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FAMILY NIGHT WITH DAD! Dad and Mom had eleven . Mom says she had twelve -- she always includes Phyllis our little sister who was stillborn in 1956. Moms are like that. The oldest of us spent our younger years in the back woods of Arkansas. (I am third from the top) My older brother being the Governor and my older sister being the Queen of the clan. We went to school in a two room school house. Four grades in each room. Taught by nuns.  It was a good thing. By the time you got to the fourth or the eighth grades you'd heard the material over and over and over. Laughing! There wasn't much here. An old church on top of the mountain. Dirt and gravel roads. An economy stimulated by wives who worked and men who liked to partake of the fermented grape. My Dad was a social fellow-- and kind of a business man too--although he never quite got a handle on success-- so mixing business with pleasure was just common sense. We lived in a dry county-- can you see where this is headed? . . .  One of Dad's specialties was beer. He used to make it and he would deliver it to his buddies in "Old Smokey" our pick up truck-- or if he was indisposed of-- at the time-- there were always plenty of to act as delivery boys. (Sometimes Dad-- being the CEO of the Alcohol Manufacturing Industry-- also carried with it the awesome responsibility of quality control-- which could lead to a day or two of nausea, headaches, throwing up,  and in general grumpiness!)Quality control can go wrong! and FAST! Beer bottling night was quite exciting around our house. The beer had been in crocks for a long time. At least it seemed long to me. The secret-- magic ingredients had fermented and Dad knew the right time for it to be bottled. Several of my younger brothers were in charge of pulling water out of the well and putting tubs on the stove. When the water was good and hot-- they'd pour it into large wash tubs. They were in charge of keeping bottles and empty cases-- close-- for another brother and I. I was in charge of washing the bottles and putting them into the rinse tub. (The bottles were already clean, but Mom said they had to be sterilized also.) The brother who was with me rinsed the bottles-- they were then transferred to my sister and Mom. Mom and sis filled them with beer and they went to another brother. This brother capped them. The cases were then hauled into the basement by my Dad and my oldest Brother. It was a great family night. Everyone was having fun-- the little ones were close by-- so we could keep an eye on them. Parents today-- could learn lot from my Dad about raising and spending quality time with them. One night a few nights after we had put our cases to rest. Mom and Dad weren't home-- we started hearing noises coming from the basement. It sounded like a shot going off. A gun shot.  A few minutes later another one-- and broken glass!  We gathered in the living room and sat and listened. Soon there was lots and lots of banging and breaking. The smell of brew was coming up the stairs thick! My oldest brother knew what it was immediately! The beer had gone terribly wrong. It was all exploding in the basement! Cases and cases of it!! OH my gosh!", some of us were screaming, "what are we going to do?" The Governor of our clan, was always calm-- that's why my oldest brother is still my hero-- and he said-- we were going to watch Gun Smoke. My memory is-- the noise went on all night. Into the next day. Seems Mom put the yeast in-- so did Dad! Yes sir! It all comes back to Quality Control! One thing I can say for sure. Mom wasted no time in getting the mess cleaned up when the "Battle of Beer Below" ended! In Mom's mind it’s not a sin to be poor-- but it was a sin to be dirty! She wasn't going to allow her family to live in a home smelling like that!!  AND what if the Priest happened by?!!You know-- Dad sure was a character-- and he wasn't a rich man--but Mom didn't care-- she just loved him exactly the way he was! LOL We all pitched in and shoveled out the basement--glass--beer--caps and all. . . Thinking back-- I belong to an exclusive group-- millions of people have road Space Mountain or gone to see Old Faithful-- but my DAD made sure our family did "special things" together. . What else can I say? You just gotta love a bootlegger.   __________________________________________________________________ ~The World According To SpunkyLady~ If love is blind then maybe a blind person that loves has a greater understanding of it Criss Jami |
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What an interesting childhood you had!!! Hugsssss!!!
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Neat story. My grandpa ran blind pigs during the depression and had his sons working for him. GBU, Gavin
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7/11/2013 10:01 am |
My grandmother had a similar experience with root beer. I hadn't remembered that incident for years. Thanks for bringing it to mind. Spiritwoman ^i^
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