There is no disrespect meant to any particular people in this story, please keep in mind I was a young, dumb and stupid teenager at the time. This is a true story and I humbly admit I took advantage of another person’s lack of education, but sometimes the truth is just funnier than fiction.
One summer vacation when I was 17 years old I worked on a 2,000 acre cotton farm in the San Joaquin Valley, the foreman gave me and another lad about my age the job of cutting rows, for those of you that are not familiar with row irrigation, trenches are dug about 30’ long with 3” pipes placed for every other row, after one row had been watered we would have to cut through the bed and block the wet row diverting the water into the dry row. The fields were ¼ mile wide so there were a lot of rows to cut, one particularly hot day when we arrived at the company truck, a 2 ton 58 Chevy flat bed with a 327 motor, we climbed into the cab for some shade and a cool drink of water. After resting a few minutes the lad decided he needed to smoke a cigarette, pulling a wadded up pack of Camels from his pants pocket with the matches stuffed between the paper and the cellophane on the outside he found the matches soaked with sweat.
No problem, he reached over and pushed in the cigarette lighter and waited for it to pop out, nothing, he pull the cold plug out and held it to his broken cig, “turn the kay on,” he said as he reinserted the cigarette lighter back into it’s socket. We both stared at the lighter waiting for it to pop out, time passed, nothing, he was becoming irritated and a few expletives came from his mouth. He carefully placed the cigarette back in the pack, threw the pack on the seat and started looking under the dash, more expletives; “there ain’t no war to the ‘expletive’ thang.”
More expletives as he crawls back onto the seat, silence, then he grabs the pack of cigs, flings open the door yelling at me to start it up as he is opening the hood. This was getting good, I start the motor, put the trans in neutral set the brake and get out to see what this “lad” is doing. There he is standing on the bumper, cigarette in mouth, bent over touching the tip to the exhaust manifold, puffin’ away trying to light his cig. “Is it working? Did ya get a light?” I ask, no answer, finally he steps off of the bumper, bent cigarette in mouth, cussing, totally frustrated.
I must say I’m not proud of what I did next, I’ve asked and received forgiveness from the Lord, but I still laugh when I think about what, well…, jokingly just slipped out of my mouth.
“Hey, thar’s spark in them thar wars,” slipping into his jargon.
I don’t know, maybe it was the way I said it, but the light came on in his eyes, oh no, he wouldn’t, I was joking, ….yep, he would, climbed back up on the bumper and pulled the spark plug wire off of number one plug, bent over and put the cigarette in the end, puffing away, …nothing, lots more expletives.
Well, I was into to it this far I might as well go all the way, “There has to be metal close to the plug wire for the spark to jump,” again the light in the eyes. He bends over the radiator and tries to get close enough to the manifold to cause a spark, no way, but that doesn’t stop him, he steps down from the bumper and then jumps up and is laying on the fender, holding the plug wire in one hand and straining to hold the cigarette in his lips between the plug wire and the manifold, his body weight supported by his torso and trying to puff at the same time, …nothing!
He jumps down from the fender starts walking in circles, kicking dirt clods and cussing all at the same time, I’m thinking, this is funny, what is he gonna do next, …he is really desperate for a Camel.
All of a sudden he stops, looks at me and says, “When ya’ll see me wave my hand, tromp it!” (tromp it means accelerate the motor)
As I’m climbing back into the cab I’m thinking this is too good to be true, I’m behind the wheel watching for his hand and then, …there it is, I tromped it! …until the lifters started to float, …did I mention it was probably 110° degrees in the shade, he was soaking wet from sweat and the fender had long since lost it’s paint and was covered with rust?
Funny thing, after I tromped it his hand never stopped waving, in fact it speeded up, …until it disappeared from view.
I was getting worried I would blow up the engine so I let off the gas, when the noise of the motor quieted down, (oh yeah, that’s something else, this was a field truck, the mufflers had long since burned out and it was like straight exhaust) I heard this strange cursing and coughing, I’m hearing someone insulting my parents and all of my ancestors between coughing fits.
I climbed out of the cab and walked around to the front of the truck and there he was, on his back shaking and wiggling, cussing and coughing,
“Did you get a light?” I asked...,
“I swallered the ‘expletive’ cigarette!”
I know, bad huh?
One summer vacation when I was 17 years old I worked on a 2,000 acre cotton farm in the San Joaquin Valley, the foreman gave me and another lad about my age the job of cutting rows, for those of you that are not familiar with row irrigation, trenches are dug about 30’ long with 3” pipes placed for every other row, after one row had been watered we would have to cut through the bed and block the wet row diverting the water into the dry row. The fields were ¼ mile wide so there were a lot of rows to cut, one particularly hot day when we arrived at the company truck, a 2 ton 58 Chevy flat bed with a 327 motor, we climbed into the cab for some shade and a cool drink of water. After resting a few minutes the lad decided he needed to smoke a cigarette, pulling a wadded up pack of Camels from his pants pocket with the matches stuffed between the paper and the cellophane on the outside he found the matches soaked with sweat.
No problem, he reached over and pushed in the cigarette lighter and waited for it to pop out, nothing, he pull the cold plug out and held it to his broken cig, “turn the kay on,” he said as he reinserted the cigarette lighter back into it’s socket. We both stared at the lighter waiting for it to pop out, time passed, nothing, he was becoming irritated and a few expletives came from his mouth. He carefully placed the cigarette back in the pack, threw the pack on the seat and started looking under the dash, more expletives; “there ain’t no war to the ‘expletive’ thang.”
More expletives as he crawls back onto the seat, silence, then he grabs the pack of cigs, flings open the door yelling at me to start it up as he is opening the hood. This was getting good, I start the motor, put the trans in neutral set the brake and get out to see what this “lad” is doing. There he is standing on the bumper, cigarette in mouth, bent over touching the tip to the exhaust manifold, puffin’ away trying to light his cig. “Is it working? Did ya get a light?” I ask, no answer, finally he steps off of the bumper, bent cigarette in mouth, cussing, totally frustrated.
I must say I’m not proud of what I did next, I’ve asked and received forgiveness from the Lord, but I still laugh when I think about what, well…, jokingly just slipped out of my mouth.
“Hey, thar’s spark in them thar wars,” slipping into his jargon.
I don’t know, maybe it was the way I said it, but the light came on in his eyes, oh no, he wouldn’t, I was joking, ….yep, he would, climbed back up on the bumper and pulled the spark plug wire off of number one plug, bent over and put the cigarette in the end, puffing away, …nothing, lots more expletives.
Well, I was into to it this far I might as well go all the way, “There has to be metal close to the plug wire for the spark to jump,” again the light in the eyes. He bends over the radiator and tries to get close enough to the manifold to cause a spark, no way, but that doesn’t stop him, he steps down from the bumper and then jumps up and is laying on the fender, holding the plug wire in one hand and straining to hold the cigarette in his lips between the plug wire and the manifold, his body weight supported by his torso and trying to puff at the same time, …nothing!
He jumps down from the fender starts walking in circles, kicking dirt clods and cussing all at the same time, I’m thinking, this is funny, what is he gonna do next, …he is really desperate for a Camel.
All of a sudden he stops, looks at me and says, “When ya’ll see me wave my hand, tromp it!” (tromp it means accelerate the motor)
As I’m climbing back into the cab I’m thinking this is too good to be true, I’m behind the wheel watching for his hand and then, …there it is, I tromped it! …until the lifters started to float, …did I mention it was probably 110° degrees in the shade, he was soaking wet from sweat and the fender had long since lost it’s paint and was covered with rust?
Funny thing, after I tromped it his hand never stopped waving, in fact it speeded up, …until it disappeared from view.
I was getting worried I would blow up the engine so I let off the gas, when the noise of the motor quieted down, (oh yeah, that’s something else, this was a field truck, the mufflers had long since burned out and it was like straight exhaust) I heard this strange cursing and coughing, I’m hearing someone insulting my parents and all of my ancestors between coughing fits.
I climbed out of the cab and walked around to the front of the truck and there he was, on his back shaking and wiggling, cussing and coughing,
“Did you get a light?” I asked...,
“I swallered the ‘expletive’ cigarette!”
I know, bad huh?
