Travels With Becky

More on telephones

In 1980 “Kate” moved to Dunbarton from Cape Cod. She contacted Mr. Montgomery at the Dunbarton Phone Company about getting new phones for the house she’d bought.  This was when the phone company supplied the phones. (I remember those days.) “Well,” he said, “you’ve already got that black one in front room.” 

“Yes,” she said, “I’d also like a white one for the kitchen with a long extension cord and a gold one for the bedroom.”

“What’s wrong with black?” he said.  “It was good enough for Henry Ford.”

As for the long extension cord for the kitchen, what, he asked, would she want with one of those?

“So I can talk on the phone while I’m cooking on the stove?”

“Now, why,” he said, “would you want to do two things at the same time?”

 

Here's part of the chilly audience under the tent in Dunbarton, eating pie and swapping tales.

Keep it short

Returned to Dunbarton after a mere 14 years to talk to folks for the library. (I had been back in between to speak at the church and do a residency at the school, so they hadn’t completely forgotten me, nor I them.) 

They have a new gazebo beside the library so we held the program outdoors. It was a little chilly so folks bundled up. And the mosquitos were a bit thick, but luckily as dusk settled in the bats showed up to take care of them. 

The spread of pies was astonishing. Folks really enjoyed the pies and seemed to enjoy the stories. They told quite a few of their own, including several about the Dunbarton Phone Company. How many towns have their own phone company? Years ago, the limit on local calls was six minutes. So after six minutes, speakers knew to hang up and call back. If they didn’t hang up, they got cut off anyway. Evidently the telephone managers were sticklers.

One sly fellow said he’d call the exchange in Concord, complain that he couldn’t get through on a line, and they’d put him through from their end – then he could talk as long as he wanted since it was technically an out-of-town call.

Here's some of the crowd enjoying pie. Such an excellent selection of pies!        

 

That wandering ‘R’

Sometimes we get our tongues tangled around sounds, especially when the accent kicks in or out. I’m reminded of the wandering “r” that pops up at the end of words ending in “a” as in, in the “arear.” It’s overcompensating for our tendency to drop “r’s” in other words, like “fathah and mothah,” as in, “I love my fathah and mothah, but they are kind of crazy.”

 A woman was explaining to a nurse about the death of her mothah. “Yes,” she said, “it was hahd. But we made her as comfortable as we could. And, thank god, at the end we had horsepiss to help us out.”

Barking up the wrong tree

This falls under the category of dry Yankee humor. Parched, I’d say.

Judy lived in Marlow with her first husband and their dog, a border collie named Sugar Bear. The first husband insisted that the dog run free – this was the least of Judy and the first husband’s problems, but that’s another story. Judy and her first husband and Sugar Bear lived next door to a native and his three grown sons. 

One very foggy morning, Judy stepped out on the porch in pink curlers and a robe to call Sugar Bear. She couldn’t see a thing and was worried that the dog might be in the road.  “Sugar Bear,” she called. No Sugar Bear. Then louder. “Sugar Bear!” No dog. Finally, “SUGAR BEAR!”

“Comin’,” boomed a deep man’s voice from next door.

To this day, Judy doesn’t know which of those Yankees answered the call.

All praise nursing assistants

Met some amazing folks at LNA Day (that’s Licensed Nursing Assistants) on the State House lawn in Concord. It was a celebration of dedicated people working hard to help the sick and the elderly. Here’s Dan Estee and Elizabeth Thistle of Dover Rehab, and me in the middle. Elizabeth was among the nominees for special awards and Dan nominated her.

Gov. John Lynch gave some heartfelt opening remarks. He was delayed a few minutes by fourth-graders. All New Hampshire fourth-graders study state history and many of them visit the State House on field trips. He said when he asks fourth-graders who among them wants to be governor, they all raise their hands. When he asks seventh-graders, none do. The puzzlement is what happens to political enthusiasm and ambition between fourth and seventh grade. My guess: puberty. 

The State House grounds looked glorious. All dressed up for spring.

One award-winning LNA told me about the 102-year-old woman who chose “The Bridges of Madison County” as a book she’d like to have read to her, because she’d heard it was spicy. The LNA obliged. If you know the book, you know there’s some hanky panky that goes on between a traveling photographer and a married woman. After a reading session that included a particularly spicy passage, the LNA noticed that the woman had signed her name differently on a sign-out sheet. “What’s this?” the LNA said.  “It’s my maiden name,” the woman said.  “Hearing that story made me feel like a girl again.”

Congratulations to all the LNAs for the important work they do. 

Story's origin rediscovered

This warmed my heart.

A couple of weeks back I was in Grantham twice, once to speak for the library, then 10 days later to speak for the historical society. Both programs were held in the town hall. It was deja vu all over again. At the first program, a lovely woman named Joey Holmes bought a copy of my book, Could Have Been Worse. At the second program, Joey returned all excited. On page 3, she’d found her own story! A story she’d told me some years ago on a previous visit to Grantham. It’s a story I’ve told and retold so much, I’d lost its origins. A story about her husband, Alfred, who’d been road agent in Grantham. It’s a story with some age to it, since Alfred’s been gone now for 17 years. I think Joey was pretty tickled that his story lives on.

Here it is.

At Grantham Town Meeting, more than 17 years ago, a newcomer challenged the road agent’s budget, saying: “You overspent last year and I demand to know why.”
    
The road agent, Alfred Holmes, leaning into the wall at the back of the gymnasium and sighed. He took the long slow walk down the center aisle to the microphone at the front, all eyes upon him. Sighed again. Sniffed. Adjusted his trousers. Adjusted his suspenders. Adjusted the microphone. The newcomer repeated his request: “We all have to learn to live within our means; what caused you to exceed your budget last winter?”
    
Alfred said: “It snowed.”

Joey had just one correction. In my book, I ended the story with, “Alfred said, ‘Snow.’ ”  Actually, Joey told me, Alfred said, “It snowed.”  Any of you who own Could Have Been Worse, I’d appreciate it if you’d make that correction in your copy.

Dumpmaster's cutting remark

They were new in town, borrowed a truck to take, among other things, an old, rolled up carpet to the dump. The dumpmaster, called by this particular storyteller a “Dump Nazi,” came right over. “You cannot dump that here!”

“Why not?”

“It’s entirely too long. You cannot dump here. Not today.”

The rule, evidently, was no dumping of anything over four feet long. 

So they took the knife to the carpet, cut it into two four-foot-lenghts, then dumped it.

Problem solved. 

Gotta love Concord

Allan from Gilmanton wrote with this story, often told by his friend Alan (yup, two friends with the same name, different spellings). You gotta love the detail! I’m adding it to my collection of David Souter, folk hero, stories. Thanks Allan and Alan.

“There’s a barber shop in Concord, N.H. It’s up on Pleasant Street right across from the Federal Court House. You know, next to the pizza place. Well, I go in there about once a week to have a trim. It’s not one of those fancy unisex salons with comely women styling your hair, it’s a barber shop. Two chairs, two barbers who are men. There are wooden chairs along the back wall beneath a large plate glass mirror. Lots of sports and hunting magazines on the table next to the chairs. Well, I’ve just sat down in chair No. 2 and Dave, the barber, is fixing that paper around my neck and draping me with a cloth when (U.S. Supreme Court) Justice Souter walks in. His New Hampshire office is in the Federal Court House, and he is a regular at the shop. No one else is there at the moment and he gets into chair No. 1, and Mike starts in on him. Small talk ensues as our barbers begin to snip away. 

Two other fellows come in and take seats to await their turns. Picture this. Both barber chairs are facing the large window that looks out onto Pleasant Street. Everyone in the shop, all six of us, are looking across the street at the Court House just as a lovely young woman on roller skates comes into view. She’s dressed in pink short shorts and a purple bikini top. The skates are bright metalic blue like a race car. She is also wearing lots of bracelets on one arm. A vivid tatoo of a spider crawls up her left leg. She is skating fast and disappears down the sidewalk in an instant.

We all have seen, but no one says anything at first. Then from one of the chairs at the back of the shop one of the fellows waiting to be ‘next’ says 'Ayah, that’s Concord for ya.' ”

All you needed to know about Hennikeboro

John Colburn sent me a link to a quietly hilarious YouTube piece on the origins of Hennikerboro. It’s called The Story of Hennikerboro. It about sums up small town life – and says a little something about marriage. Take a look-see here. 

Mary Ann Haagen, Shaker dancer and historian from up Enfield way, wrote that in doing research for an exhibit she came across two epitaphs in the Granite State Free Press, Nov. 10, 1876, that she thought I might enjoy. Nothing like a good epitaph to brighten my day. Thanks, Mary Ann. Here they are:

Here lies the last of old Bod Wood
Who lived and died as well as he could.

And, 

Beneath this stone, a lump of clay lies Arabella Young
Who on the 24th of May, began to hold her tongue.

I think I’ll get to work on my own epitaph.  It’s easy to write long – hard to write short.  A good epitaph takes work. One I heard but can’t remember in its entirety, about a dentist. Something like.  Here lies Dr. Young, he’s filling his last cavity.

Know any good epitaphs?  I’d love to  hear them.  Click “comment” below or e-mail me at [email protected].

Smart Samaritan

It was my pleasure to meet Walter Walker, Yankee character and raconteur, in Sunapee. He told a story about his father, Perley Walker. Seems Perley was driving his hoss and buggy to Newport when he spotted a man sitting by the side of the road. 

The man panted, “Quick, get a doctor. My heart has stopped!”

“If that’s the case,” Perley said, “you don’t need a doctor, you need hearse.”