Living and Writing in Mexico

It’ll Do
Copyright William J. Conaway, 1989

Episode 10 – George Washington Farragut

The day George Washington Farragut announced that he was going to get married. He brought his bride-to-be, Gertrude (we didn’t know her), to the It’ll Do with him. Now, Gertrude was—I’m not going to go into details—very definitely a woman.

George wore funny spectacles and, I’d guess, was about ten pounds shy of her. George never cut much of a figure, but Lord, you’d have to admit that every damned pound of her seemed to be put in the right places.

This was fine, and we were all happy for George. We never considered that he’d date some girl, much less get married to one. Folks that hang out in the It’ll Do will up and surprise you.

There seemed to be one problem, though. Gertrude lived about ten miles out of town and she had three brothers who weren’t noted for their hospitality. The smallest of the three must have stood about 6’2 and the others went up from there. I think maybe they were Vikings. As it turned out, they didn’t think too much of George as a proper husband for Gertrude.

One of them (I don’t know which one) came into the It’ll Do while George and Gertrude were sitting there, just having a beer. This guy (I don’t know what his name was) clomped over in front of George.

“Get up, you son-of-a-bitch. Then I’m going to put you so far down that Gertrude won’t even notice you when she steps over you.”

I didn’t know whether to call Toot, or go for some of the equipment I keep under the bar.

Whatever George did, he did it pretty fast. It had something to do with this fellow’s neck.

One way or another, this Viking fell to the floor just as if he’d gotten a taste of Henry the VIII’s head-ax. Of course I called Toot and he sent Penoble over to drag this guy out of the bar. It doesn’t help trade to have a Viking stretched out on the floor in the middle of the place. George didn’t seem to be particularly disturbed and, I think, Gertrude was kind of enjoying the whole thing. I’d hate to think what would have happened if George had been wearing that old sword he sometimes carries around.

Anyway, things were getting back to normal after Penoble hauled off this hulk—until the other two brothers pushed their way in the door. I just, kind of quietly, laid my sawed-off 12 gauge on the bar. George came over and leaned on the bar.

“Put it away,” he said.

Well, I didn’t think that was a good idea, but I don’t like violence and, besides, my doctor has advised me to avoid stress. So I did. The next thing I saw was that one of the two remaining brothers was down (I suppose it was one of those neck-things again) and the last brother—6’5″, I swear— was looking over George as if he was getting ready to eat him.

“Toot, where are you when I really need you?” I asked myself.

“Alfred,” George said. “why don’t you just take your brother here home and put him to bed?”

“Not without a piece of you first,” Alfred said.

Now, this Alfred was tall and muscular and all-that. George definitely was not.

“O.K.,” George said.

The next thing I knew, this Alfred had his head sticking through my juke box. It sure couldn’t have been very comfortable for him, but it was my juke box and his head was in it!

“Sully,” George said,”I’d like another round for Gertrude and myself.”

I had to call Toot again. He was pretty understanding (although he couldn’t figure out how George had put down all three of Gertrude’s brothers) this time, he came over himself—and grabbed a free dark beer before hauling off the last two brothers across the vacant lot to the jail.

Before he left, I asked him,”Do you understand any of this?”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Toot said, shaking his head.

Vera answered. “It’s Love, that’s what.”

It was the first time Toot or I (we did it together) gave a Bride away. I think George Washington Farragut was pleased.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories

It’ll Do
Copyright William J. Conaway,1989

Episode 9 – James Calhoun Baldwin

This is what Mavis would call an auto-biographical story, bless her heart.

Folks around here call me J.C. It started just as you’d expect—in the It’ll Do. It was a Saturday and I was just lounging around, hoping to work up a money pool game.

There are some of us who consider the It’ll Do to be a second home, and I guess I’m one of those. Now that Vera and Sully are married, it seems almost like a family in here.

Second home or not, it just wasn’t enough for me. I spent more time over at the “Barn” and fooled around with some of the girls over there. It helped some, but something still was missing. When I was at the It’ll Do I’d catch Sully and Vera taking looks at each other while they were going about their business, and it would come on me. I just didn’t know any proper unattached women. One day, after about six dark beers, I edged up to the subject with Vera.

“Vera,” I said, “I’ve got a problem.”

“I know you do, J.C.”

“Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’m starting to get miserable.”

About that time Sully came over to the end of the bar and he put his arm around Vera. That seemed to make it somewhat worse. Strange as it may seem, those two are nearly perfect for each other. Vera looked over the bar at me. Her brown eyes, which seemed like they could see through a lead-lined box, looked right into mine.

“Hang on a while, J.C.,” she said.

So, I had been feeling sorry for myself, and some drunk too. When Vera puts her mind to something, you’d better either run for cover or expect a miracle, whichever is appropriate.

Eph Swain came into the bar a few days later. This was surprising. Eph is a pretty well-known farmer around here, but he didn’t come into the It’ll Do, ever. Even stranger, he brought his niece, Cherry Davis, with him.

Now, I don’t want to tell you that I saw her as being beautiful—about all I saw was that she was The Niece of Mr. Swain. They went over to one of the booths and he ordered two beers.

Everyone in town knew Eph Swain—he was one of the smartest, and most prosperous, farmers in the county. It was his niece we didn’t know. She was pretty. Well, I was in the It’ll Do when they came in, and Vera was there too. I had been sort of hanging around the pool table when Vera came over and gave me one of those looks.

“J.C., it’s your time,”she said.

“What?”

“Shut your mouth and come with me.”

I wasn’t about to argue. I followed her. She made a bee-line for the table where Mr. Swain and this girl were sitting. Vera introduced herself, and then introduced me, James Calhoun Baldwin—damned if she didn’t—old Eph invited me to sit with them, which of course I did.

I could see that this girl had that look of a pool shooter that has lost way too many games. Eph just sat there, sipping his beer, and left the conversation up to us.

“I haven’t seen you around Cherryville before,” I said, feeling like a fool and sounding like one, too.

“No, I’m from Little Rock.”

There was something sad in her voice. Before you knew it, I found myself wanting to protect her, although I didn’t know exactly from what. We started to talk. Old Eph sat between us, not saying a word. It came out that she had been married, but it hadn’t worked out. She was just an average girl. No children. Suddenly, I imagined I might just possibly be falling in love. I would have sworn that Eph smiled just about the same time as I was thinking this.

That’s also when Vera came back over and invited Mr. Swain up to the bar for a minute. Cherry and I, started to talk without a halter on. Mind you, we were sitting on opposite sides of the table.

What she was searching for (I think) was someone who would treat her right—and she sure as hell didn’t find that in her first husband. There I was, half-convinced that I could be falling for her. She sure wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t in that class at all.

So, we started getting together pretty often and, sure enough, it wasn’t too long before we were engaged. And, quicker than I’d have thought possible, there I was up at the altar, getting married.

Cherry was a good and loving wife. We made a good family, I thought. I’d quit hanging around the It’ll Do so much and gone to work at my dad’s Ford Agency—starting as a stock clerk, but that was all right. Dad was glad to get me in the business.

How can I put this? Cherry was wonderful, but she was shy. She was even shy with me, which didn’t make any sense. She must have had some hellacious times with her first husband. She was just shy, and, whatever I tried to do, I couldn’t seem to bring her out of it. On the top of it, we were doing all right, below, there was something that wouldn’t let us truly be together.

At last, I got up my nerve and went and asked Vera about it. I guess Vera knows more about people—with no nonsense—than any other person I know. I asked her what I could do.

“J.C.,” she said, “you’re a good man, and I know you’re trying to do your best by her. I’ll tell you this; you just keep on trying—the rest is up to her.”

No nonsense, that Vera—but it wasn’t seeming to help much. Three weeks later Cherry left. To go back to her first husband. Damned if I know why. I went back to the It’ll Do for double dark beers—as many and as fast as I could get them down.

Vera came up to me. “I heard,” she said.

“Yeh.”

“Come over here with me, J.C.,” and she waved toward one of the booths.

Well, hell, I was more than half-drunk by that time, but I went along. I’ve always liked Vera, and I trust her.

“You can go running all over five states looking for her,” she said, “but if she can’t live with you, she just can’t. Get your divorce and be done with it. There are more women—good women—than you think. You just happened to latch on to one where it didn’t work. So, go off in the woods and cry or cuss, if you feel a need to. It won’t change one thing. So you go ahead and get your divorce and put it behind you.”

I’ll be damned if she didn’t have a tear or two in her eyes, like maybe she’d had to do that same thing, some time or another.

“Someday,” and she nodded over to where Sully was tending bar,” you’ll find—not the perfect one, there’s too many memories will come back to haunt you—but a really GOOD one. And she’ll make you happy, maybe then you’ll know what love is all about.”

“But, Vera…” I started to say.

“Hell, J.C., love isn’t what you thought it was. You have to learn it, little-by-little. Grow with it, weeds and all.”

“I don’t think so, Vera.”

“You shoot pool, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Did you ever miss a shot that you KNEW you could make?”

“Sure.”

“Did you give up the game?”

“Well, hell, no.”

“As I said, your a good man. I’ll be damned and gone to hell before I’d believe you’re a quitter. Now you go off somewhere and sleep it off or cry it out—I’m going to call my sister in Saint Louis and tell her to get her pretty little butt out here right away. I want you to be in good shape when she gets here.

I’ll be damned if she didn’t do just that.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories

It’ll Do

by Peyton Breckinridge and William J. Conaway
Copyright William J/. Conaway, 1989

Episode 8 – Our Union Navy

Well it wasn’t unusual for George Farragut to come into the It’ll Do. He came in often enough that everyone knew him. Every one knew that he was a little strange. One day long after the Regatta, as he was putting down a dark beer, he brought up his favorite subject.

“If those Southerners in Texas can have a Confederate Air Force, why can’t we have a Union Navy?” He was a little touched by being (he said) a direct descendent of Admiral Farragut, who was best known for cussing out the Confederates for mining Mobile Bay. He had nearly everyone’s attention. Guess everyone was a little strange that day.

“I know, Oklahoma has a submarine that they towed up the waterway and parked in Muscogee. It doesn’t work, besides they don’t give a damn which side they were on. What we need—right here in Cherryville—is an honest-to-God Union Navy. It’ll make a great tourist attraction. The most important thing is that it will show everyone just exactly where we stand.”

When Old Man Williams nodded his head, everyone decided that what Farragut said made sense.

Just then Vera came in: Vera was on the far side of thirty, but she was trim and a sort of no-nonsense type of woman. I had thought of making a try for her, but she didn’t seem to be hunting. I think she might have been in High School here, but she had been gone so long—to tell the truth—she was a stranger. I’ll admit, she fitted right in with the crowd at the It’ll Do. Even Old Man Williams said hello to her.

Farragut was still holding forth on the Union Navy, and by now nearly everyone in the place was paying attention.

“We can’t very well reconstruct the “Constitution”, and I think a battleship is a little out of our range. We darn sure can start with our own submarine, and go on from there…”

“On Lake Fenian?” Alice Mae asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Orville answered.

Well, it was decided to build ourselves a submarine. Prom Puckett had some property that went down to the lake, and he offered it as a building site. Now, since only the top part of the submarine would be visible, we decided to use some old VW bug bodies for the bottom part. Most of us knew welding, and you’d be surprised how fast the whole thing went. We got an old Farmall motor to push the thing around.

We finished up just in time for Labor Day. By this time just about everyone in Cherryville was taken up with our project, including our incompetent Mayor, one State Representative, and State Senator Flogg. It was decided that the christening would be held across the lake at the Yacht Club. This is the same place that Merl Haggard (and his band) had dinner the day they gave a concert in Madison.

Most of us weren’t welcome there—but this was a special occasion. Orville and I offered to drive the thing across the lake, where it would be officiallly installed as part of the Cherryville Union Navy.

Since every submarine was named after some kind of fish, we decided to name ours “The Catfish”.

Farragut had found some sort of navy-blue coat and a sword. Once they saw us off, everyone hopped into their cars and tore around to the Yacht Club to be there when we arrived. It got a little fumey going over, but we didn’t have any problems. We tied her up at one of the docks that stuck out into the lake. Senator Flogg’s wife, Alice, broke a new bottle of California Champagne on the part of the sub that everyone could see. Then there were tours given down below. Well, it happened that Vera was one of the last ones to go down and see the inside of it: and Sully, who had taken the day off, offered to guide her through the sub. After they had gone down through the hatch, it sank. I mean, the whole sub just sank, right there.

It took two hours to get a wrecker out to the Yacht Club and haul the sub up to the surface. By that time, Sully and Vera were very good friends….

After Vera and Sully got acquainted, they became somewhat of a “thing”. Now, Sully is all right, even if he does wear those Hawaiian shirts. But no-one would ever say that he wasn’t a gentleman. He keeps the best bar in Cherryville.

Vera, well, Vera was something special. She would come into the It’ll Do pretty nearly every evening after she got off work at the bank, and she would sit on the other side of the bar counter from Sully. They must have had a lot to talk about to each other, because they did a lot of it.

Now—Sully had been married before, we all knew that—and it seemed he took no more than a casual (Mavis would have said “carnal”) interest in the various women that wandered in and out of the It’ll Do and lets face it, we thought they were mismatched. Oh, just about everyone thought so.

Orville pointed his pool cue up toward the two of them one evening and asked me, “Well, J.C. what do you think about those two?” He had this sort of look like his favorite bitch had just delivered him six or eight good-looking pups.

“Shoot pool,” I said.

“You don’t think so?”

“Look, just try to think. I’ve known Vera since she came back to town. OK, she had her old man killed in ‘Nam. I guess that just about any man would figure that, well sooner or later, she’d find somebody, but Vera and Sully? Let’s go double-or-nothing on the next game.”

Alice Mae—who just about never comes back to the pool room-came over and the conversation became sort of three-way.

I wish I had the knack, like Mavis or that writer Wadsmith, or whatever his name was, to bring back the whole thing for you. It got a little confusing because Alice Mae kept ordering us rounds of dark beers. Here’s what it all boiled down to: Alice Mae wanted to tell us that—even if you don’t get a chance to see it very often—”True Love” exists. She went on and on about this.

Orville took another tack. He didn’t believe much in ‘Love’, but he knew chemistry when he saw it.

Just because I’m a little younger than the both of them, I tried to tell them that you can’t very well mate a good-looking heifer with an old boar hog. It didn’t work. None of it.

Sully ran the bar and his partner, McGinty, put up the money, there was only one person (well, perhaps Mavis might be the other one) who really ran the place. Old Man Williams.

When Old Man Williams managed to say something you’d best grab it and throw away your Savings Bonds, because you could damn sure count on it.

Now, some will say that some strange things happen at the It’ll Do…Orville, and I were having this conversation, that we all looked over and saw Old Man Williams motion to Vera and Sully. They both went over—one on each side of the bar. Old Man Williams put (none of us had ever seen anything like it) one of his big arms around each one of them and pulled their heads next to his.

This brought the three of us out of the pool room pretty quick and back up to the bar stools. There may have been five or six other people in the bar (hell, we all knew each other) but it was as if you’d dropped a wet blanket over the whole bunch of us. There wasn’t one of us that could hear what they were saying.

No-one would have ever suspected it, but (I think) Old Man Williams started Vera crying. It started out as a soft kind of sniffle, but it just grew until Vera was close to breaking every heart in the place.

That wasn’t bad enough, after a while Sully started getting teary-eyed too, then he just let go and he was crying too. Old Man Williams just held their heads together with one hand around each of them.

It was about at that time that Toot, our local cop, came in through the door. I know Toot had seen some pretty strange things going on at the It’ll Do. I’ll bet, money, marbles or chalk, he hadn’t seen the likes of this. Here were the bunch of us, looking like we’d just been quick-frozen by Birds-eye. Of course Toot didn’t have any idea what was going on, he was too much of a gentleman to go up and ask Sully for a beer, so he just stood in the doorway, not doing anything.

It got solved, though. Old Man Williams (without taking his hands away from either Vera or Sully) swiveled around on his bar stool and bellowed. “Officer Theobald, I want you back here in 15 minutes, and you damn well better have a Justice-of-the-Peace with you. Do you read me?”

It was informal, but certainly one of the finest, weddings Cherryville ever had.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories