We Never Re-arrange the Furniture
The following story I am about to relate to you actually has two parts, and both are the absolute truth. I have heard both of them told many times by my grandparents, mother, Uncle Henry, and many different people in our little community. I can not reveal the names of the people I am speaking about for fear of possibly embarrassing their family.
As I have spoken about before, my grandparents Oscar & Grace Harness Baker, ran a country store in Broughtontown, Lincoln County, Kentucky for 42 years, from 1928 until 1970. My parents ran the store for seven years after that. My mother, Pauline Baker was born in Broughtontown in 1934. My mother was the youngest child and had four older brothers and one older sister. They are all now deceased.
One day, probably back in the 1940’s, a very poor old man our family all knew, walked to my grandparent’s store and bought a few things. He lived quite some distance from the store in a little shack with one of his sons. The old man’s wife, and the son’s mother, had long since gone. Both of these men were not very intelligent and were pitied by most of the people in our little community. Before the days of government assistance, people like these were barely able to get by, and oftentimes didn’t.
On this particular day, after resting first and then buying some groceries, it was time for the old man to get back home. My grandmother summoned her youngest son Henry to give the old man a ride home. Henry was glad to do it. He and the old man loaded up and headed to the poor man’s little two or three room dilapidated house. Upon arrival at the house, Henry carried the groceries into the little shack.
The old man’s son had an old pan filled with water and was shaving when they arrived. Henry and he exchanged hellos as Henry looked for a place to set the groceries. There was a kettle of pinto beans cooking on the old wood stove. As the old man came into the house, he smelled the beans, and yelled, “________, put some water in those beans. They’re about to boil dry!” As Henry looked on in horror, the son picked up the pan of shaving water and poured it into the kettle of beans. Henry said he nearly threw up and could not wait to get out of that house. Henry remembered that day for the rest of his life.
On another occasion, the two men must have gathered up a little money from somewhere. They determined to pour concrete floors in their little house. Up until this point, the old house only had a dirt floor. The concrete floors would be a big improvement.
Soon, the agreed upon day arrived for the concrete truck to come. Some men were there to pour the concrete and cover the dirt floor. The house consisted of just a few sparse pieces of furniture, and the concrete men prepared to take these few pieces outside so they could begin pouring the concrete. The old man objected, and told them, “Leave the furniture where it is and just pour the concrete around it. I don’t like to have the furniture moving around.” In disbelief, the workers did exactly as they were instructed, and the incident is still recalled with amusement by many, even to this day.
