By Emil Schmit
Advancing years can produce unexpected problems. Without warning, our powers of memory can suddenly weaken. Occasionally we will see faces we should be able to recognize … but can’t. And we see people we know well, but can’t remember their names. And, now and then, an old memory will return.
Something that we thought we had forgotten long ago…
“Rusty” was a “farmer boy” who lived nearby our home. He was about a half-dozen years older than I, but in our younger days we often talked and “compared notes.” I especially remember a tale he told about his high school days. He attended high school in a nearby river town. He and some of his friends had developed the habit of smoking pipes at an early age. Smoking was forbidden in the school, and carrying tobacco in any form was strictly frowned on, but their pipes usually accompanied them wherever they went.
The boys soon learned that they were welcome guests at the home of an old fellow named Jake who lived in a small fisherman’s shack down by the Big River. They would often visit him during their noon hour. He always welcomed them and when they took out their pipes he would get out his tobacco and they would all “fill up and light up.”
Jake would tell them of his past, earning a living by commercial fishing, trapping, and hunting ginseng. Along the way, he acquired a team of work horses, a wagon, and a bobsled. A neighbor allowed him to use an old empty barn nearby, and Jake soon began to be relied on for emergency transportation. If someone ran out of firewood in the winter, Jake was the person to call. If a snowstorm came up suddenly in the winter, it was not unheard of that someone had stayed in one of the local taverns too long, and the word got out that the road to his farm was drifted shut. Jake was often called to haul that fellow home so that the guy could milk his cows in the morning. Often Jake had to go back out to pick the fellow up in the morning so he could get into town to pick up his car or truck. For such calls as this, he was often paid in milk or eggs or in home-made wine.
Jake would tell the boys of times when a doctor was called to make an emergency call to a farm, and if the road was too bad, he was often called to haul the doc to the farm in his bobsled. He also told them of a number of such emergency trips across the Big River on the ice. Local doctors and several from nearby towns trusted Jake’s knowledge of the river to get them across. His fishing and trapping experience taught him where to expect to find the thickest and safest ice.
Once, Rusty smiled when he told us of one of their visits with Jake. When they entered his little old house they noticed some tobacco scattered out on his usually crowded kitchen table. Jake told them to go ahead and to fill their pipes. Rusty went on to say, “We hadn’t much more than lit our pipes and started to puff on them than my eyes began to burn. I looked around and everyone’s eyes were watering. We all had tears running down our cheeks.”
“It didn’t take long for my buddy Ralph to catch on. He questioned Jake as to why the tobacco was scattered on his table.”
“Well,” Jake replied, “You guys know that I always buy my Plow Boy tobacco in those twelve ounce tin cans. I always keep mine there under my bed. I also keep an empty can just for emergencies. Well, last night was one of those emergencies … but I grabbed the wrong can … and got my tobacco kind of wet. I thought it would be dried out by now, but it appears I am going to have more troubles with it than that. I’ll tell you fellows. By noon tomorrow I’ll have a new can. You guys come back and I’ll have another story to share with you. Once I drove a doctor across the ice to an emergency across the Big River. He examined the patient and then asked me to go out to the sled and bring in a hammer from my tool box.”
Rusty grinned again, saying, “Naturally, we went back. I’m not sure, but maybe our noon hours with Jake were as educational as were some of our high school classes.”
Emil Schmit is the 88 year old father of Pam Buttikofer, one of the owners of Imperfect Women. Emil continues to write although age and health issues have slowed him down a bit. He is a is a self-trained poet, free-lance writer, public speaker, and journalist. His weekly column, “Rhyme and Reason,” appeared for over twenty years in the Dubuque, Iowa daily newspaper, the Telegraph Herald. You can read more of Emil’s Bio here. The typewriter pictured on the bio page is one that he sat at for over 50 years creating many of his “rhymes and reasons.”
shawn says
December 5, 2012 at 2:03 pmLove that story!!
shawn says
December 5, 2012 at 2:04 pmP.S. I hope that he shares some more. 🙂
chardonnay says
December 5, 2012 at 2:05 pmLoved the story, Mr. Schmit! I look forward to reading more of your contributions!!
snickers says
December 5, 2012 at 2:33 pmEmil,
Loved the story, life lessons come in many ways. Wishing you and your family a wonderful holiday season. (we love Pam)
HB says
December 5, 2012 at 3:13 pmMr. Schmit – you are one of life’s rare treasures! I’d love to hear MORE of your memories of olde ~ Thank you Pam for sharing your Dad w. us.
Kelly R says
December 5, 2012 at 3:32 pmThis is a wonderful story. Thank you for sharing. I hope he writes more..
shawn says
December 5, 2012 at 3:34 pmI agree…we love Pam. 🙂
Sage says
December 5, 2012 at 3:48 pmLove the ‘tobacco got kind of wet’. LOL I love these stories.
Wendy @ ABCs and Garden Peas says
December 5, 2012 at 4:51 pmPleasure to read your post, Emil! Thank you for sharing your story 🙂
Holly says
December 5, 2012 at 7:22 pmLove this story of days gone past. Great writing and so descriptive. How wonderful to have these memories written down for many generations to enjoy. My Father, his Brother, and his Sister are all gone now and how I wish they had written down some of their childhood memories,not just the happy times but especially of growing up in hard times and what it was like for them.
Thanks for sharing your story Emil.
Ann says
December 5, 2012 at 7:31 pmOh my! That some story, lol.
Pattypie says
December 5, 2012 at 8:41 pmWhat a wonderful story! I too would love to hear more!
Anya@IW says
December 5, 2012 at 8:56 pmI always enjoy and learn a lot reading your stories, Emil. I had never heard of Plow Boy. Love hearing this history mixed with stories of real people and real events. Thank you!
.
And I clicked on the bio page and saw the typewriter used to create your writing. I love looking at old typewriters. I have my grandpa’s old Royal and I treasure it!
Tina 'the book lady' says
December 5, 2012 at 9:16 pmGreat story – you should set him up with a blog of his own. I’m sure people would be interested – or you might have him do a weekly Wednesday Night Column on here. Might be a thought.
Amanda @ mommymaywe says
December 6, 2012 at 6:20 amI loved the story! Thank you for sharing!
Pam@IW says
December 6, 2012 at 6:24 amThanks everyone for the kind words for myself and my Dad. He will be reading these comments. My Dad is a treasure…both my parents are. So thankful they are still with us and relatively healthy.
Their generation is one that this country needs to study and learn from to get us back on her feet both fiscally and socially/morally.
My Dad has written for Imperfect Women before and I do have more of his work that I plan to publish from time to time. They are past writings over the span of 30 years and he has given me permission to publish them. They are treasures also.
Pam@IW says
December 6, 2012 at 6:34 amHere is a Christmas one that we have published twice in the past.
https://imperfectwomen.com/yes-virginia-there-is-a-christmas-tree-2/
Pattypie says
December 6, 2012 at 3:30 pmIt is more than a little frightening to think about the doctor asking his driver to go out to his car and get a hammer! My imagination is running wild trying to figure out what he needed the hammer for! lol
Jeff says
December 7, 2012 at 9:02 amOne of Emil’s best stories. He has a tremendous way of making a simple story seem so romantic and brings the age of decades ago seem so relevant for today’s world. I have read them all but love reading them again.
Robert Dilley says
December 7, 2012 at 4:19 pmStory reminds me of Old Rub Volz that lived down in the 4th ward in Prairie du Chien. He lived in a corrugated tin sided house. All the kids in the neighborhood seemed to drift through his house at one time or another. No pipe smoking but we were always welcome to visit when we came to town! Tell your dad, Great Story!!!! But I am curious as what was the hammer for?
Regina says
December 8, 2012 at 6:57 amLove the story Dad. It made me think of my Grandpa Schmit and how important his pipe smoking was to him. I believe he used to encourage his grandchildren to all take hits off of his pipe.
Lily@IW says
December 10, 2012 at 4:01 pmI love this too!! I love that these stories get passed on. My aunts and uncles were great story tellers and this brings me right back to the days I would sit there and listen. Thank you for sharing.
CJ says
December 15, 2012 at 6:57 pmEmil,
Your story reminded me of my grandfather and his Dan Patch tobacco. He also drove horses for a doctor in his youth and ultimately became a county sheriff for much of his life.
I hope you will share more your stories with us. As an avid Packer fan, I must say your coffee mug is fantastic.