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Leaky Radiators And Noisy Politicians

By Charles Cooper

    Hello everyone, hope you’re having a good week. It seems that we can’t get away from politics no matter how hard we try. The other night Lupe and I were attending a visitation of a friend from our church and a lawyer we know, also from church, approached  and tried to engage me in a political discussion. I found this  inappropriate and changed the subject as tactfully as possible.  
    Jim Peacock and I were talking recently and we agreed we were tired of this and particularly of politicians who say they identify with us common folks. Normally I never disagree with Abra-ham Lincoln’s remarks but this one I do. He said that “God must have loved common people because he made so many of them.”
    This may sound good but try to tell someone they’re common and see what that gets you. I told Jim that those politicians that identify with us never had to try to get up Palestine Hill in winter with a drizzling rain,   attaching  a strap-on chain to a wheel to get enough traction to get to to the top with it so cold the mud on your hands starts to freeze.  
    Many old cars back then had leaky radiators so using antifreeze wasn’t an option, even if you could afford it.   Therefore you drained the water out at night and refilled  it in the morning.      
    Mother had a 1929 Model A Ford, with a leaky radiator and when she worked in a war  job in Grenada during World War II, she would drain the radiator and when she got up at three in the morning, she  would heat a bucket of water on the coals in the fireplace, fill the radiator and drive to Water Valley to connect with her car pool.  
    She would hang a burlap sack in front of the radiator to keep the heat in and also direct as much heat through the firewall as there was no heater in the car. She would park the car in front of the Post Office and open the tap and set a bucket under the stream so she had water to start in the evening.
    Jim remarked that they were cutting timber for the handle mill and were afraid that the load would break a small bridge they had to cross. The solution, unload the logs, cross the bridge, reload the truck and drive home late in the night. Jim said he told his dad there had to be an easier way to make a living.  
    On my 14th birthday, Papa broke his hip in a fall from his horse while driving our herd of beef cattle. Nannie was already on crutches with rheumatoid arthritis and I broke my arm playing ball at Camp Ground. Papa believed in making any job as simple as possible, so he had a hook in his  wagon shed where he could walk the horse under and attach a loop to to the Saddle horn and walk the horse out  from under leaving the saddle hanging until you had to re-saddle the horse by reversing the process.
    A simple solution, but it was the only way I could saddle my horse with my left arm in a sling. Then I would walk him to a stump and vault into the saddle. After herding the scattered cows and feeding them I had to milk two cows, eat and do my homework by a kerosene lamp. It never occurred to me to complain, it was just something that had to be done.  
    So Jim and I both agree that when we hear some politician telling about how he relates to us, we paraphrase Jack Purl/aka Baron Munchausen on the old radio show when his foil  would question his outrageous lies.
    In his broken German accent he would ask, “Vas you dere, Charlie?”  Now as Forrest Gump would say, “That’s all I have to say about that.”          
    Although most of you may not identify with this, some of you in my age group probably have similar stories that you could share with us and they will be greatly appreciated.  
    My email address is or write me at P.O. Box 613189 and have a great week.

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