Observations and Ramblings from a Cranky Old Guy

Observations and Ramblings – a Column by Jeff Spaulding.

Freshman Year at an Ohio college.  Thanksgiving Break got me on a train headed East, to Schenectady. Great time had. Family, friends, got hammered, got laid, still all a haze.

The ride back, major snowstorm, no trains, Thruway closed. Only option a plane, but at 18 I had never flown.

We found one leaving Albany stopping in Philly, then Cleveland where my roommate would drive me back.

But the weather got so bad the plane in Philly was grounded until morning,

I was 18, broke, hungry, horny and ALL phones were down.

Then, a kindly older woman, an airport bar regular, “took pity on me” and provided my every need for the moment.

The next day I caught the plane to Cleveland, but my roommate assumed I caught another ride and was nowhere in sight.

The kindly old bar rag offered me what she called a …gratuity… (I must have been a very good boy), and I had money for a bus from Cleveland to Ashland.

It didn’t stop in Ashland, rather the next town over, Mansfield. The bus station surrounded three bars, two massage parlors, and a half dozen whores, and me down to my last dime.

Logic took over and I shoved that coin directly into the best slot available…the phone.

My roommate drove us back to school, and all was well.

Sophomore Year was different. November required me to stay on campus during break, that brought me under the graces of the two I call Trickie Dickie and Townie Boy.

Trickie Dickie’s family lived on a huge farm on the Eastern side of the state, Townie Boy, as the name implies, was a local, or as we called them, Townies, who as a rule didn’t like College Punks. College Punks felt the same about Townies. But EVERYONE loved Trickie Dickie, especially the ladies, college ladies and townie ladies, and if he ever visited the Mansfield Reformatory, they would make him the permanent Conjugal Visit subject.

(This next part IS true but due to burnt out brain cells various visits may clunk together. No difference, a fun time was held by all, so we’ve been told.

One Day Trickie Dickey, Townie Boy and I went to THE TRICKEY DICKIE FARM for Thanksgiving weekend.

The words that convinced us were “There’s a bar in town, the beer is cheap just like the women, and we can win free drinks by beating these yoekuls in games of chance.

Away we go, a TREMENDOUS weekend. Everything at Thanksgiving was made on the farm, including I believe Trickie Dickie!

On a personal sad note, the family was close enough to be able to only watch Pittsburgh Steelers games, so I simply drank more alcohol.

After dinner, Trickie Dickie says “Let’s go to the Gin Mill.

We’re hammered beyond belief, get in the truck (could have been a tractor), and little did we know but in parts of Ohio, there are no things called roads, paved or otherwise. in fact, one can go REAL fast driving over corn fields if you knew where you were going. We didn’t. At the start of the trip Trickie Dickie was sober enough to drive but by the end he passed out! God only knows how Townie Boy and I made it back to the farm, fortunately no kernels were harmed that day.

A final note of caution to all city slickers reading this. If you EVER spend a night on a farm with a crazy drunken man and not knowing where to go should said drunken man pass out…you ain’t heard nothing yet….and it falls to these dimple words….” Morning Chores.

Farm People get up before the usual last call for alcohol, and then go right to doing real hard work. As a reward for the free food, the lodging, and company etc., we felt obligated to do our part, but we didn’t know how BAD that part would be.

We were taken into the barn, but we knew it was the barn before we entered due to the smell.

Trickie Dickie gave us each a choice, one can climb into the Silo and with a pitchfork throw the brown, wet, pissed on alcohol flavored hay to the ground. The other could sweep out horse s***.

I chose that silo, that proved to be a fatal mistake.

Townie Boy hit the stall, and to this day in my mind I keep hearing him say…

“F*** You John Denver.”

Be hearing you.

More from Jeff Spaulding…