Louie

Louie Figures It Out

One proud day, Louie acquired a bedraggled, old gray mule. The poor beast had obviously been”rode hard and put up wet.” It was tormented by flies, particularly in spots where harness had rubbed. Nonetheless, Louie was enamored of the sad beast pastured in his brother Don’s empty cow lot adjacent to our barn. The lot had gnawed down to the last blade of grass by its previous occupants. The only amenity available to the mule was a half barrel of water. Don and Louie spent some time spraying the mule for flies, which had to be a relief. Don went about his business assuring Louie they’d get old gray some hay tomorrow. A seed was planted.

Old Gray ate all the grass he could reach through the fence. Louie spent the rest of the afternoon pulling grass and delivering it by the handful to the grateful mule. Even Boogereater and Jamie got caught up in the exercise for a while.

About dusk, Daddy came home and scattered out hay for his stock and went on his busy way. Remembering Don’s intentions, Louie opened his cow pen gate and turned Old Gray into Daddy’s feed lot to get at the hay. Delighted at the opportunity to chow down, Old Gray kicked at Daddy’s cows to get them out of his way. Daddy heard the ruckus and came hurrying back, only to find his cows scattered and Old Gray munching happily.

Daddy shouted at Louie.” Get that mule out of here. He’s gonna hurt my cows!” He handed Louie a block of hay to toll the mule out and waved a stick at Old Gray. Reluctantly, Old Gray allowed himself to be led back into Don’s cow lot. Glad to have settled that problem, Daddy secured his own gate and went about his business

Louie was not to be denied that easily. He scooped up a generous portion of Daddy’s hay and tossed it over the fence to Old Gray. The happy mule tore into it with enthusiasm. It had probably been a long time since he’d such a rich meal. Satisfied with his day’s work, Louie went home for his own supper.

The next day when Daddy went out to throw hay to his cows, he found Louie and Old Gray waiting for him. The scattered remains of yesterday’s hay lay about them on the ground. Daddy warned Louie not to let Old Gray in his pasture.

Louie waited patiently for Daddy to put out the hay before climbing over the fence. “Louie, don’t be climbing my fence. You’ll tear it up. What in the hell are you doing?”

Louie scooped up a few blocks of hay and tossed them over the fence to Old Gray. “Old Gray ain’t got no hay. You don’t care Old Gray have hay?”

Daddy knew he wasn’t going to win this round. “Oh hell no, man! That’s what I bought it for.”

Setting Louie Straight

Louie lived with his mother, an ancient crone.  It must have been a hard  life for both.  From outward appearances, they seemed very poor.  Their  decrepit home cried out for paint.  Windows needed screens. Old Lady Rick often hung in the crooked doorway shrieking at Louie.  “Louie, get me some taters out o’ the tater house!  Pour a bucket of water on them tomaters!” Louie generally plodded wordlessly to do Mama’s bidding. 

Mama had another son who lived across the street, Don Ricks, the proud father of Boogereater and Jamie, the suspected cigarette thief.  Don plowed and maintained Mama’s poor garden, except for what Louie could be pushed into doing.  The Rolling Store, a converted school bus pulled in next to her house weekly so Louie could fetch the scant  groceries on her list.

Following Boogereater’s gasoline sniffing episode, Daddy was extremely critical of Mother’s handling of the situation.  If Mother had been attending her children instead of trying to sneak a nap, Connie would never have slid off the bed.  Mother should have stood up to to Mrs. Rick and not left her children to take “that kid” to the doctor.  If she’d kept the screen locked like she was supposed to, Louie would never have gotten in to scare her. I guess if she hadn’t put gas in the car, Boogereater wouldn’t have sniffed it.  The bill from the doctor put the icing on the cake. The point of this was, Daddy knew how to handle things.

Thanksgiving was a’coming.  The rooster to have the place of honor at the festivities was shut in a coop fattening.  The accomodations were nothing special but the menu was excellent.  In his neighborhood ramblings, Louie apparently noted the incarcerated rooster, stirring a memory.  Mother noted Louie headed across our yard with the squawking rooster under his arm.  Mother rushed out to rescue her bird.  “Louie, bring back my rooster!  We are fattening him for Thanksgiving!

“I ‘mon eat him.  I ‘mon eat dis rooster.” He replied complacently as he headed home with his new rooster.”

“Louie!  Bring him back!  That’s my rooster!”. This wasn’t the first time Louie got the best of her. 

She was fuming when Daddy got home.  “Louie got my rooster! I saw him cutting across the  front yard with the rooster under his arm.  I hollered at him, but he wouldn’t bring him back!”

“Well, if you’re gonna deal with him, you’re gonna have to be smarter than he is!”This was a generous paraphrase of Daddy’s response.  He’s d never heard of political correctness.  “I’ll go get your damned rooster!”. He strode confidently across the dusty road.

He found Louie out back of the house shutting the rooster in a crate, “Louie, I came to get my rooster.  Don’t be going out on my place no more.”

Louie met the challenge, totally unperturbed.  “I ‘mon eat him.”

Tolerating no nonsense, Daddy glared at him. “I’m taking my rooster.”

“I’ll get me ‘nother one.” Replied Louie steadily, knowing right was on his side.

Bested, Daddy stomped back to his own yard.  Where’s my rooster?” Mother queried.

“Let’im keep the damned thing!” Daddy spouted.  “He ain’t got enough sense to talk to!”

Louie Gets Help Part 2

Boogereater’s mama scooped up her wormy-looking five-year-old and hefted herself into the front seat of Mother’s car. Though they were neighbors, the two women had never been friends. Mrs. Rick was a wild-haired harridan whose dirty children ran wild until long after dark and caused general turmoil in the neighborhood by leaving water-hoses running, gates open, and throwing rocks at cars. Boogerseater’s older brother had even been caught stealing cigarettes out of one house. Mrs. Rick’s attitude implied Mother had been negligent in allowing Boogereater access to her gas tank.

Furthermore, Mother was furious at having to leave her toddler out of pocket to take them to the doctor. The three miles to town seemed endless as Mother fretted over her misplaced baby. After a lifetime, they reached the doctor’s office. Mrs. Rick unloaded her floppy boy, rushing in. She didn’t even close the car door behind herself, leaving Mother to get out and close it, wasting even more time.

Naturally, Mother made a bee-line for home, very nearly speeding a time or two. A very timid driver, she never exceeded twenty-five miles per hour. Vacillating between fury and preparatory grief, she was held up by a train of sixty-seven cars about a quarter of a mile from home.

After a lifetime, she pulled into her driveway to be met by Louie and a bevy of neighborhood kids. The kids rushed up to the car, demanding to know “Is he dead? Is he dead?”

She had to work her way around Louie, who stood his ground. “Boy’s done dead.” He pronounced,making it clear he had the situation under control.

Once in the house, she found a frustrated Freddie May trying to pacify Connie who was bawling her eyes out for her mama. Sally was impatiently rocking the shrieking infant, Marilyn, who had been awakened during the melee. The women fled after informing Mother Connie had found sleeping on the floor where she’d wallowed her pillow off the side of the bed.

The story had a interesting ending. Boogerhead roused up about the time he got to the doctor, apparently no harm done. Daddy got a bill from the doctor about a week later. They didn’t pay it.

Louie, Louie!

Louie was an amazing stature of a man in stature though not in intellect. Sadly, he was developmentally about three-years-old and spoke in broken phrases at a very low level of understanding. Louie and his ancient mother lived in a battered old house not too far from us. I only saw his mother a few times as she hung on to the door frame shouting out terse commands at him. “Hush up that dog!” “Go git the mail and don’t drop none of it!” “Fetch me six taters out of the tater house.” She resembled nothing so much as a witch. The only visitors the old lady had were her son and his family who lived across the road. The two small boys played happily up and down the road, totally unconcerned with traffic. Neighbors voiced concerns the kids would be run over but the last I heard, thy’d outlived the neighbors who’d had to dodge then.

In that day, most kids were free-range, kicked outdoors to play first thing in the morning. Mothers locked the screen doors behind them, only letting kids in for bathroom privileges or lunch. They knew to refresh themselves at the garden hose to the mantra of “….and I’ll skin your hide if you leave that water running.” Sadly, my mother was conscientious and made us play in our own yard. It was a sad thing to look over our picket fence to see the other kids enjoying a life of total freedom. Most were only called in for supper.

When he was free from his mother’s demands, Louie roamed the neighborhood dressed in overalls and white Tee-shirt just poking around the neighborhood, going to the store with a note from his mother, or walking down the railroad track to town. It’s unlikely Louie had a friend.

Disconcertingly, Louie was known to open unlatched doors in the neighborhood. Should a neighbor neglect to latch her screen door, He was well-known to open the door, so she walk in and pick up a leftover biscuit or pancake left on the stove for kid’s snack. It must have been terrifying to turn and find a behemoth of a man standing silently behind you in your kitchen.

Louie’ mother was totally unconcerned. “He ain’t hurting nothing.“

The city marshall shared her opinion. “He ain’t never hurt nobody. Just lock your door.” Neighbors warned newcomers. The general opinion was,”If you don’t want Louie walkin’ up on you, lock your door.”