of what was available.

* * *

Calvin Coolidge, as vice-president, had become president upon the sudden death of Warren Harding. Coolidge reluctantly agreed to run for reelection but disliked campaigning.

He did conduct a whistle-stop train swing that was popular those days. He refused to speak at one town, declaring the waiting crowd was “too large for an anecdote, but too small for a speech.”

“Silent Cal” was notorious for his taciturnity. His wife liked to tell about a lady who sat next to him at a campaign banquet. “You must talk to me, Mr. Coolidge,” said the guest. “I made a bet that I could get more than two words out of you.” Coolidge replied, “You lose.”

Coolidge spent most of the campaign in his front- porch rocking chair at Northampton, Mass., granting short interviews to reporters on condition they would not quote him. He won in a landslide, but four years later “chose not to run” for another term.

* * *

On Election Day 1924, Pap went to town right after breakfast. “You got to vote early and often if you want to win,” he said with a sly smile.

Mostly he wanted to argue politics with Mr. Ragsdale and buy votes. Purchase price for non-affiliated voters was a half-dollar. A registered Democrat --who “said” he would deliver for Coolidge -- fetched a silver dollar. Pap didn’t dole out many dollars because he didn’t trust many Democrats.

Grand Old Party faithful who did their duty were rewarded with a swig of moonshine. Republicans held their hospitality parlor in the barbershop’s back room. Democrats held sway with a plank bar behind the general store.

In previous elections, the town’s two, venerable Civil War veterans usually settled their differences with shoves and pushes. This time, Mr. Ragsdale struck Pap across the head with a walking cane and dislodged his left ear.

Pap was stunned and bled profusely. His friends carried him home where Grandma Barnes tied his ear back up with a clean cloth. She wanted to drive him to the county seat to see a doctor. However, Pap insisted he had more urgent business to attend to first.

Dragging his old shotgun out of a closet, he set off to look for his antagonist.

Mr. Ragsdale, long familiar with Pap’s temper, suddenly remembered he had unexpected business with relatives in the next county for a couple of weeks. Thus, Pap failed to get revenge.

* * *

The doctor sewed back Pap’s ear, but Great- grandfather thereafter could not hear good from that side.

Folks asked Pap what he and Mr. Ragsdale had fought about. “He called Coolidge a grafter,” said Pap, “and I was obliged to correct his error.”

Mr. Ragsdale had a different version. “He said I didn’t know the difference between a Democrat donkey and a hillbilly jackass. You kick a donkey and beat a jackass. He damn well knows what he got!”

In time, Pap grew philosophical about the fracas. “Best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t hear Ragsdale bray any more.”

Author: Lindsey Williams

Ooooooooooooo

2 – 2 col. Photo man and horses – match with photo 3

Photo courtesy National Park Service

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3 – 2 col. Man on train – match with photo 2

Photo courtesy West Va. State Archives

1-- Illustration – 4 col. – sketch old man with cane and gun

Illustration from “Growing Up Down Home” by Lindsey Williams