Smith's General Store was a gathering place for the local codgers to come by and loaf, chewing tobacco, rubbing their snuff, smoking cigars or pipes and gossiping or spinning their tales. Back in those days, smoking was acceptable. There was always a checker board resting on an empty nail keg, awaiting the next challengers to the two wooden benches and rocking chair next to the pot belly stove.
Let the Tales Begin
As the tales would start flowing, the tobacco juice would too. The pot belly stove was fueled with coal and we had a coal shed just off the side of our store, which was accessible from the inside. It was the responsibility of my brother and me, to keep the galvanized bucket full of coal and have it sitting in front of the stove.
The coal bucket also served as a spittoon. One wintery Saturday morning, the crowd was gathering and I had just placed a freshly filled coal bucket in front of the stove. A couple of men were playing checkers and two or three were sitting on the benches telling their stories.
Move The Bucket!
Clem, who had just put in a fresh chew of mail pouch, spit his first load of juice, missing the bucket and hitting the floor. Dad scooted the coal bucket a little closer to Clem with his foot. In a few minutes, Clem let loose with another load of spit, again missing the bucket and hitting the floor with a splat! Again, Dad moved the bucket closer, in hopes that Clem would get the message.
Speak Up and Say What's on Your Mind
Then a third time, Clem missed the bucket and hit the floor. By this time, Dad was getting a little hot under the collar and with a little more determination, he scooted the bucket close enough to almost touch Clem's feet. Clem let another load fly right over top of the bucket, landing with a splash on the floor.
Wiping the dribble from his chin Clem drew a breath and said, "Bob, if you don't move that danged bucket, I'm goin' a hav'ta spit in it!"
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