OVER MY SHOULDER

I first remember Uncle Clarence from the time that we lived on the “Ford Place” ---I suppose that I was 4 or 5 years old. Dad’s uncle Clarence, one of Great Grand Dad’s (Josiah) 12 children, was a brother of Frank Curran (Dad’s father, and my Grandfather). Uncle Clarence was born in 1884, and had very little opportunity for a formal education.

I always understood (from family and perhaps uncle Clarence himself) that he had to quit school at the end of the third grade, and work to assist with the family’s maintenance. Life was much different when he was a youngster in the late 1800’s--through the teens and into the 1930’s depression---many people had a hard time making a living and raising a family---particularly with 12 children. Many people during that time had difficulty in “making” a living, and would move from place to place working at odd jobs and perhaps staying with relatives.

I am not certain what trade he had, or what kind of work that he did---I would guess that it was day labor on the farm, or working as a painter or a carpenter. He would have been in his early 50’s and in the middle of the depression when I first remember him. I recall that Dad “managed” the farm for Bob Ford who owned it---and Uncle Clarence came to spend some time with us and to assist with the farming---as did Loren a nephew on Mom’s side of the family. I am certain that they were not paid anything, other than “board and room” plus a little smoking tobacco and a pair of overalls and a shirt once in a while.-----that is about all any one had during those times.

Today, we would call Uncle Clarence “a character”----he was a proud man, walked with a limp, and a swagger or strut with his chest out. He of course was not very well educated, as his language often would show---he could swear with the best of them, (and often did) --- he had a bad temper that sometimes got the best of him---had lost one eye at sometime--I am not sure how----had been married and either separated from his wife, or she was dead--I am not sure which. In later years he lost his hearing (which created a situation that often he thought people were talking about him when he could not hear them) and by the mid 1940 he had lost all of his teeth. (But this did not stop him from pulling a large onion from the garden--peeling it with his knife and eating it like an apple)

But he was our Uncle and we all cared for him, and I am sure he cared for us.
I recall one instance on the Ford Place when during the hot and dry weather one summer, he was hauling water in a large oak staved barrel on a sled, pulled by one horse---as he was returning down the lane to the barn he ran over the root of a tree and spilled the whole barrel of water---he returned after another barrel of water and spilled it---this happened at least four times---I don’t remember how it finally turned out, but Clarence was stubborn enough that he was not going to “let that root dictate what he would do”.

Dad had a team of mules---Dan a large white mule, and Pete a large brown mule---if you have never worked mules, you have missed a treat--they are good in the field, but can be very cantankerous and stubborn. On this particular day, Clarence had been working Dan and Pete in the field and that evening after supper, he gave a very long and uncomplimentary description of the team---liberally colored with his choice swear words---ending up with the fact that they should both be taken out and shot.

The next morning when Dad got up and went out to chore, Uncle Clarence was sitting on the back step crying like a baby---Dad asked him what was wrong, and Clarence told him that “the lightning had struck and killed old Pete last night”---This was a great loss to him---even after his description the night before---Dan would later “get out”---get into the sorghum and founder.

One would never be sure when Uncle Clarence would arrive, or when he would leave----We would be sitting out in the yard late in the evening---and observe someone coming down the road--of course we would discuss who it might be and Dad would say it walks like Uncle Clarence---sure enough he would walk in---when quizzed about where he had been --- more than likely he had been to Missouri “to see the folks down there”.

He would leave the same way---he might stay 3 days and he might stay 3 months. We would wake up some morning or sit down to an evening meal, and Clarence would be gone ---seldom would he announce his intentions, or say if or where he was going. I recall one occasion after we had moved to Blue Mound and I was in upper elementary school or Junior High, when Uncle Clarence and I started with a team and wagon a mile over to the hay field----Dad had a colt in the team “breaking him” this week---. At the corner north of the house, Clarence slid off the wagon and started walking toward town. When Dad caught up to the wagon about 1/2 mile later there was no Clarence, and one Junior High boy with an unbroken team.

Another time, Dad and Clarence started painting the gabled end of the barn---for some reason, Dad had to go to town --- maybe to get something---perhaps some more paint or feed---in any event he apparently got to visiting in town and did not get back for a couple or three hours---when he returned, Clarence was gone. One could look at the west end of the barn, and read exactly what went through Clarence’s mind ----at the first setting of the ladder, the barn was painted as wide as one could reach completely to the ground---at the next setting the painting stopped 4 or 5 feet from the ground---the next setting the painting stopped further up----and so forth until the last setting the ladder, the brush, and the paint were there, but no painting--- and Clarence was gone---obviously Dad was “goofing off”, and Clarence was not to be taken advantage of.

When we boys were ages 7 to 11, we were glad to see Uncle Clarence come-- he loved to fish, and he would usually take us fishing while Dad was working. Often, we would go to the upper end of the Bradley lake that was on Orville Finnley’s land. This was about a 1/2 mile walk over fences, through brush and timber to the lake. When we were going fishing, or had caught some fish (and Uncle Clarence was carrying them), he would walk so fast that we could hardly keep up. However, if we had not caught any fish or if one of we boys were carrying the fish, Uncle Clarence could hardly keep up.

We either had our cane poles, or later telescope rods with a very cheap casting reel on it. The reel was very difficult to cast without getting a bad backlash which would take a long time to dig out. Clarence would always tell us that we did not do it right, take the pole and reel and “cast it for us” --resulting in the same backlash---at which time he would throw the pole and reel down with an explanation like “this pole isn’t worth #####” which usually turned out to be words that Mom would not let us use.

Nearly all of our fishing was with worms or grasshoppers----Uncle Clarence would put on a bait--throw it into the lake---and could set for hours whether or not the fish were biting--- (I understand that now)---but then if they were not biting it soon became too slow for we boys, and we would try to get him to take us back home----usually the response was “in a while--they will bite pretty soon”. After awhile, we would get in the brush behind him and “lob” rocks in the air to come down and hit his cork---which usually again brought about those words that we could not use ---and finally back home. I don’t know why, but he never threatened us---he should have.

In 1963, at the age of 79 at Blue Mound, Uncle Clarence passed on. I had been away from home for 13 years, and sorta “lost contact” with him. I have over the years often thought about Uncle Clarence---about the hard life that he had, about the struggles that he endured, about his being able to “adjust” and be happy with what he had. He was always good to us boys---to Mom and Dad---and was willing to “work and pull his load” when he was with us. In his own way, I am sure that he loved each of us, and certainly we loved him.

Perhaps by our standard today, he did not have a good life---on the other hand if we could ask him I would guess that he would tell you that it was a good life. I wish that I could go back and thank him for the fun fishing trips he took us on, for the way that he could play a “French harp” and for providing many many --Uncle Clarence stories.