The Best-Kept Secret

It was sometime around 1900 or thereabouts, I don't recall exactly, that it all took place.

Mortonville was only a little backwoodsy community at that time, nobody ever dreamed it would someday rival some of the other major cities along the river.

Doc Woods, or at least as he was known thereabouts, warn't no real doctor at all, folks only hung that nickname on him cause of his ability to put all sorts of machinery together and make it work again and fix pert near anythin mechanical. He kept all of everybody's farm equipment and implements in number-one workin order. Doc was a deaf-mute, he couldn't hear it thunder, and he couldn't talk neither. He could just sorta grunt and make like little wild-animal noises.

Well, the son of a gun was some sort of a genius, I reckon, cause he'd just start right off from scratch with nothin but a few pieces of metal, his forge, a few other tools and with them big ole smart hands of his'n turn out an altogether new somethin or other to do a job that nobody had ever even dreamed of yet. He was sort of a inventor, I reckon you'd call him. Just bright as he could be, for a deaf-mute.

Course, sad thing was that nobody'd have much to do with ole Doc, him abein a freak like he was 'n all, and too you couldn't talk to him, nor understand him. Sometimes that sure usta get on his goat too, he'd try to talk and tell you somethin and he'd get so all-fired mad at hisself he'd end up stompin the ground and bellerin like a bull; nuff to scare a man sometimes, even as sad as it was, cause you see, Doc was big and stout. Why, if he ever took a notion I reckon he coulda just about killed a normal and a natural man with his little fanger.

I didn't mean to get all wound up on that end of the story, I was agonna tell you about (continued on page 256) Best-Kept Secret (continued from page 223) Mortonville and Doc, but howsomeever you need to know about that anyhow.

I might as well warn you right now, it ain't a happy story. It's terrible sad. I reckon you'd consider it sadder for Mortonville and the folks of Mortonville than you would for anyone else. But of course I reckon the folks of Mortonville acted about the same as folks do anywheres else when there's a freak amongst 'em. Did you ever notice how when a new hound dog is introduced into a pack, the rest of them will just about kill him ifn his owner ain't around to protect him, or did you ever watch a flock of chickens kill one of their own bunch when it took sick or lost an eye or a foot or somepin, anything that made it different. I reckon critters and humans are pretty much alike in that department, they hate anything they don't understand and they don't want to understand anything they hate. Naturally if it ever tries to do anything natural they'll always kill it. Humans are natural critters too, I guess, and just naturally go around actin natural. It scares 'em to see another of their own kind in an unnatural shape that they mighta just as easy have been in themselves. It's easier to destroy him than it is to live with him, so that's what they'll generally end up adoin.

I remember when Doc was just a little fella. He was raised by ole Crazy John Cobb, our town blacksmith. Lonely, strange quiet man that nobody never did know where he come from. Just blew into town one day back in the Eighties with a baby boy, Doc. Ole John's story must be sorta interestin too, but nobody knows nothin 'bout it. Anyhow I remember one day when Doc was about eight or nine year old he went off fishin with some other boys and they all took a notion it'd be funny to run off and leave little Doc, cause he couldn't hear nothin and he couldn't yell for help down there in the bottoms neither. I reckon they figured that would be some kind of fun sport. Anyhow as it turned out lil ole Doc sorta threw grist in their mill cause not only did he get back to town all right, but he got back in a first-class way that damn near drove them other kids crazy with envy. It tickled the bejesus out of me, but it made a lot of people sore'n hell in this town. You see what happened is this. That lil ole deaf-mute youngun didn't do nothin but use his head, he went straight to the railroad tracks and commenced to afollowin them back to town. He knowd that train came to Mortonville every day and he knowd that them rails led it, so why not him. Pretty good for a deaf-mute youngun huh? Well, the funny thing about it all though was the fact that he didn't come awalkin back in, he come aridin right up in the cabin of ole number four, the Delta Dart, with Shad Hamilton aengi-neerin and Casey Jones asittin on the firebox and brake. That was before Casey got famous by killin his damn-fool self over in Mississippi, but anyhow that's how the boy Doc come aridin back into town to the envy of every boy what seen it. Shad told me he was highballin it better than a mile a minute when him and Casey come around Turner's Bend and that's when they seen the boy awalkin along the tracks. They whistled at him and he didn't even look up. Shad said it scared hell outa him, and he shet off the throttle and locked up all the wheels and skidded up to within just a foot or so of the lil ole kid, who never did look back, but they had come to a dead stop by then and the danger was over. Shad said Casey told him he said, "Shad," he said, "that ole kid's deaf," and Casey climbed down offn the engine and run on up ahead and picked him up and brought him back to the cab. Now ya see, to me, Shad and Casey that seemed like an all-right adventure, nobody got hurt, but you know what these folks around here did? Why they got so all-fired upset over that that they had ole Judge Pickens draw up a restrainin order on Crazy John. Yah, a restrainin order, so as that kid couldn't never be outa John's sight again. Well, of course, that meant no more fishin 'ceptin when Crazy John could take off from the shop. Nor no more playin with the other kids atall, as far as that goes. From then on in, the lil youngun just hung around John and his shop, mopin around there lonely and forsaken like, with his big eyes awatchin them other boys at baseball and all sorts of shinny games. But I reckon his stickin so close to that shop and them tools is what made him such a genius in other ways.

It's a funny thing, J. C. Cummins was one of the fellers most responsible for that restraining order years ago and I happen to know for a fact that Doc has carried him on credit for as much as a year or so at a time and ain't nobody's equipment in better shape, thanks to Doc. why he even made ole J. C. an automatic plow lifter after he'd suffered that bad back several years ago and didn't charge him a red cent for it neither. Didn't get nothin from the manufacturer neither and now everyone of those cultivators come with a factory-made lifter that they copied right offn ole J. C.'s, the one Doc made for him.

I keep alettin myself git off on these side stories and they ain't really important. The story I wanted to tell ya is all about Doc and that all-fired (and that's sort of a bad word to use) machine. The one he built and worked on at nights inside his shop where no one could see. Sometimes he'd be up in that shop ahammerin and aweldin and aforgin all night long, much to the curiosity of everybody in Mortonville. This musta gone on for four or five years.

Doc was alettin the rest of his business go to hell aworkin on that contraption, or whatever it was inside that shop. He was like a man in love, really in love, and devoted to some sort of a regal lady. She got 100 percent of his attention from dusk to daylight and 90 percent of it from daylight to dusk.

A'many a time I strolled over and hinted every way I knew how and tried to get a peep at it through them smokey ole winders, but I never got even an inklin or a glimpse. Doc could be real cagey when he wanted to be and real secrety. I guess it was one of the only real natural human joys he ever got outa life. I mean it was about the only way he could sure nuff torment another soul.

J. C. Cummins and the other deacons over to the Baptist church had finally had enough of ole Doc's hammerin durin Wednesday night's prayer meeting and Bible school, and had gotten word to the sheriff to have him cease and desist from seven P.M. to ten P.M. on Wednesday nights. Course, most of us knew that ole Doc's hammerin and aworkin wasn't the real reason they wanted him stopped. They're just a cantankerous bunch that don't like nobody adoin nothin they ain't adoin. Well, it so happens that ole Doc was ahammerin while they was ahypocritin and they wasn't adamn sure about to quit what they was adoin, so the only thing left to them was the law to stop Doc from adoin what he was adoin. Mainly somethin constructive.

Of course, that whole mess caused some real hard feelins between Doc an the churchboys so's he not only quit agoin to church (which I never did figure out why he went in the first place, 'ceptin maybe cause he was deaf and didn't have to listen to none of that hogwash nohow). Anyways not only did he quit agoin he commenced to make up for his lost time on Wednesday nights by aworkin all day Sunday, during the service and everything. Well, I ain't too smart but even I could see that J. C. Cummins and them other deacons sure wasn't gonna put up with that for long, and sure nuff they didn't neither. A couple a weeks later they all went amarchin right back down there with the sheriff and another cease and desist order. Doc obeyed, all right, but the minute the town hall bell sounded 12 noon a clamor rose up out of ole Doc's shop that I do believe even he could hear. It angered that preacher somewhat but it pleased most of his flock cause they had finally found a way to shut off his hot air in time to get home to Sunday dinner before it was supper.

Sometime during the second year of Doc's secret project he had become right friendly with our schoolmaster's little daughter, Susie Thompson. Susie was about 11 or 12 and as pretty a little black-headed girl as you ever did see. Folks around town never quite understood why Mr. and Mrs. Thompson would let Susie hang out down there so much, but Mr. Thompson didn't seem to mind, as a matter of fact he acted like he was almost proud of his little girl for atakin up with the likes of a deaf-mute. Well, Mr. Thompson and J. C. Cummins had several pretty good run-ins over it until that schoolteacher told ole J. C. off in some pretty fancy words one day; course they was prob'ly all wasted on J. C. anyhow, cause he prob'ly didn't understand any more of 'em than I did, or any of the other members of the town council. We just knew what they meant, that's all.

Personally I was sorry to see it happen cause Mr. Thompson had to know that it would be the end of his job as schoolmaster in Mortonville. Course, I don't think he'd a ever made it anyway, what with not ajoinin the Klan--what's even worse, atalkin against it, and bein a nigger-lover and havin a college education from Harvard instead of State; you couple all that with his bein a Presbyterian and he didn't have no chance to begin with.

But anyhow little Susie kept on seein Doc pert near every night. Oh my, how that did upset some of the folks hereabouts that had nothin more to be upset about. It didn't bother me too much cause like I told ya before I'm sorta the nosey sort and I'd already found out about Doc and Susie. She was alearnin him how to talk with his fangers and hands and doin a pretty good job of it too I reckon. I'd sit in my room acrost the street at the Palace Arms and I could see 'em silhouetted behind them ole smokey winders just achattin away at each other.

I think the main reason J. C. and them others over to the church put up with it at all, I mean alettin Susie go over there by herself at night even with her parents' permission, was that they hoped that maybe she'd let it slip sometime what ole Doc was abuildin. Cause whatever it was they was afigurin on it being a big moneymaker. Maybe even an automatic cotton picker, anyhow some kind of something they could all get rich off of.

If Susie hada told 'em they wouldn'ta believed it. It was on a Sunday morning, March 17th, just a few hours before dawn when I woke up and heard somethin takin place out in the street in front of the Palace. I went over to my big bay winder overlookin the main street and Doc's shop, and to my amazement Doc was out there with the god-damnedest lookin contraption I ever did see or hear tell of. He was ahookin it all up together. It took me a minute or so to get my senses about me and then it all started to come in clear. It looked sorta like a windmill alayin down with two huge big flimsy barn doors astrapped on top and two underneath. On the back end was what looked like an emblem offn a playin card out of the club suit, with a contraption about half way forward mounted up sorta high with a long wood plank stuck on it; and that's where Doc was at the moment, afoolin around with that thing half way up forward, or half way back, whichever direction the damn thing was apointin. By the time I'd got out there and my pants on there was two or three other fellers: the telegraph operator, Ed Edwards, and a coupla niggers that worked down to the livery stable. Everybody was just astandin there agogglin at it and ole Doc was just as busy as he could be apourin somethin that smelled like coal oil into that midway contraption. We all just sorta stood there and watched and he never paid no attention to us, but just kept on agettin busier and busier adoin things here and there, until finally there musta been 35 or 40 of us out there. Everybody was aspeculatin on what it was. Bill Carlyle was alayin eight to five odds, that whatever it was supposed to do, it would do. His confidence in Doc bein as great as our ignorance. B. John Peabody figured it to be a peanut sheller of some sort or other, or a reaper like the McCormick one. Albert Love figured it to be some sort of a hay baler, or a road grader, and just as I was about to come up with my idees Susie and her daddy stepped up. "See, Dad, isn't it beautiful. He made everything on it, even the engine. And all he had to go by were some old books."

"Yes, yes, it is beautiful, Susie. I just hope it works."

Susie was quick to reassure her father, "Oh, it'll work all right, Dad. It just has to."

Well, I can tell ya my ear was a-itchin off a wait in to hear what the hell it was supposed to do. When finally Mr. Thompson said, "Well, even if he gets it off the ground, that's only half the job. He's got to bring it back down safely."

A flying machine! Well, I'll just be hit in the ass with a river boat. And about that time Doc gave that plank on that middle contraption a hard pull and the thing fired, sputtered, spewed, stewed, and then fell silent. We all moved back a few steps, terrified and in awe, and you could see people acomin outa their houses all over town to see what in tarnation made that racket. It was jest gettin daylight and ole Doc gave her another pull, and that time she exploded to life in a ball of smoke and fire and thunderous noise that woke up the rest of the town. Everybody was acomin from every direction as ole Doc climbed into a seat he had rigged and it became clear that he intended to take that thing off right down our main street. Course, I guess there warn't no better place, it bein long and straight. The only problem was that grove of woods right at the end, and too, some of the nightshirtyed citizenry who was all out there arunnin up and down and acrost it like a bunch of flushed quail. Then ole Doc commenced to wave his arms at them and we commenced awavin and ayellin our damn fool heads off too and as the street begin to clear ole Doc started pushin on the throttle. The engine got louder and louder and the stick on it commenced to spin faster and faster till it was setting up some kind of a wind behind it. Maudie Clark commenced to scream, and run agatherin up all of her younguns and aheadin for the storm cellar. Womenfolks was ascared and ascreamin and acarryin on something fierce. The rest of us commenced to cheer louder and louder as ole Doc and his machine began to move. All of a sudden then it was just atearin lickety split right down our main street and about the time it got to Hooker's store blame if she didn't take off. We was awhoopin so loud and hard and was all so excited we plumb forgot about that grove of trees that stood a good 100 feet high at the end of town. "Yip-pee-e-e-e-e, hurrah-h-h-h-h, he's aflyin, he's aflyin. My God he's took off." Everybody was ashoutin and ascreamin their lungs out. Well, nearly everybody that is. A couple of womenfolk had fainted, and Matthew Flatt, the damn fool, had fallen out of the third-floor window of the Delta Queen Hotel down the street. Ya see he had come arunnin to the winder just in time to see ole Doc aroarin down the street and atakin off, and when ole Doc flew by just inches away from ole Matthew's nose he just naturally follered him right on out the winder. Matthew shoulda knowd better, he's dumbern a day-old mule turd and he knowd what a genius Doc was. He oughta knowd he couldn't fly too. Anyhow all hell was abustin loose. Some folks was acheerin and ayellin, some was ascreamin and acryin, and some was awailin and aprayin. And I was just astandin there dumfounded with my heart plumb upin my throat aseein the close calls ole Doc was ahavin. Like first off he just barely skimmed over the top of that grove of pines, and then all of a sudden that blame machine took a big notion and just flipped herself over upside down. Well, I thought ole Doc was a goner for sure till he finally got her reined in and uprighted again. I never seen anybody as happy as lil Susie was neither. She and her paw was just abeamin. As Doc made a long and graceful circle out about two or three miles of town I seen J. C. Cummins aridin into town hell bent. He come abustin through everybody, wantin to know what the hell was that up there in the sky, and the preacher told him that it was Doc and that was his contraption. With that the preacher dropped to his knees in his most Southern and most Baptist, and even his most reverend pose, and bellered out like it was his own original saying, "Lordy, Lordy, what hath God wrought?"

J. C. impatiently kicked him in the ass and profoundly observed, "God ain't wrought a goddamn thing, but that heathen deaf dummy has. He's up there aflyin around as though he was an angel or somethin--that's plumb blasphemous."

By this time everybody had sorta started paying attention to what J. C. and the preacher was talkin about and at this point one old sister shouted, "You're right, J. C. Cummins. If God'd meant man to fly He'd put wings on him." There was a whole chorus of yahs, that's right, and they just commenced to amen-in all over the place.

Well, I can tell you it made me sick cause I knew what was about to happen. The preacher said, "What are we to do with this infidel, this charlatan, this witch, for see how he flies as if on a broom, see, look yonder." And by God he was too. Ole Doc was up there 200 or 300 feet just acuttin all sorts of didos. He was aswoopin down and then he'd zoom her up, and just generally flyin free as a bird. I was so took with him up there and awishin I was with him I missed some of the things that was agoin on down here among us ordinary mortals, or submortals. Cause the next thing I know J. C. Cummins has got his rifle out and he's gonna try to shoot ole Doc down. Now ain't that the craziest damn thing you ever heard of? But so help me, that's what the rotten bastard was up to. And what's even worse, the preacher and most of the folks who just a minute or two ago were so excited and, I thought, happy for ole Doc and his machine were right there on J. C.'s side, and supportin him. Mr. Thompson was ascreamin his lungs out tryin to git 'em to listen to some sort of reason, but he had no luck, for you see they were afighttin God's fight and everybody knows that you always win when you're on God's side, or vicie versie, or the other way around, I fergit now which it is.

Well, I told you in the beginning it wasn't gonna be no happy story. I gave you fair warning. Ole J. C. shot and shot and shot till he finally hit the machine in the right place and it busted into a fireball you coulda seen plumb to tackyburd. As Doc and the flaming machine plummeted into Charley Wier's back patch everybody was just a-oohin and a-ahin like they was awatchin a Fourth of July fireworks show. Didn't seem to occur to nobody that Doc had really done somethin and that they was a-undoin it.

No soonern he'd hit good there was a bunch of us already aheadin there. We was arunnin ass bustin acrost Charley's place to see if Doc was all right. It warn't much doubt when we got there. Actually we never did really git there, we couldn't. You see the heat from that fire was so god-awful that none of us could break it. So ole Doc burned up there with his machine: there warn't enough left of him to load into a proper casket, nor even have a proper sort of puttin away.

The town council of Mortonville, led by J. C. Cummins, voted to merely grade over the wreckage and level off old Charley's back patch so's they wouldn't have to pay him the damages he was askin the town, and then fergit about the whole thing. Yah, it was prob'ly one of the best-kept secrets of all times, that flight of ole Doc's. Tickles me when everybody thinks them two brothers from back East was the first ones to fly. Yes sir, a mighty well-kept secret. But then if you had lived in Mortonville and been a part of that you'd have awanted to keep it a secret too.

Funny thing about Mortonville though, today they got just about the biggest and best school and college in the whole world for deafies and dummies.