Every Boy Needs a Good Uncle.

 Some people and events you remember better than others.

When I was about twelve years old I was fascinated by my daddy's older brother.  He was  a little bit shorter than Daddy but a lot thinner. His name was Thomas Oliver or T.O. for short, and he was  a character. He was a veteran of what he called the Great War, WWI to the rest of us. "Boy," he says to me in his high nasal twang, "They sent us over there to beat the Hun! And we beat that ole sombitch"

I was having a little trouble keeping up with him as we walked tbrough the fresh wood shavings. They always put shavings on the ground at tbe county fair each year. I didn't know why. Daddy, Uncle Tom, and I were at the Lincoln County Fair. Mama was at home with my baby sister, and I had gotten to go to the fair with the menfolk.

Mama didn't have much use for Uncle Tom.  She said he was a no account skirt-chaser. I didn't know what she meant by skirt-chaser but I thought he was plenty account. He was a war hero; had practically whupped the whole German army by hisself. He would be called wiry, I reckon, at least that's what Andy called Barney, and he was about the same size as Uncle T. He walked fast. He always wore a hat and a necktie, and today was no different. It was a bright red necktie. Mama said he even wore it to plow his mule, but she didn't think he really plowed any.  She said she thought he hid the plow and mule and went skirt-chasin', whatever that meant.

"Were you a captain in the Army?" I asked.

"No, not none of me, Boy. Officers are lazy and stupid."

"Why you say that?"

"They's always standing around telling everybody what to do. Don't do anything themselves. Ain't good for nothing. The privates, corporals, and sergeants get the job done! "

We were walking toward a huge building that looked a lot like one of our barns on the farm.

"Where we goin', Uncle T?"

"Your Daddy said there was a toilet in that main building there, and I gotta go. When you get old like me you have to go a lot!"

We entered the building through these big doors big enough to drive a truck through.  There were fresh wood shavings all over the floor and a lot of displays and exhibits lined up in rows like grandma's onions. Bright electric lights hung from the overhead. We went walking down between the rows of displays. Boyd's Farm Equipment Supply  had some brand new Farmall tractors there and the local Chevrolet dealer had what Uncle T said was a sports car. The name on it was c-o-r-v-e-t-t-e.  It was kind of little. There was lots of other kinds of stuff too. The racing cars looked really fast to me. Down at one end of the building was a display booth painted red, white, and blue with a lot of crepe paper  streamers and flags. There were lots of people around in straw hats and a little band was playing music.  There was a big banner over the booth that said, "Alexander P. Nealy, General US Army Ret.  for Congress" You shoulda seen him.  He was big man in a fancy uniform with medals and decorations all over his coat. I had never seen anything like it.  But I knew he was some kinda war hero. We'd heard about him in school. I couldn't believe what we were doing. Uncle T, with me trailing along behind, were going right up to the general. I didn't know why.  Uncle T sure didn't like officers.

I caught up with my uncle about the time he stopped right in front of the general.  The man in the fancy uniform grabbed my uncle's hand and was telling him how he would appreciate his vote.  And Uncle T just said, "Which way is the toilet?"

The general pointed to the door in the corner and said, "It's right over there, Sir."

As me and Uncle T walked to the toilet I asked him, "Why did you ask the general where the toilet was? Daddy had already told us exactly where it was."

Uncle T stopped walking,  looked me straight in the eye, and with a slight grin on his grizzled old face said, "I just always wanted a general to call me, 'Sir'."



The car in the photo used to illustrate this post was driven by the legendary A. J. Foyt.