This horror was perpetrated against my Mom, Florence Margaret (McQuillen) Brasher, in the Beautiful Missouri Hills of the Ozarks.----Jim ------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1945--Summer If you drive west from St Louis on Interstate-44 exactly eighty-two miles, you arrive at a small town in the Missouri Ozarks named Cuba, a town of 3,230 inhabitants. Then if you make a left turn and head south on highway 19 eight miles you find you are in down town Steelville, Missouri. A bustling metropolis of 1,429 souls you very seldom see all at one time. You may not see folks very often but Steelville plays a very important role in daily life for all the towns in close proximity to it, it is the county seat of Crawford County. It lays nestled in a beautiful little valley where the main street used to light up on Saturday mornings when all the farm folks went to town to do their weekly grocery shopping. And best of all, there are no slums or ghettos. I looked forward to trips to town on Saturdays to learn many words and phrases from the locals. Important words like, Y’all, Yep, Y’uns, Sparkin, Heh’uh, chawin and Chaw, tubaccy and most importantly, Shurff. Important phrases such as: "Y’all cumm on ovah, yuh heh’uh." "Y’uns see that skunk out to the bridge on 19?" "Thuh reason I hit that Turnbough boy with the ho"uh was because I told him not to come sparkin my Sarah Lu, she’s only thirteen and the Shurff wouldn’t do nuthin bout him. That’s why I went to jill and got thurty days, wouldn’t you have hit him too?" And there were other important things discussed too, on those benches that lined "Main Street," Steelville. "Indian Chawin tubaccy was the top brand of 1945." "Missouri mules could out pull, out work and out think any mule born any where in the wurld." "Those Japs and Nazis were gonna get thur asses whupped good and proper, right soon." "Those City folks wur sure startin to clutter up the place down here, ain‘t they?" "Yep, caint see rightly, why they just don’t go home and leave us be." But the fun subject always got started with the question: "How fur do yuh think yuh can spit that Chaw?" Then would ensue a lively competition that I’ve never seen equaled in any location I’ve ever visited. It would start with "distance," then always graduate to target. Pity any wandering beetle that happened by on a Saturday in downtown Steelville. The poor creature was always in danger of drowning and if that wasn’t the case then you could be sure that was the ugliest beetle in the whole valley by the time he got home. I remember my favorite spitting event happened on a Saturday in July when old man Shmurtz tied his mule and wagon in front of the furniture store and joined the boys on the bench for some "good talkin." It wasn’t long before a lively competition started when that smart aleck Hendle joined in. There was a likely crowd of folks standing around watching the event when Hendle spied Shmurtz mule tied up at the "hitching" rail. There stood the mule when he lifted his tail with a "Fwtttt" and promptly laid down a bunch of road apples. With his tail in the air, Hendle pivoted and cut loose with a gob and hit that mule right in the butt. The result of that particular bulls eye was a thing of beauty. The mule raised up on his hind feet, came down to all four kicked out with his hind feet nailing Mr Stotllemeyer in the knee, backed up pulling the whole hitching rail out and as he bolted past Mr Canser gave him a pretty good bite on the left arm, then took off running down the street dragging the hitching rail behind him. The mule was heading out of town as Shmurtz asked Hendle, "Why did you go and do a damn fool thing like that?" "Well Henry, I didn’t know your mule wasn’t broke full on." "Broke full on? Why you #@%&$, You . . ." "Hey Shmurtz," some one said, "Your mules just turning the corner down there." That’s when Shmurtz looked up and took off running after his liberated mule. When Mr Karp came out of his furniture store, madder than a scalded cat, he was swearing he would never have another hitching rail in front of his store ever again. To this very day I still wonder if old man Shmurtz ever caught up with that mule. The day continued at a rapid and, for me, a very entertaining day. That was also the day that my mother Florence was attacked by a vicious herd of turkeys. My sister Sharon was the only witness that was there from the start to the finish of this dastardly, cowardly and totally unwarranted event. People who knew my mother Florence knew she had fears. She feared cats, rats, lightening storms, snakes, spiders and anything with a stinger. They also knew she loved children, dogs, ducks, cows, horses, pigs chickens and wooly lambs, she was fearless around these animals. My grandfather Ralph had been talking about adding some more money making animals to his farm and decided to buy a few turkeys to add to his cow, mule, flock of chickens, and pig pen full of pigs. It was the war years and people in America needed to be fed. That day, the five of us left town after the "grand mule escape." Ralph owned a "home made" pick up truck that seated the three adults in front and me and Sharon were riding in the back. When we reached the turkey farm, Ralph, Mabel and I went inside while Sharon and Florence decided to go look at the turkeys. All of a sudden I heard my mom yelling, "Help, Help." Mabel couldn’t hear from that distance, but Ralph and I did. All of a sudden Sharon came running inside yelling, "help, help, moms about to be eaten alive." When Mabel heard that she jumped up and rushed outside to help her daughter, with the rest of us in hot pursuit. When we arrived at the scene of the crime, there stood Florence with her hands clasped tightly under her chin not moving a muscle, surrounded by a vicious herd of turkeys, looking like she was in a wagon train that had circled for the night on the prairie. Ralph didn’t help the situation when he busted into laughter and swore this day just kept getting better and better the nearer it got to sundown. I was inclined to agree with him. Mabel’s first words were: "Oh for heavens sake Florence what’s wrong with you? Just walk out of there." "I can’t mom, every time I move that big one with the tail spread out keeps trying to bite me and some of the others are helping him." Sharon was in full agreement when she piped up with, "Yeah grandma, he almost got me too." This was too much for Ralph, the volume of his laughter increased until he grasped his sides and the tears started streaming down his face. He even started slapping a handy oak tree next to the pen. This event was shaping up to be the biggest thing in Crawford County that year. When Mabel saw that Ralph wasn’t going to even try to solve Florence’s dilemma she took her four foot ten inch frame straight through that herd of turkeys, grabbed her daughter by the hand, and led her through this ravening herd like Moses leading the children of Israel through the Red Sea. Then got mad at Ralph because he wouldn’t stop laughing. I got it too because I couldn’t stop either. Mabel finally said, "Please dear, stop encouraging your grandfather." All that evening Ralph kept laughing and kept swearing he wanted to stop but couldn’t, every time Florence crossed his vision he started again. Poor Florence, she finally decided her mother’s husband was nothing but a big "Poop," Florence’s daughter agreed totally with her, Sharon believed grandpa was a big "Poop," and said so many times in the years to come. And Ralph roared with infectious, knee thumping laughter. Ralph dated all events from the day Florence was so rudely attacked by Robinson’s turkeys. For him it was THE event of the County in 1945.