We went places and saw people that normal people never encountered.  I think he just need a “trash fix” from time to time.  He’d heard of somebody who lived back in the woods about four miles off Tobacco Road who had something he might be interested in buying.  He had to check it out, driving forever down muddy roads that looked like they might peter off into nothing.  Finally we got back to Mr. Tucker’s shack.  The old man was wearing unbuttoned overalls and nothing else. While Daddy and Mr. Tucker disappeared into the tangle of weeds and mess of old cars, car tires, trash, dead washing machines and other refuse behind the house, Mother and the kids sat in the car.  It was hot.  Daddy was gone.  It got hotter.  Daddy was still gone.  We opened the car doors, hoping to catch a breeze. It got hotter and hotter. The baby was squalling.  Mrs. Tucker, a big woman in overalls came out in the front yard and started a fire, never even looking our way, probably thinking our car was just another junk car in the yard.  As the sun blazed overhead, we begged Mother to ask Mrs. Tucker for a drink of water.  Somewhere in the wilderness, Daddy was still admiring Mr. Tucker’s junk collection.  He could talk for hours, unconcerned that his family was waiting in misery.  It didn’t matter that he didn’t know the people he had imposed himself on.  We spent many a miserable hour waiting in the car while he “talked,” usually on the way to visit some of his relatives.

Finally, in desperation, Mother got out of the car, introduced herself to Mrs. Tucker, and asked if we could have a drink of water.  Turning without speaking, she disappeared into the house, returning with some cloudy snuff glasses.  Calling us over to the well, she drew a bucket of water, and let us drink till we were satisfied. That was the best water I ever had.  Mrs. Tucker pulled a couple of chairs under a shade tree and Mother sat down.  We all sat down in the dirt in the cool of the shade and played.  Daddy was still gone but things looked a lot better after we cooled off and had a drink.  Mrs. Tucker was interesting to look at, but didn’t have a lot to say.  She had a couple of teeth missing, greasy red hair in a bowl cut, and long scratches down both arms.

Mother tried to converse, but Mrs. Tucker didn’t have a lot to say.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the missing teeth and long scratches down her arm.  I started talking to her.  She didn’t have any kids. It didn’t take long to figure out she “wasn’t right.” I was fascinated and wanted to ask about what happened to the teeth, but knew what that would get me, so I asked instead about her scratched arms.  Mother hushed me up but that topic inspired Mrs. Tucker. It seem, she was going to put a rooster in the big pot in the front yard to scald before plucking. He scratched her and escaped before she could get the lid on.  Apparently she didn’t know she was supposed to kill him first.  Just at the point where things were getting interesting, Daddy came back and I didn’t get to hear the rest of the story.

Mrs. Tucker sent us home with a turkey that day, teaching me a valuable lesson. Don’t ever accept the gift of a turkey.  Ol’ Tom was to be the guest of honor at our Thanksgiving Dinner.  Daddy put him in the chicken yard and Tom took over, whipping the roosters, terrorizing the hens, and jumping on any kid sent to feed poultry. We hated him.  Mother brandished a stick to threaten him when she had to visit to the chicken yard.  He even flew over the fence and chased us as we played in the back yard till Daddy clipped his wings.

Before too long, we saw the Nickerson kids, the meanest kids in the neighborhood, headed for the chicken yard.  Mother couldn’t wait to see Tom get them.  Sure enough, Ol’ Devil Tom jumped out from behind a shed on jumped on the biggest boy, Clarence.  Clarence yelped and ran at Ol’ Tom, his mean brothers close on his heels, flogging Ol’ Tom mercilessly.  Unlike us, they didn’t run out with their tails tucked between their legs.  They launched an all-out attack on Tom, beating him with their jackets, sticks, and whatever they could grab.  They chased him till they tired of the game.  Tom never chased any of us again, but Mother never got around to thanking the Nickersons.