Food & Fight at GOB

Good Old Boys will be Boys from time to time. I think when we get together the youth in us come to the surface because we remind each other of when we knew each other as teenagers.

So, who can blame us for reverting back to our childhood and doing what boys do; like getting into fights?

Mostly, I think, we act like the gentlemen we are, but from time to time when someone gets too much in our face we might want to knock the aggressor silly, just like old times.

Last night we had a minor flare up. One Good Old Boy jumped in another Good old Boy’s face and heated words were exchanged. It just is not wise to get into someone’s face. You are in their aura, or personal space. It is just not a good idea. Someone might get hurt. Strangely, I don't think the jumper meant any harm, he was just being funny, trying to carry out a line in the movie TAXI: "You talking to me?" Which he has said many times before. The jumpee jumped back.

For a few moments I didn’t know if I should act like the adult and try to calm down both parties before they hurt each other or revert back to my youth too and push and shove one into the other or start clapping my hands saying, “Fight! Fight!”

Fortunately they wisely made up. One apologized and offered his hand and the other accepted his hand and apology. Good for both of them!
It takes balls to shake hands instead of fighting. I hate to see old gray headed farts over age 65 physically fight.

Not to mention I would appear totally cold if I yanked out my camera to record it all.

Of over 69 years of living I found out not to get in someone's face because you don't know what kind of day he/she has had and you might be the final straw. And also you might not like the smell of his breath.

Monty had an great interesting meal. He had corn dogs: dogs on a stick with a very tasteful batter that complemented the wieners and that was just the first course. The second course was meat pot pies, chicken and beef. He got the pies from Paul at Traveler’s Fare on Mill Street in downtown Marietta.

Click here for Paul's Traveler's Fare Website.

Then thirdly, we had homemade ice cream. The ice cream was delicious and soft too. I heard somebody croak: “This is giving me a headache – I ate it too fast!”

All we needed to top things off was a good fight.

Old Friendships Renewed - Its a Small World

I been expecting the HP computer I ordered to arrive for several days now.

Yesterday it arrived. It was delivered by a delivery company. I heard the doorbell ring and Willow let out her customary one bark and I knew it had to be somebody delivering the computer. As I rushed through the living room in the front window I saw the delivery truck in the street by my driveway.

The driver, a tall man, handed me an electronic gizmo and asked me to sign it. Which I did. He was standing by the big box he was delivering.

He looked at the signature and asked me what my name was. No body can read my signature. I said "Edwin Hunter".

He then said, "What's my name?"

That question confused me and for the first time I focused on his face. It was an ex-postal co-worker of mine Bill! Bill had gained some weight in his face, but he had the same mischievous smile, but now that mischievous smile had whitened teeth.

We had a brief reunion and gave each other the latest news about one another and our kin.

Bill quit the post office a few years before I retired. He had started a profitable business earning more than his postal job. He had bought some land in the north Georgia mountains, and was buying trailers, putting decks on the trailers and selling them on lots. He convinced a bank to back financially. The last I heard he was doing really well.

Bill always went chasing bucks in an aggressive manner. One time he had a part time job as a repo man. He had some wild tales to tell about repossessing cars. He is big and fearless and ballsy.

I would almost bet he was a bully in grammar school.

This past year we spent a week up in the mountains at a cabin with a great view and I wondered then if he was still up in the same area wheeling and dealing... and was "this one of his cabins?"

I asked him what happened to his land development and trailer/cabin deal. He said, he like many other speculating land investors went broke. It was that simple.

The economy hurt many people. And I think the speculators got hurt the worse.

One time Bill, Chuck, a co-worker, and I almost got into a fight with some rednecks at a bar, but that is a different episode of my life.

Bill seemed his old positive and daring self, once I started talking to him. I think one day he will have another business venture, which will be another adventure. He will not let the grass grow under his feet for long.

Eddie vs Eddie

I had another memorable fight that I would like to tell you about now. I say “now” because I want to tell you about it while my previous story about my fight is fresh on your mind. You might not get the two confused.

In my mind, this conflict stands out because it almost ended my life… you know, snuffed out? Never more?

The time period was several years before the fight with Ichabod Crane took place. I was probably 11 or 12 years old. I lived on Manget Street in Marietta. The part of Manget that bordered Larry Bell Park on the west side. My friends I hung out with lived mostly on Glover Street which mostly bordered the south side of Larry Bell Park.

I basically hung out with Gene S. and Tony H.. Tony was a couple of months older than I am and Gene, about a year younger. There were other kids about our age that would materialize every so often and hang out with us but then go. They came and went.

One kid that came and went was Eddie N. He was friendly and all, and we enjoyed his company and all. Eddie N. and his older sister lived in either Douglasville or Newnan, I forgot which, it has been so long ago. I think they lived in a broken home. But at months at a time they would visit their grandparents who lived on Glover Street that would be behind the Marietta Journal building if it was still standing.

There were several boys that were at least 16 that lived in the neighborhood. I know they were over 16 because they quit school already. Also, some of them drove old junky cars. They smoked, they cursed, they had a wise-crack for everything. Gad, how I envied them.

One day, they as a bunch, were hanging out in the yard at the corner of Manget and Glover Streets. We thought they were interesting and got closer and not long we were joining in with our 2¢ worth of conservation. Then they got the idea they would like to see Eddie and I get into a fight.

They circled around us and pushed me back in the circle when I tried to get out. They were telling Eddie lies about what terrible things I said about him. They were pushing up against each other. They kept telling Eddie more lies about what I said about him. Ed was becoming enraged.

Their favorite wisecrack that day was, “Eddie hit Eddie!” They were regular Bob Hopes.

Then, Eddie lunged at me swinging. When Eddie got nervous he put his mouth on the back of his hand. He always had wet slobber on the back of one hand. When he came at me swinging he was swinging with one hand. The other hand was in his mouth. I think it was a comfort thing.

I dodged his swings and kept out of his reach, I knew he was strong. One time he got a hold of my shirt and ripped it. It took two hands to pull me to him and when I got close enough I popped him in the nose. Blood spurted. I later found out I broke his nose.

He never hit me. When I saw my first opening I darted through my so-called friends and ran home.

Later Eddie’s sister came looking for me. She wanted to have me arrested for assault and battery. My so-called friends said they had no idea who she was talking about; they didn’t see any one get into a fight.

Not that they were protecting me so much, they were brought up to not to be stool pigeons.

They were fine pillars of the community weren’t they?

For several weeks I avoid getting close to Eddie. But, one day he came over to Gene’s house when I was there and we were back friends again.

Then one day we were up in the loft of Eddie’s grandfather’s barn. Either Tony or Gene brought up the fight Eddie and I had. I think he brought it up thinking no harm would happen and we would have a big laugh over it, but in a split second Eddie leaped on top of me and was coking me.

Eddie was strong. He was extremely strong. His strong hands squeezed my throat made me feel like the life was being squeezed out of me, which it was about to be just that. I could not breathe. I felt something changing in my head.

I suppose I squirmed some and we both moved a few inches. What I didn’t know, was the floor we were on was not nailed down. It was a wide sheet of particle board or plywood paced over the rafters.

We wiggled ourselves to the edge and the big board and the board politely tilted like a seesaw and we slid to the floor of the barn. As soon as I hit the dirt floor I sprinted off like a rabbit and ran all the way home.

I stayed away from Eddie for over a year.

Then Tony’s mother said she was taking all us kids to see Eddie in Douglasville (or Newnan). I didn’t think about my near death experience with Eddie. I guess time heals.

Or, I mean to say, I didn’t think about my tumble with Eddie until we were half-way there; out of sight, out of mind. Then I started dreading our visit.

Eddie lived on a farm that had rows of long chicken houses. We got the tour of the chicken houses and the room the eggs are brought to, cleaned, and sorted.

Eddie was nice. I was hoping he forgot our scrap or forgiven me one. Just the same, I prefer to keep on the side of wide opened space, like a pasture to run if I had to.

We went walking around across the pasture to look at the different cows. We came upon a pond that apparently the cattle drunk water from. I imagined Eddie suddenly grabbing me and throwing me in the water and landing on me and holding me down.

Then, Tony’s mother blew her car horn. It was time to come back to the house. The blaring of the horn was a noise of happiness.

We left and that was the last time I saw Eddie N.

Movies Making Nicknames

Recently two people told me how they heard I got the nickname “Rock”. They both told the same story; therefore, it must be true.

They said I was visiting a friend and the friend’s mother, not knowing me, and wanting to know who her child was associating with, asked my name. And I said, “Rock” and the name adhered to me. That is wrong. Wrong! (Both times)

I was there, I know. My story is more dramatic and more like an epic. What really happened was that in 1956 a new kid came into our English class. I remember the classroom. It was in the 2nd level of the Winn Street with windows on the Winn Street side. I remember Warren Gordon was in the first seat of my row, then me. I bet that is because we were arranged alphabetically order.

The new kid was tall and lanky. His last name was Crane. Sometime during his first day in that class I jokingly called him Ichabod Crane. He favored the teacher in the Disney movie of the HEADLESS HORSEMAN.

It made him mad. He was infuriated! He glared at me. Opps. I realized he had a score to settle with me.

At lunch time up on the baseball field, near the tennis court, he came directly at me, frowning. He shoved me and in so many words asked me what gave me the right to give him a name. He was right. He was also bigger than me. I apologized.

An apology wasn’t good enough. He wanted a piece of my ass. He shoved me again.

Again, I apologized and I think, if it was not from outside interference of some blood thirsty friends, who would love to see a good fight, started shouting and telling each of us to hit the other one, and even went as far as trying to shove each other into opposing force.

Ichabod Crane obliged them. He jumped at me with his fists swinging like windmill blades. No style, no grace. The poor guy didn’t realize he had no guard up for defense. He thought he just needed two deadly weapons.

I popped him in his unguarded nose. Blood went everywhere.

This enraged him even more. He came at me wilder using the same windmill tactic. Again I popped him in the face, this time his lip.

Finally, somebody hollowed, “Teacher!” and cigarettes were stepped on we automatically quit fighting as if nothing happened, except one of us had a bloody nose and a ripped lip.

I think probably the reason Crane had a chip on his shoulder is because he was (1) strung out because he had to start all over and (2) he wanted to make a “rough-guy” statement to show he was no one to mess with. And I was a good target. Not only was I a wise-cracker but I probably was also the smallest guy in class.

I’m not sure getting his nose bloodied by the smallest guy in class was exactly the statement he had in mind.

It just so happened the week before at The Strand Theater I saw the movie SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME starring Paul Newman and Sal Mineo. It was the success story of boxer Rocky Graziano. I took notes: looking for an opening and keep up a guard.

And that same week as the fight at The Strand was the movie WILL SUCCESS SPOIL ROCK HUNTER? Starring Jayne Mansfield and Tony Randall. With the name of the movie; the fact the previous money was about a professional boxer named Rocky; and my surname is Hunter, after our fight, somebody (I think it was Neal Lawrence) said, WILL SUCCESS SPOIL ROCK HUNTER?





Someplace, wherever Crane may be, he may just finishing up his blog post saying, “and that is how I got the nickname Ichabod.”

And someplace else, a 34 year old son of mine reading this might be saying, “That is why my name is Rockwell Tyson Hunter?”

Well, it could be Edwin Tyson Hunter, III.

Two Reunions Are Just Around the Corner

There are two reunions just around the corner. Around the corner is mid April. First is our Marietta High School 1960 Class Reunion and the following week is the Varner’s Reunion.

I have never been to a high school reunion. After I went out into the world and got my degree in Hard Knocks I changed. I did not change over night. I gradually changed..

Most people in high school probably remember me as a wild untamed idiot that picked his nose and wiped his boogers onto his shirt sleeve. I don’t do that anymore. I am more reserved and refined. Now, I grab someone else’s shirt sleeve to wipe my mucus on.

In high school I was wild. Then after high school I became more reserved. I was afraid someone at a class reunion would call me aside and ask me just which one was the phony – the teenager Rock or the reserved bald-headed Rock? We are both phonies!

Through the years I have kept in contact with some close friends and other close friends and I went our separate ways. One such friend I kept in contact with was the late Larry Holcomb. Larry and I several times said we wanted to go to the Bell Reunion and never did. After Larry died I went.

One time on the Square I ran into Orville Carruth. He made the Bell Reunion sound fun. Then Orville died. And I went to the reunion.

I was amazed at how the people had aged. I was amazed at some on how old they looked and others how young they look.

I ran into one old close friend that we haven’t had contact in over 40 or years. A couple of times at the Glover Park Concerts we were within five feet of each other. As it turned out he just didn’t recognize me at the concerts. We spent many hours gallivanting in our high school years and the first couple years afterwards. Then we moved on. Now, we are old friends again.

That Bell Reunion was in 2006, always the last week of September. I dreaded running into one certain person I that I knew attended these reunions. I haven’t seen him in about 60 years. At Larry Bell Park swimming pool he picked on me all the time. He was a bully. He would always shove me, trip me, or say something hateful and I humbly ignored him. During that same time I ran around with a guy named Frankie Hunter (no relation). Frankie and I got in several scuffles and I always whipped his ass.

One time at the pool the bully pushed Frankie. Then he pushed him again. Frankie lost his temper and dared the bully to go outside the pool fence, when the bully did. There Frankie whipped the bully’s ass.

Then I thought, if I can whip Frankie and Frankie can whip the bully. I am I taking so much shit off the bully?

The next day at the pool I was ready. I walked in front of him, within reach in case he wanted to shove me. He ignored me. I walked in front of him again. He looked at something to his side. I walked up to and balled my fists and stood in front of him. He got up and left.

Now, I was hesitant to run into the Bully again. I saw him getting something out of a car. And went up to him and told him our prior relationship and he said he didn’t remember me. He was very kind and easy going. I told him I thought we might have another run-in. He said, “Oh No! Lets don’t do that!” I unclenched my fists.

I love to see old friends. I am near 70 and so are my friends. This might be the last chance I will see get to see some of them, or all of them, if I’m the next one to float away.

Teenage Crooks

Yesterday in our neighboring county Paulding the news reported two teenage boys have been expertly stealing merchandise for quiet a while now and has not sold any of it, they just hoarded it.

I think they were talking about an abandoned house they were keeping the stuff in. In the house was room after room of valuable merchandise that they somehow stole. One closet has about a dozen blowers neatly stacked in it and what struck me as being bizarre was a dining room table they stole, they had china, silver, and placemats down, just like it was in the showroom before they took it.

It also reminded me of my high school days. I was in school with two boys, DW and CB, who were very different from each other.

DW was a year a or two older, blond to a point his hair was almost white, and maybe shorter than average and he always seemed serious, and yet he had street smarts, he got in several hard blows fist fights through his high school career. I remember one Sunday after the end of a movie at the Strand Theater everybody were quickly marching over to the parking lot behind Dupre’s Store and beside the railway tracks. DW and somebody I don’t remember had a prearranged fight – one pissed off the other one at the Stand Theater, so it was payback time. They fought and fought, and kept on fighting. They both became very bloody with torn clothes. I don’t know who got in the most licks. I recall seeing DW in some more fights also. I don’t think he was a coward by any stretch.

CB on the other hand was very bright, but liked to act goofy, and tall. He did an excellent imitation of Red Skelton’s character Clem Kadiddlehopper. He worked park time at a historical park near Marietta and knew a lot about the historical events in sequence that happened at this park. I remember one time as a teenager I was hitchhiking on Roswell Street and he picked me up. He was driving and his mother was in the passenger seat. He had his learner’s license. To listen to CB and his mother was like listening to two professors, trying to impress each other with trivia facts they each knew.

DW traveled solo on a motor scooter here and there.

DW and CB had a two man thieving organization. They were experts in the stealing of merchandise business. You could go to a store in clothing store in downtown Marietta – there were not too many away from downtown back then – say pick out a nice suede jacket you wanted, come back and tell DW and/or DB what rack you found it on, the color, size, what the price tag said, and any other thing to help identify it and then all you had to do was be patient and you would receive that same suede jacket at a very cheap price. If it had a price of $45 they would probably take between ten and fifteen dollars.

That was the rumor or reputation that followed them. I honestly don’t know if it was true. Just by knowing each of them at a nodding distance, I suspect it was true.

About ten years after high school I went into a convenience store near Grant Park on Boulevard in Atlanta and saw DW working there. He told me he was the assistant manager. I would think he had a very interesting career in one way or another. I bet if you did research to follow his name you would start thinking his initials were A.K.A.

I saw on the news less than 20 years ago that CB was running for public office in either Dekalb County or its county seat Decatur. He lost.

Then, about ten years later CB was in the paper again, this time on the obituary page.

Let Bygones Be Bygones

I mentioned in a previous blog the mentally challenged Eddie, grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, who came to visit his grandparents and how once I blooded his nose and once he almost choked me to death.

I am not through talking about Eddie. The still came around and eventually we were friends again… in a way – I kept my physical distance.

Once, whoever Eddie lived with in Newnan invited us boys down to visit him. A neighbor’s mother carried us.

Eddie lived on a big farm. He showed us long chicken houses that chickens were lined up in their little nests squawking and laying eggs “for the man”. Eddie also showed us a big Christmas tree shape and size metal thing that sorted eggs into different sizes. That may have been one of the frontrunners of computers.

Also, down a sloped pasture at the bottom of the slope was a muddy pond. There were maybe 6 or 7 cows hanging out and mooing.

I didn’t know if Eddie remembered our bloody-nose incident or the job he started but didn’t finish. I knew one thing. I wasn’t going near that pond with him there.

I don’t know whatever happened to Eddie. He was strong as an ox and about half as smart.

I hope he is still alive and is happy and has forgotten all about me.

Another Tale of Terror from Nichols’ Barn

Old Mr. and Mrs. Nichols had a grandson named Eddie that lived in Newnan, Georgia. Eddie was about a year older than me and twice as strong – strong as an ox. He was also mentally challenged. He often sucked or slobbered on the back of one of his hands.

Eddie and his older sister came to visit their grandparents voften and even had permanent bedrooms in the big house.

On one of their visits I was trailing along after the local rough bunch. They were a couple years older than I was. This local rough bunch mostly cursed a lot, smoked, resented authority, and they all were always constantly wise-cracking. My wannabes.

The boys were pretty useless but mostly harmless. I remember one of them was named Jack. In school one time he sat behind me for a while and kept me giggling over his wise-cracks. It never occurred to me he was in my class because he already failed two grades. He quit as soon as he legally could, at age 16 – so did the rest of this bunch.

One evening before dark I was hanging around with them in the yard of the Rich (that was their name) family on the corner of Manget and Glover Streets. Somehow the mental challenged Eddie wandered by. They called him over.

They asked him questions and he gave them the only answers his mind could draw up which kept them laughing. In other words, they were making fun of him.

I don’t remember how it started, but for kicks they thought it would be neat to see the two Eddie’s fight. They kept telling Eddie I was saying bad things about him. Then they pushed us into each other and Eddie begin swinging his fist at me.

I say ‘fist’ because the other fist was in his mouth. It is hard to swing and guard with one fist. He missed me with his wild fist and I socked him in nose. Blood went everywhere.

Eddie ran to his grandparents house crying.

Later that evening Eddie’s sister came up to the group of boys and wanted to know who broke her brother’s nose – she was going to have me arrested. When she found it was me, the son of the Chief of Police, she changed her mind (I heard this later from Jack).

Months later, Eddie was visiting again and apparently didn’t remember or had no ill-fillings about our fight. We went up in the loft of his grandfather’s old barn and were looking around.

The loft had rafters. The flooring of the loft was not nailed down, just boards and sheets of plywood were held to the rafters by balance and gravity.

I don’t remember what was stored in the old loft… old farm tools and things no longer needed.

One of my so-called friends reminded Eddie of me breaking his nose. He pounced on me and started choking me. He hands were like a vice on my neck. I was pretty sure I was going to die in the next minute or so… I could not breath and could not even holler out.

What we didn’t realize when Eddie leaped on me we rolled to and end of a long plank balanced only by the rafters. After our movements the plank lost what hold it had on the rafters and tilted like a see-saw and emptied us like a dump truck onto the ground floor of the barn. We fell five or six feed but I was lucky enough to land on my feet and I ran home like a scared rabbit.

On the other hand, I heard the fall knocked the breath out of Eddie.

I do not remember what happened to the plank that slid me to safety. I suppose if fell a fraction of a second after we did. I only remember two things: (1) my life has been spared and (2) I was out of there!

Someday somebody will probably remind Eddie (if he is still living) that I threw him out of the loft and reminded him how bad it hurt. And he will come looking for me.

Just like old times.

Eddie vs Eddie

When I was not yet a teenager I was attracted to a group of rough kids in our neighborhood that were already teenagers. They cursed, they told dirty jokes, they were witty, they smoked, they resented authority – they were my mentors.

My parents were not too happy with this group I was chasing after. After all, my father was Chief of the Marietta Police and had a pretty good hunch about these boys, knowing that nothing good would become of it.

Enter another Eddie. This Eddie was a couple years older than I. He was from the town of Newnan, west of Atlanta. Eddie was mentally challenged (not this Eddie – that I know of).

Eddie and his sister a couple years older would come up each summer and spend weeks at a time visiting their grandparents. In Newnan, they lived on an egg farm, but I don’t think they lived with their parents.

Eddie had a habit of sucking on the back of his hand. He would walk around with one hand up to his mouth and he was either sucking on or slobbering on the back of his hand. He seemed to do it more when in stress.

The ruffian teenagers were hanging around the corner, and I gravitated to them. Eddie was also there. They seem to be making fun of Eddie, and he didn’t realize it. He thought he was impressing them, but they were smirking at him. I felt for Eddie.

Somehow I said something in Eddie’s defense and the next thing I knew they teenagers were telling Eddie I was saying bad things about him behind his back. He was getting mad at me and I kept trying to tell him it was them, not me. Either he was pushed into me or I was pushed into him, I don’t remember, but the fight started.

He came at me swinging one arm like a windmill. His other arm was helping hold his hand up to his mouth so he could suck on it. His face was not guarded, so, I hit him in the face as hard as I could.

He ran home crying with blood splattered all over his face.

If you read my blog entries this might remind you of another fight I had in high school, with a tall kid name Crane but they are two separate incidents – it is just that the people who at different times chose to fight me didn’t know how to fight.

Fighting was simple, you just keep your face and whatever else from being hit, and you hit your opponent in a vital place to make him hurt.

So, Eddie ran home crying with blood spurting from his nose. I ran home too. I stayed away from them from them for a few days. Which was a good thing. Eddie’s sister came looking for me. She wanted justice. Eddie was taken to the hospital. He had a broken nose. His sister was trying to find out who hit him in the nose – she was confused, because he kept saying Eddie hit him in the nose, she was wondering if Eddie got confused and thought he hit himself in the nose. Eddie hit Eddie in the nose. She was trying to find out so she could have that person arrested for assault. As far as I know she never found out. If I knew she was looking for the guilty party I would have told her how it happened. But I was lying low.

Then fast forward 5 or 6 weeks. A bunch of us boys were playing in Eddie’s grandfather’s barn behind his house. Eddie saw us climbing all over the rafters and things in the barn and came out. I kept my distance for a while, but it appeared he forgot about our little incident.

We were up in the loft looking in old boxes and opening old squeaky doors, and things like that when one of the boys reminded Eddie just who punched him in the nose.

Eddie jumped on me. He was very strong. I didn’t realize of his brute strength. We fell on what appeared to the loft’s floor and he got on top of me and started choking me. I couldn’t holler, I couldn’t breath. I was about to meet my maker.

Of course, at the moment I didn’t think of it, but it would have been nice if Eddie would have thought that was one of the tense situations that he should be sucking the back of his hand. But he didn’t.

One of the boys realized he was just about to kill me and jumped on his back to pull him off, when he did, some how the floor we were on tilted and fell. We fell to the dirt floor of the barn.

I think the section in the center of the loft we were on was not a floor at all. It was just a sheet of plywood stored over some rafters. When they knocked Eddie off me, and I crawled backwards to get away from his grasp all the weight of the plywood was on one end, beyond the last rafter it was on, and the plywood shifted and pointed downward , turning itself into a slide.

Whatever. When we hit the ground I jumped up and sprinted out into the woods and circled around back to my house.

I don't remember if I felt or said, "Whew!" or not, but if I didn't I should have.

That was the last time I had any contact with Eddie. I kept my distance.

And I looked for some new mentors.