Transcribed by Kathleen Hastings Whitlock
June 8, 1950
* CAL’S COLUMN *
While on
the subject of poor cooking and housekeeping, we might add a few more
observations. In other years, this sort
of a “malady” affected certain communities more than others. For instance whole communities were noted
for their nice housekeepers and excellent cooks. On the other hand, many sections were “blest” with poor
housekeepers and poor cooks. We use the word, “Blest,” in the same way that the
old man did who was replying to a neighbor’s question as to how the old man’s
wife was. His reply was, “My wife has
enjoyed poor health for the past two years.”
So we might say in the same light, some sections “enjoyed” poor cooking
and housekeeping. We recall perhaps the
worst home we ever visited, but of course we cannot call names. This was in 1914 and we were then a
“year-old preacher,” which meant that we had not become hardened to sorry
cooking. One of our preacher friends,
his wife and sons, and our own family of that time visited this home. We had only one meal and this meal lingers
in memory till today. We have never
been in so filthy a place in life. The
yard was full of filth, the house was almost as bad, flies were in swarms, the
cook on this occasion was also very, very filthy and apparently had not the
least idea of cleanliness. Children
were all over the place and they were the dirtiest and most repulsive little
ones we ever saw. At the table we found
some salmon that had just been removed from the can and that day we “et” only a
few mouthfuls of the salmon and we then begged to be excused. The sad part of this was that it was
unnecessary. The filth and dirt could
have been removed by hard work and persistence, the children could have been
cleaned up, the yard could have had the manure removed from it, the kitchen and
other floors could have been scoured, the woman of the house could have put on
a clean dress, but there seemed to be no idea of cleanliness whatever in that
family. The husband was a minister, but
he did not seem to notice anything wrong.
We supposed that he was “living in his element.” One of the two visiting preachers wanted to
return and spend the night in this home, but his wife “vetoed the whole
proposal,” and this wife belonged to the other preacher and not to the writer. It is needless to add that this was our first
and our last visit to that home.
We recall
another event which occurred in the fall of 1916. The writer was assisting one of his preacher friends in a revival
in this county. The “pastor-host” said
to the writer: “Brother Gregory, I
reckon we will have to go down to Brother_____’s and spend the night, but I do
not want to. He has no
housekeeper.” By this he meant that his
wife did not know how to keep house. We
replied, “We can stand anything once.”
We went to church that night, having eaten our supper in some other home
before attending church services. After
meeting was over, we went to visit the man “who had no housekeeper.” We informed that family that we had had
supper and would not want to eat anything before retiring. Shortly afterward we were told that our bed
was ready. It was the third Saturday
night in October, 1916, and the coldest night of the season up to that
time. As the other preacher got into bed
and pulled the cover about his ears, he remarked, “Huh, this bed-clothing has
not been sunned in two years.” We never
bothered much about our sleeping unless we were disturbed by bed bugs; but when
it came to what went into our mouth, well, that was another matter. So we got along very well in spite of the
musty covers. But at the breakfast
table next morning, we had “the time of our life,” as we sought to go through
the pretense of eating. We did manage
to get a little piece of bacon and some canned apricots down, but the meal was
very, very unsatisfactory. We had
shortly before gone into the kitchen to get a drink of water and found five
pigeons flying about in that kitchen.
This is no exaggeration, but the truth.
We never went back “no more.”
Our good
friend and brother, C______B______Massey, had a stomach that never revolted at
anything, so far as we were ever able to detect. He got a great kick out of seeing our revulsion toward unclean
food and we secretly believed that he sometimes deliberately led us into such
“nasty places.” And we have somehow
never gotten over that feeling. His
wife of that day and time, the former Miss Fannie Graves, often revolted at his
choice of places to eat and “swore” she would never go back again, and we do
not condemn her for that sort of attitude.
“The Captain,” as he called himself, and many others did likewise, could
easily “sit on a dead cow and eat butter,” an accomplishment (?) that few men
we ever knew to possess. Things could
not get so bad scarcely that he could not eat with relish. We recall that on one occasion he had a meal
with a family who had placed their dining table under a tree in the yard. The weather was very warm and the flies
“very plentiful.” In the ham gravy on
the table, he “discovered” some flies.
But he “fished” 14 flies out of the gravy and then “et” some gravy. We think our stomach would have “revolted”
long before we got around to the gravy.
While o
the subject of gravy, we recall that one of our good friends, Brother______,
once had a singer spending the night with him.
We heard this singer tell the following tale on that man at church the
next day: “Brethren, I spent last night
with Brother______. At the breakfast
table, I asked him to pass me the gravy.
He sat and looked stupidly over the table, gazing from one end of the
table to the other and apparently unable to identify the particular thing I had
asked for. Finally his wife came to his
rescue in the following words, ‘pass him the sop, fool!” The main idea was that Brother ______ had
never heard of gravy, but had always called it, “Sop.”
Well, the
Captain’s gravy tale exceeded any other we have ever known from a standpoint of
filthy and dirty flies. We would have
passed up the “sop.”
But back
to our account of “bad things” in the line of eating. We recall that in the years long gone by, we went into a certain
home in the Caney Fork Seminary section of Smith County for “dinner,” as we
called the midday meal. We found there
one of the dirty places in which one has to be half-starved before he can eat. In addition to flies “above measure,”
general filth, a dirty house and table, the chief “attraction” was a certain
chicken, which was about one third grown, and which had failed to grow any
feathers, to speak of. His skin was
badly sunburned, and he had evidently been used to getting into the house. Just before we sat down to eat, that “naked”
chicken hopped up into a chair, then on the table and in a matter of two or
three seconds, he was pecking into the cake that had been prepared specially
for the preacher. He was “shooed” off
the table and out of the house. But
that pesky chicken came right back, mounted a chair and from the chair hopped
right on to the table again, and fairly buried his dirty head in that cake. Without any effort to remove the”
chicken-pecked” part of the cake, it was cut, and the preacher was offered a
slice. But we declined with thanks, our
appetite for cake not being keen like it was in 1895 when we were four years
old and the Negroes across from our childhood home had a wedding with all the
trimmings and a fancy dinner to boot, and we started over to get some
cake. We got about half way to that
home where the wedding had taken place when we were overtaken by an older
cousin, a girl who took her protesting relative into her arms and bore him back
into his home, as we said sadly, “Poor Cal, he want cake.” But we did not want any of the
“chicken-pecked” cake. And we “hain’t never gone back there no mo.”
We recall
another time when we went home with a family in Sumner County one hot fall
day. The weather for September was
unusually hot, and the family had killed a shoat and had some fresh (?)
meat. We took out some of this meat and
discovered that it was spoiled. We had
to leave it on our plate. We also found
that the cornbread had evidently been cooked at least two days earlier and we
had to give that up. We “minced” along
as best we could, keeping up quite a lot of talk and doing but little
eating. As soon as we reasonably could
get away, we left that place and went to the store where we ordered food to satisfy
our hunger. “And we hain’t never been
back than no mo!” that is, to the home of the “spoilt” meat.
These
episodes represent the worst of the bad side of the proposition of poor cooking
and housekeeping. And they have been
the exception and not the rule by a ratio of perhaps 100 to one. This means we have found on an average 99
homes in which we could eat with relish to one in which our stomach
revolted.
Many,
many funny things about preacher’s eating habits are prevalent. We recall one that happened one summer day
when we had supper with a friend of ours residing near Franklin, Ky. The young preacher were helping in the
meeting was also a visitor in the home.
At the supper table that young preacher ate one of the very biggest
meals we ever saw a small man eat. As
he dept eating and mound after mound of good food disappeared, a small daughter
in the home, a child of about six years, innocently looked across at this
hungry preacher and asked just as innocently as she had looked across the
table, “Brother ______, do you have a rubber stomach?” Never in all our 58 years of living have we
heard a more appropriate question by any person six or 60 years old. Amid quite a lot of confusion and chagrin,
that preacher hardly knew what to say.
It is needless to ask if there was any laughter. He was the same preacher who walked up to
the car owned by his neighbor and in which the neighbor and his wife and little
daughter sat. Being quite fond of the
little girl and knowing her quite well, this preacher aimed to ask the little
girl for a kiss. But instead of
speaking the child’s name, he called by mistake the name of the man’s wife,
saying, “Sue, give me some sugar.” He
walked away in terrible embarrassment and his feelings can be better imagined
that told.
The
eating of fried chicken by preachers is almost proverbial. In fact many stories of their fondness for
this delicacy have been told. We heard
one recently about the one hen with 12 chickens, 11 pullets and one
rooster. They had a fine time together,
a nice little family talking together and searching for food together. The sisters were very proud of their one
brother. At last there came a time when
night had fallen and brother had failed to show up at roosting time. The pullets kept asking their mother where
their brother was. Finally she
answered, “The preacher came today and your brother entered the ministry.” Whereupon the sisters began to grieve loudly
in chicken fashion. Finally their
mother said, “Children, do not take this so hard. Your brother has perhaps done as well as he could in entering the
ministry. He never would have made a
good layman!” Readers will recall that
the usual orders in the church are the laymen and the ministry.
We have a
late one on one of our good friends who has false teeth. His teeth do not fit very well and sometimes
fall from his mouth. Recently, while
this preacher was standing over an old had-dug well, his teeth fell into the
well, whose water was clear and the preacher could see his teeth lying at the
bottom of the well. He tried for some
time to “fish” them out, but it was all in vain. Finally a boy of ten or twelve years of age came by and said,
“Brother _______, I can get your teeth for you.” The youth is reported to have gone into the kitchen where he
found a chicken leg of drum stick, nicely cooked and brown and ready for
eating. He is reported to have let his piece
of delicious chicken down into the water until it was very near the lost false
teeth. As a matter of habit, the two
plates jumped at once and grabbed that chicken leg and held on to it until the
boy lifted them from the well and restored them to their owner.
One of
our good friends in other years was a resident of the vicinity of
Carthage. He did not make any religious
claims, but was a good friend to preachers whom he had known all his ife, his
father’s home being the stay place of the preachers of that section during
revivals at the Baptist church at that place.
One day the pastor was invited to the home of the man above referred
to. He resided with his mother-in-law
and his orphaned daughter. The
mother-in-law was one of the very best cooks and one of the finest women we
have ever known. She had boiled custard
on the menu for that day. The
son-in-law’s knowledge, went into the dining room and saw the plate fixed for
the preacher and the boiled custard for the guest as well as for the son-in-law. The latter had some whiskey hidden about the
place and so he poured some of the contents of a bottle into the preacher’s
glass and also into the son-in-law’s glass.
Soon the preacher had offered thanks and not long afterward, he had a
taste of the boiled custard. He
remarked, “Sister _______, did you make this boiled custard?” She acknowledged that she had made it, and
then the preacher said, “My wife makes boiled custard, but it is not like
this. I wish you would write out your
recipe and let me take it home and have her make some of this kind.” To this the good woman agreed. But a second glass of boiled custard did not
have the “son-in-law’s touch,” and the minister drank only a small bit from the
top and left it, the distinct flavor gone and the preacher perhaps wondering
why.
That
son-in-law got a great kick out of the event and never tired of telling it to
other preachers. We have never tasted
any boiled custard and this trick was one reason for our attitude.
We hope
that readers will not think we are entirely frivolous and that we never have
any serious thoughts. Later we will try
to come back with things that are not so funny or ludicrous.