This book is a series of short stories centered in and around Michaelville, PA, as seen through the eyes of Grover Cleveland Walborn and the author. Although Michaelville is the fictional name of the author's hometown, it could be the reader's or anyone's hometown, as well.According to Grover has something for everyone ages 9 to 99.
According to Grover
By Bob HullAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Bob Hull
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-5162-1Chapter One
Grover Cleveland Walborn knew nothing about wrestling. But he knew a lot about rasslin'. He would tell you he could rassle a mountain lion right down to the ground and cut the lion's claws off. He kept the claws in a wooden matchbox that he carried in the pocket of his tattered old coat.
On cold winter evenings, everyone in Michaelville, young and old, would gather around the old, wood-fired stove that sat in the middle of A. J. Tull & Son General Store and U.S. Post Office, to play checkers, listen to the radio and listen to the old-timers tell stories. There was no TV in those days, so the stories, the radio, and checkers provided the only entertainment in town. Sooner or later, Grover Cleveland Walborn would bring out his matchbox of lion claws. Then he would, again, tell us how on the way from his house to the store, about two blocks, he had tracked a mountain lion, rassled him to the ground and cut off his claws. Some of the claws had blood on them. Mountain lion claws? Mountain lion blood? Naw! We all knew that Grover Cleveland Walborn worked at Rager's Turkey Farm and his job was to cut the burrs off the turkeys. But all of us, even our neighbor, Jack Lyle, were afraid to walk home anyway. Did Grover Cleveland Walborn really rassle a mountain lion this time?
Grover Cleveland Walborn lived alone in the old Walborn house on Trout Street in Michaelville. Some people said he never married. Others said he had married during the time he worked out West, but his young wife and baby son died during the flu epidemic of 1918. No one knew for sure. But in 1918, Grover Cleveland Walborn returned to Michaelville and his boyhood home on Trout Street. There was no doubt he was a unique character. Except for his work at Rager's Turkey Farm, he was pretty much a loner. He seemed to enjoy being with others, though. Many of his encounters with the citizens of Michaelville were memorable events.
* * *
Grover Cleveland Walborn would tell you his cousin, Big Jim Walborn, was the best meat cutter "in these here parts." When anyone around Michaelville scheduled a beef or pork butchering, invariably Big Jim Walborn would be asked to be the head butcher. Invariably, he accepted. And, invariably, he appointed his cousin, Grover Cleveland Walborn, to be his assistant head butcher
In those days, butcherings were big social events which included huge dinners. Back then, dinner was the noon meal. You had breakfast, dinner, supper. Today, everyone calls the noon meal lunch and the evening meal dinner. Whatever happened to supper?
A typical butchering dinner would not include the meat that was being butchered that day. So, for a pork butchering, there would be roast beef, meatloaf, venison, chicken or turkey, gravy on everything, tons of mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green peas, corn, pickles, relish, homemade bread, pies, cakes and ice cream. The butchering crews could number 15 or 20 or more. At one of our butcherings, my Mom served stuffed roast beef heart. Grover Cleveland Walborn ate almost one whole beef heart himself. Then he told my Mom how he could stuff three loaves of day old bread into a hummingbird's heart, roast it and eat the whole thing himself.
At our butcherings, my job was to tend to the fires. There were at least a dozen wood fires going, keeping giant kettles of water boiling, rendering lard or cooking ponhaus and liverwurst. The big game for kids at a pork butchering was to try to pin a pig tail on Big Jim Walborn's coat tail.
* * *
Grover Cleveland Walborn always said I was a sucker for a pretty face. So it was with Sophie. I saw her picture in the Lock Haven Express on September 15, 2008. The paper said her ancestors were from Tibet and Germany. I knew I had to see her in person. The next day, I drove to the place where Sophie was staying. I boldly walked into the lobby and asked to see her. Five minutes later, I looked into the big, brown eyes of this exotic, Eurasian beauty. For me, it was love at first sight. I was head over heels, slap-happy in love. Sophie, on the other hand, was rather aloof at our first meeting. But, I was persistent and visited her every day for almost a week. Her resistance broke down and Sophie started to like me a little bit. We discovered that we like a lot of the same things. Both of us like long walks in the woods, quiet dinners at home and soft, easy music. We both like steaks. I like my steak medium rare while Sophie wants hers extremely rare or almost raw. I like chocolate chunk cookies. Sophie likes biscuits. Her only flaw is she's an Ohio State fan. Well, no one is perfect. Besides, she likes Coors Light, so that makes everything okay.
In a very short time, Sophie has brought a lot of joy to my life. I think I've been good for her, too. You see, Sophie is a Lhasa Apso/Dachshund puppy from the Clinton County SPCA in Dunnstown, Pennsylvania. The folks at the SPCA, Chris, Mary Ellen and all the crew, made it so easy for Sophie to adopt us. They prepared all the paperwork. I was able to bring Sophie home on September 21, 2008. My sons, Keith and Kyle, and I were busy all week transforming our bachelor pad into a palace. Sophie is now the Queen of Our House. And Sophie is the only girl for me.
According to Grover Cleveland Walborn, the Texas Restaurant in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, serves the world's best hot dog, the Growler. Rod Fowler always said he would rather eat a Growler than a steak . Residents of Michaelville stop at the Texas Restaurant on their excursions to Lock Haven so they can fill up on Growlers. Area natives, who live and work throughout the USA, stop at the Texas for a Growler when they return home, sometimes before they visit any relatives or friends.
The Growler is a work of art: a good, tasty frankfurter, lathered in mustard, smothered in onions, covered with the Texas' own special sauce, on a steamed bun. Can life be any better?
The Great Buddha must've been thinking of a Growler when he said "Make me one with everything."
* * *
Dr. Rod Fowler is retired from the University of Tennessee, Chattanooga.
* * *
Michaelville is about 8 miles from Lock Haven, as the crow flies. I never saw any crows flying from Michaelville to Lock Haven.
* * *
There once was a lad named Rod Fowler
Who would pass up a steak for a Growler.
To the Texas he went.
Fourteen dollars he spent
And almost ruined his boweler.
* * *
At the time of Rod Fowler's fourteen dollar trip to the Texas, a Growler cost fifty cents.
* * *
Whenever I eat ice cream, I always think of Cliff Vonnegut. Grover Cleveland Walborn would tell you that Cliff never ate a meal without ice cream. Sometimes, ice cream would be his meal. In those days we neighbored back- and-forth, which meant we helped each other bring in crops. Cliff and his son, Bill, would come help us bale hay. A few days later, my Dad and I would go to the Vonnegut Farm to help them bale their hay. Another big social event with dinner. Even though my Mom was a good cook, I always looked forward to going to the Vonnegut's. Vera Vonnegut was a good cook, too. And they always had plenty of ice cream, usually homemade. And Bill had two good looking sisters, Betty Kay and Nancy.
I hadn't seen Cliff for many years. One...
