stories of buddy don:
story writ to play with point of view

Burned

 

"I just don't think I'm ready to settle down," Brad said, pulling at his wispy little moustache. "I'm just too young."

"Twenty-six?" Brad's girlfriend Marianne asked under her breath, shaking her bowed head and then tossing her long blond hair back over her shoulders with both hands.

"Don't you think you ought to light that thing, Jim? You've let it go out again." Brad coughed loudly, dryly, into his hand.

Both Jim and Brad were sitting on the floor. Jim leaned forward onto his knees, bent over his crotch, pulled back the denim flap and struck a wooden match against his zipper. Jim was nearly thirty, but he looked older. His hair had always been thin and fine, and in recent years it had begun the slow retreat toward the back of his head. Thick brown patches remained above his ears, and an insubstantial tuft of it had set up a desperate rear guard action in the middle of his head. This he wore long and let hang awkwardly into his face.

"Too young to be married?" Jim said, holding the match in front of him and turning to his right to smile at his wife, Tammy, who rolled her blue eyes toward the ceiling. "I think you got the wrong idea about marriage, Bro'. It's really not as bad as you think. In fact, it's the happiest state known to man."

"Really," Marianne added. Jim turned to his left and met Marianne's green eyes for a moment. She did not smile, so Jim dropped his eyes and continued.

"Well, there comes a time in your life when you got to take responsibility for your actions. I mean, let's face it, I'm no angel myself —"

Both Marianne and Tammy laughed.

"Amen, Bro'," Brad said, again thoughtfully pulling at his moustache. "But you've always been quick enough about tying the knot."

"Yes, I was once. But I went through the jungle myself, and, if I do say so, I did all right there." Jim looked down at the half burned match as he said this. Marianne caught Tammy looking at Brad. Then she caught her eye, and each woman smiled. Brad looked at the ceiling.

Jim lifted the match to the joint, which began smoking but did not light. He raised it to his lips for a moment, then paused. It was still unlit.

"But I swear, Bro', I was never happy there. That wasn't really what life was all about. I'd seen both worlds, you know, when I remarried."

"Yeah, I know," Brad said. "Let's see can you light that number."

"I swear, man, I'm happier now than I ever was. Tammy and I are like partners. No matter what happens, we're together. It's like having this great friend to go through your whole life with, and like, you never have to worry about lots of things, like women and things, ever again. You're really free when you're mar — ouch!"

Jim jerked his hand sharply and the blackened bit of match fell to the carpet, smoking lightly.

All four of them laughed.

 

 * * *

 

Tammy wanted to laugh when her brother-in-law, Brad Lundy, said he was too young to settle down.

His attitude about women really stinks. He ought to rent them out by the hour.

She took a drag off her cigarette and spied him carefully. A tall, lanky hunk, actually, with curly brown hair and that little boy's moustache, he is attractive. I can't deny that he could get all of the women, probably, that he could ever want. The bastard.

Tammy snuffed her cigarette into the ash tray at her left. As she did so, she watched her thin, awkward husband light the match against his zipper.

I wonder if little boys ever grow up? He must have tried that trick a thousand times at least. I guess it makes him feel like a man. Lord knows, he's no macho. So different, these brothers, the one so strong and physical, the other so thin, so cerebral, so fragile. Still, that's what I love about him: he can be weak with me.

What's this now? What's he saying?

"Too young to be married?" Jim said, holding the match in front of him and turning to his right.

Yes, honey, I know your brother is a callous bastard. It's nice the way James understands me. He must know exactly what I'm thinking.

And he's right about marriage being the happiest state. At least there one can find a little security with a lover. You can protect each other from the temptation of people like Marianne, poor woman. I wonder if Bradley the Macho knows about Marianne's unsuccessful attempts with Jim? Surely not. He'd never settle for something someone else had rejected.

Tammy looked over at Marianne. What was Jim saying now?

" . . . let's face it, I'm no angel."

That's funny, Tammy thought, laughing out loud as she caught Marianne's eye. What a cat! With those green eyes, that sleek body. I'll bet you'd still love to get your claws into my Jimbo. And I don't blame you. Fact is, I feel for you, your kind that is. You end up with Brad, who'll never be anything but a callous bastard chasing skirts. He's been through how many different women now? And you're no different, honey. He'll leave you when the next pretty face looks his way.

But don't get any ideas. I'll protect Jim, believe me. He's as innocent as a two year old, my baby, and I'd kill to protect him from any further suffering. He needs me. He told me, with words, with tears, and tears never lie —

"Ouch!" Jim cried. Tammy started from the couch to stamp the burning match if necessary, but it was already out. Then she laughed.

 

 * * *

 

"I'm too young to settle down, Brad said, pulling unconsciously at his moustache. He stole a quick glance at Tammy. Not his type. But tough. I love the way she sits, so damned feminine. And those blue eyes! Damn, they could melt you. I've always been kinda partial to auburn hair, anyway. But those tits of hers — they're basically missing. Give me a lady with lungs, any day.

I wish Jim would pay more attention to what he's doing. He always lets the joint go out while he's preaching.

"Don't you think you ought to light that thing, Jim? You've let it go out again."

God, my brother. He's living in never-never land. Married again? Not that this one isn't an improvement.

Oh no, here he goes with the zipper trick. Good, it worked for once. Now put the match to the joint and pass it over.

No, he's got to talk first.

"Too young to get married?"

Damn, I wish he'd leave me alone about that. Can't he see I'm not the marrying kind? Sure, it's just the thing for him since he's always been the ugly one. God, look at him now, that stupid hair falling in his face. He looks like a clown, a stupid clown. Oh well, that's what marriage does to you, makes you a damned clown.

What do I need marriage for anyway? I can get all the sex I want without it. Better sex, too.

Brad glanced at Marianne, who was laughing with Tammy. Must be a private joke. Women anyway! Why would you want to sign your life away to just one woman? I bet if old Jimbo'd ever had anyone like Marianne, he'd change his tune. Woman'll fuck your brains out. I wonder does Tammy? Naw, can't imagine it. Must be funny, the two of them in bed. I bet ol' Jimbo's cock's as skinny as he is. Must be like getting stabbed for Tammy. Shit, a woman wants strength, passion, control. God, I just wish Jimbo'd heard Marianne last night: she was wicked. She loves it when I hold her down and pump as hard as I —

"Ouch!" Jim cried, causing Brad to lean forward to pat the match out if necessary.

I swear, that guy. He didn't even get the joint lit in all of that. Brad couldn't help laughing.

 

 * * *

 

Here he goes again with that too-young-to-settle-down business.

"Twenty six?" Marianne said under her breath. Of course, he chooses not to hear me. I sometimes wonder if he hears anything I say. At least Jim — oh no!

Jim leaned forward onto his knees, bent over his crotch, pulled back the denim flap and struck a wooden match against his zipper.

So he's still doing that! Oh, Jimmy, how can you ignore me now? After everything we went through, I should hate you, I know, I should utterly hate you, your thin little arms, your thin hair, but, oh Jimmy!, how I would love to touch your thinness again. No one ever understood me the way you did, no one. Surely you know I'm not interested in that boob, your brother? God, what an animal. But Jimmy, I'd do anything just to get near, and when he said his name was Lundy, I couldn't . . . what? What is he saying?

" . . . got the wrong idea about marriage, Bro'. It's really not as bad as you think. In fact, it's the happiest state know to man."

"Really."

Yes, that got his attention. He thinks I approve. Oh, Jimmy, you still have the sexiest grey eyes, Jesus, look at me Jimmy, can't you see how I feel? That's it, drop your eyes. Let's hear what you've got to say for the holy estate of matrimony.

"Well, there comes a time in your life when you've got to take responsibility for your actions . . . "

Yes, Jimmy, how well you say what you cannot do.

Marianne could not help laughing out loud.

Oh, Jimmy, you always were the preacher, but you could never lie, so why do you try? When did you take responsibility with me? And that little wife of yours, I just bet she loves to hear you sermonize. Little Miss Goody-goody, won't even smoke a joint with us. Look at her staring at you. She doesn't know you at all, does she? Yes, smile at me, Sweetie, isn't your hubby cute? Don't you just love the way he preaches nothing but the truth? I wonder if you'd smile if you knew about us? Has he ever cried with you? Have you ever raised blood on his back? No doubt you're too sweet to make a man bleed, aren't you dear?

What? What the hell is he saying now? Never was happy in the jungle? I suppose that means me? His little tiger? I'll put you back into the jungle where you belong, you little monkey. I'll show you how hard it is not to worry about a lot of things, like women, you just wait. You never could resist —

"Ouch!" Jim cried. Marianne laughed.

I hope it burns. I hope it burns.

 

 * * *

 

Jim had been uncomfortable all evening long. Imagine, his little brother showing up with Marianne. I thought she'd gone to California. And she's as beautiful as she ever was, maybe more. Why must I be such an animal? I'm happy with Tammy. She's perfect for me. Why, then, can Marianne cause my body to go crazy? My heart feels like exploding. I just wasn't ready for her. You'd think little Brad could have warned me. I guess he didn't know. How could he? Bad enough that Tammy knows as much as she does. What's that?

"I just don't think I'm ready to settle down," Brad said. Look at him tug that moustache. It's really funny. He's so big and strong, but he's got no hair on his chest or his face to speak of. I may be bald, but . . .

I wish he would marry Marianne. That way she'd be off my hands for good. Ah — what am I thinking? That way she'd be that much closer, that much more tempting. I've got to say something before I light this.

"Too young to be married?" Jim said, turning his gaze to his wife. She hates the little punk. Good old Tammy, solid as a rock. It's nice of her to be so kind to Marianne. Of course, she thinks we never had anything between us. Look how she rolls her eyes. Nothing but contempt for Brad's being unwilling to get serious and settle down.

"I think you've got the wrong idea about marriage, Bro' — " I've got to say the right things now, for Tammy's sake. And I believe what I'm saying anyway. I am happy. I am. I am. I am. "It's really not as bad as you think. In fact, it's the happiest state known to man."

"Really," Marianne said. Jim turned to his left and met her green eyes for a moment. Was she asking a question? Or backing me up? I know you, Marianne, I know what you're thinking. It's a question. Damn you! I am happy! Marianne did not smile, so Jim dropped his eyes.

"Well, there comes a time in your life when you got to take responsibility for your actions. I mean, let's face it, I'm no angel myself —"

The women laughed.

"Amen, Bro'," Brad said.

Shit, I blew that one. Surely they don't think I'm that bad!

"Yes, I was once. But I went through the jungle myself, and, if I do say so, I did all right there."

What am I saying? There was Judy, my first wife, a child, a foolish adventure. Then, seems like it was years later, years of frustration — I hated women! I swear, they can be so cruel — but then I met Marianne, my little tiger. No, don't even think it.

"But I swear, Bro', I was never happy there." Surely Marianne knows I'm lying. I was never happier, but it couldn't work with her; she's just too wild. "That wasn't really what life was all about. I'd seen both worlds, you know, when I remarried."

I hope that convinces someone. Of course, Brad doesn't hear a word of it.

Forgive me, Marianne, but I've got to say this for Tammy's sake.

"I swear, man, I'm happier now than I ever was. Tammy and I are like partners. No matter what happens, we're together." Oh, Marianne, you do know better, don't you? "It's like having this great friend to go through your whole life with, and like, you never have to worry about lots of things, like women‑‑" Oh, Marianne, you've got to forgive me. And I know you will. I'll see you again, I know. You may have run away last time, but this time we'll —

"Ouch!"

Damn, I've got to watch what I'm doing. He felt himself blushing. Everyone was laughing at him. He chuckled politely before putting his burnt thumb into his mouth.

more ole ritin of buddy don:
story writ to make the group laff

furst, i gut to cunfess how i dint wake up on time on a counta that game las night, witch ye probly dun know bout them lady vols losin. innywho, heres a ole story i writ back in the days of the group, witch im a'gonna say lots more bout the group purty soon in that novel, life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly.

Cleaning Up

 

            James Peterson checked the time: eleven thirty.

            That gives me almost four hours to get this place in order.  No problem.

            He opened the newspaper, read the sports section first — the Cubs lost again — then the comics, the editorial page and finally the front page.  He checked the time: eleven forty seven.

            I better get to work on this place.  No, wait.  Let's check out the ladies' section.  Never can tell.  Might be something interesting there.  Anything would do.

            He read about three upcoming marriages.

            Poor fools   Do they have the flimsiest flip of a notion of what they're getting into?  No way.  I could tell them a thing or — hey, what's this?

            "Psychologist advises future bride," he read.

            All right!  Let's see what this guy knows.

            James read through the article, his foot bouncing faster and faster as he read.  Finally he stood up, mashed the paper into a huge wad, pounded it with his fist, and hurled it against the TV screen.

            Same old line of bull!  These shrinks are no saner than we are.

            The psychologist had advised the future bride that a good marriage is maintained by the constant efforts of both parties.  Each should be willing to communicate.  To be gentle.  To let feelings show.  Each should be aware of the three main problem areas in all marriages: money, relatives, sex.

            James picked up the paper along with several other loose papers that were scattered about the floor like weeds and threw them all into the trash.

            Let's face it, Mr. Shrink, your advice is OK as far as it goes, but you missed the main area of difficulty.  Sure, sex, money, in-laws, they're all problems, especially since no two people can ever agree on how much is enough.  You take Barbara and me, now, there's a perfect case for you.  When it comes to money, she's a damned miser.  I, on the other had, am unafraid to spend any and all of the money I've got.  You see.  It's very simple.  We can't agree on how much is enough.  Same goes for sex.  Again, Barb's a damned miser.  Claims she wants quality instead of quantity.  Well, as far as I'm concerned, it's always quality, but you got to give in to make a marriage go.  Hell, I should know.  I've been married twice before this, and you learn by doing — were you ever married, Mr. Shrink?  Anyway, third time's a charm, knock on wood.

            James rapped his fist against his head three times.  He walked into the kitchen.  The breakfast pan still sat on the stove.  It was filled with congealed bacon grease and looked as neglected as a hoe left lying teeth up.  Toast crumbs covered the counter as randomly as ants around a dead insect.  The butter sat melted in its dish.  Heaped into a pile in the sink were all of the dishes James and Barbara Peterson owned.  James sighed and wandered down the hall toward the bathroom.

            And relatives.  Again, it s a simple matter of when is enough enough.  I may be a glutton for sex and a bit of a spendthrift, but I do keep my family in line anyway.  But not Barbara.  Every third day it's something, a visit to her sister, dinner with her folks, a call to her brother in St. Louis.  (And what does she say when I mention the cost of long distance?  "It's only money.").

            James entered the bathroom.  His towel was wet and wadded up on the floor.  Barbara's was partially dry, hanging on the shower rod.  Pubic hairs lay like dead worms on the rim of the toilet bowl.  Moustache hairs littered the sink.  A wet wash cloth sprawled in the tub, looking as lazy as a stuffed pig.

            Water spots covered the mirror.

            But that damned shrink didn't even notice the biggest problem of all, the idiot!  And him advising that poor young girl.

            James walked into the bedroom and groaned.  The unmade bed, the dirty clothes lying all over the floor, the curls of dust lounging in the corners — help!  James left the bedroom after taking a quick glance, closing the door behind him.

            The main problem area in a marriage, Mr. Shrink, is housework.  Has been since the invention of labor saving devices and the subsequent decline of the service class.

            After checking the time again — twelve ten — James slouched down into his chair.

            Again, Mr. Shrink, it's a problem of when is enough enough.  As far as I'm concerned this place is practically paradise just the way it is.  Plenty clean for me.  But Barbara?  She's just a regular fanatic.

            "Pete," she says, "be a good boy and clean this place for me today."

            "Where are you going?" I ask.

            "Judy's baby shower's today.  I told you that last night."

            "You did?"

            "I guess you weren't listening.  As usual.  I'll be home around four.  Please don't let me down."

            And out she goes.  Of course, she gets me to promise I'll get the place in order, which means about three degrees beyond Mr. Clean.  And, of course, she brings the other forces to bear on the situation.  Says we'll go out for Chinese and damn the cost.  When she gets back.  If the house is clean.  Needless to say, that doesn't thrill me that much, even if I do love Chinese.  The clincher, though, is when she pulls out her pink dress and  drapes it across her body.

            "What do you think, Petey?  You in the mood for a hot night?"

            "Well, yeah, but how hot?  I mean, this place is a mess, Barb, like a damned garden gone to seed, and I don't know if it's worth all the    "

            "This dress'll be practically the only thing I'll be wearing."

            "Oh!"

            "I thought I'd try that sexy new garter belt you ordered from your magazine."

            "You did?  Hell, Barbie, why didn't you tell me so?  All right, all right, the Petersons gonna get down tonight!"

            "Might do it, honey, if you get this house the way I like it."

            "Oh."

            "I won't be wearing any underwear, either."

            "Oh!"

            It's not fair, really.  I beg her to try something a little different, indulge in a little fantasy, and she presents me with a job worthy of Hercules.  How'd that go, anyway?  Didn't he have a river to wash out those stables?  I'd rather shovel shit any day than dust and vacuum anyway.

            James checked his watch: twelve twenty three.

            Barely three hours left.  I've got to get going.

            James made another inspection tour of the residence, trying to find the Achilles' heel of the mess.  He began blowing dust from the surfaces of the furniture in the living room.

            She'll never know the difference.

            Soon James was coughing and sitting back in his chair.

            There has to be a better way.  I've got to find something else to appease her.  It's just not right for a future Nobel prize winning novelist and poet to be wasting his time washing dishes and vacuuming up dust.  She ought to understand that.  A woman with a master's degree in nutrition, a feminist, surely she must know how degrading housework can be.  After all, she's done enough of it.

            James pulled out his notebook and began browsing through his stories and poems.

            Too bad a poem can't dust.  Too bad a short story won't make a bed.

            He closed the notebook and dropped it to the floor.  He glanced around the room, finding no spot satisfactorily clean.  He checked the bookcase, noted a Bible lying on top of a row of books, eyed his notebook, stood up, and clapped his hands sharply three times.

            That's it, Mr. Peterson, that's the answer.  I'll just be so busy writing a fine piece of feminist fiction that I won't have a chance to do any housework.  After all, I can't let my inspiration fade when it so seldom occurs.  She'll understand that, especially if I can pull off this story.

            James opened the Bible and began writing.  When he finished, he checked his watch: three fifteen.

            That was easy enough.  Let's reread the thing.  I think I've got it finished except for the title — I know — "A Woman's Job."

             A Woman's Job

                        In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

                        And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the water.

                        And God said, Let there be light; and there was light.

                        And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.

                        And God called the light Day, and the darkness She called Night.  And the evening and the morning were the first day.

                        And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.

                        And God made the firmament and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament and it was so.

                        And God called the firmament heaven.  And the evening and the morning were the second day.

                        And God spent the next three days telling the earth to bring forth grass and the herb yielding fruit, setting the lights in the sky to divide the day and night, making the two great lights, the greater to rule the day, the lesser to rule the night, calling on the waters to bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven, telling the earth to bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle and creeping thing and beast of the earth.

                        And on the sixth day God said, Let us make woman in our image, after our likeness: and let her have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

                        So God created woman in her own image, in the image of God created she her.

                        And God formed the woman of the dust of the ground and breathed into her nostrils the breath of life; and woman became a living soul.

                        And God took the woman and put her into the garden of Eden to dress it and keep it.

                        And God commanded the woman, saying, of every tree in the garden mayest thou freely eat: But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.

                        And God said, It is not good that the woman should be alone;  I will make her a help meet for her.

                        And God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the woman, and she slept: and she took one of her ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof.

                        And the rib, which God had taken from the woman, made she a man, and brought him unto the woman.

                        And the woman said, This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh: he shall be called man for he was taken out of woman.

                        And they were both naked, the woman and her help meet, and were not ashamed.

                        Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which God had made.  And he said unto the man, yea, hath God said,  Ye shall not eat of every tree in the garden?

                        And the man said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden.  But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it lest ye go crazy or die.

                        And the serpent said unto the man, Ye shall neither go crazy nor die.  For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened and, lo!, what a rush ye shall have, getting so high ye shall think ye are God herself, knowing good and evil.

                        And when the man saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one get off bigger than shit, then he took of the fruit and did eat and gave also unto the woman; and she did eat.

                        And the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked, and feeling suddenly very kinky, they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.  And lo!, having eaten of the fruit, they became fruitful and did begin to multiply.

                        And God, she was pissed off and very saddened by the woman's weakness for the fruit of the man.  To the serpent and the man, she said, ye two shall grovel eternally hereafter, sliding in the dust.

                        And to the woman, she said, Well hell, woman, now everything's ruined.  And ye shall lose thy birthright.  And I shall cause enmity between thee and the man, causing thee to fuss and fight over sex and money and relatives, not to mention housework.  And the man shall rewrite this account in his own image, making thee his slave and giving thee all of the housework.  And yea, it shall go heavy with thee doing the dusting and the vacuuming all alone so that if there be among all the generations of serpents and menfolk one, yea even one, who would do his poor best to clean up the house, ye shall in that day be thankful unto him and cover thyself with that pink dress he likes so much and thy legs in those seamed nylons he ordered for thee from Frederick's of Hollywood, yea, even with thy garter belt shalt thou go clad, neglecting also to wear any panties.  And if this ye be unable to do, well hell, ye and the man shall fuss and fight anyway.  So there.

 

            James closed his notebook and spent a good fifteen minutes picking up the clutter of the house.  He even began doing the dishes.  When he was halfway through them he heard his wife at the door.  Moving rapidly, he pulled on Barbara's flowered apron and went to the door to let her in.

            "Aren't you finished yet?" Barbara asked, charging into the house with a double armload of groceries.  James took them from her and began putting them away, the honey and canned vegetables into the cabinets, the milk and eggs and fruit into the refrigerator.

            "Well, I got distracted, Baby.  I wrote something for you."

            Barbara was combing out her long brown hair.  She paused.

            "For me?  How sweet.  Let's see."

            Barbara began reading the story.  James paced continually, making his path about three feet in front of Barbara.  When she finished, she smiled the smile of a mother who's just received a crude valentine from a young child.

            "Oh Honey, you shouldn't have."

            "I know.  I was trying to get this place cleaned up the way you like it, and just as I was beginning to dust the living room, I noticed the Bible, and wham!, I'm hit with a sudden inspiration.  You know I couldn't let it go, cause love is more important that even housework."

            "Yes, yes, dear, it is," she said, patting him lightly on the head.

           "So why don't you go get your shower while I finish up these dishes?"

            "Shower?"

            "For tonight."

            "What about tonight?"

            "Aren't we going out for Chinese?"

            "Oh Lord, I forgot all about it.  I've invited Mom and Dad over for dinner."

            "But what about the garter belt?  The pink dress?  The hot night?"

            "They'll just have to wait until next week."

            "But that's what you said last week."

            "Did I?  Well, let's get this place cleaned up.  I couldn't do it tonight anyway, Honey.  I started today."

            "Started what?  Oh, started.  So?"

            "Besides, we don't have the money to go out this month."

            "But . . . But . . ."

            "You know our financial situation as well as I do.  Now let's get this place cleaned up."

            Barbara got the dust rag and some furniture polish and went to work.  James watched, his hands thrust into the pockets of the flowered apron.  Suddenly Barbara noticed him, came over, put her arms around him.

            "By the way, Honey, it was sweet of you to write that story.  And you've got one thing absolutely right about God."

            "What's that?"

            "She'd never send a man to do a woman's job."

songs of buddy don:
song writ with miz bd

Goodbye Old Tennessee

In our little town, most everyone was poor
But the Henrys were the poorest of us all
Their tin-roof shack had a couple rooms, very little more
No plumbing, no electric, tar paper walls
Seven kids, you had to wonder where they put 'em all

Tom Henry was the eldest, quit school when his daddy died
Took whatever work he could find
Day jobs a local farms cause he couldn't read or write,
But when they paid him with a pumpkin, he said, "I think it's time
For me to leave this little town and all you good old boys behind."
And everyone laughed when he said ...

[Chorus]
“Goodbye Old Tennessee,
I’m gone to Chattanooga
Gone to see Rock City
To see where Ruby Fell
Goodbye Old Tennessee
I’m mighty glad I knew ya
I might pass this way again
You can never tell”

We all had to smile when he thumbed down a northbound truck
Acting like he knew exactly what to do
We should have said “Good-bye,” but we all said, "Good luck."
Told ourselves, “He’ll be back in a week or two.”
What else could such a simple boy ever do?

It seemed like such a shame to leave his family thataway
But the Henrys weren't the kind to take help from anyone
When we would ask about him, his mama would say,
"Lord knows I miss him, he's my first born son
But I'm proud he had the guts to do, what had to be done
I'm even proud how he said ... "

“Goodbye Old Tennessee,
I’m gone to Chattanooga
Gone to see Rock City
To see where Ruby Fell
Goodbye Old Tennessee
I’m mighty glad I knew ya
I might pass this way again
You can never tell”

[Bridge]
Dad left me the store, so I had to hang around
Praying that the Interstate would not pass us by
It cut up our mountain and split our little town
Now you sit out on your front porch and hear the trucks roll by
And wonder why it seems there're fewer stars up in the sky
And wonder if it's failure if you never even try

Now Tommy lives in Ohio, works assembly line
Comes back to visit now and then
Bought his Ma a new house in that track called Shady Pines
Stops in to see me, calls me his old friend
Loves to reminisce about good old days, way back when,
Back before he said ...

“Goodbye Old Tennessee,
I’m gone to Chattanooga
Gone to see Rock City
To see where Ruby Fell
Goodbye Old Tennessee
I’m mighty glad I knew ya
I might pass this way again
You can never tell”

Goodbye Old Tennessee,
Goodbye Old Tennessee,
Goodbye Old Tennessee!

repeats of buddy don:
caint say it inny better

the articull down below is one i writ back in december, but i caint put it inny better. with the developments frum the weekend, speshly the shi'ite uprisin, thangs is gittin out of hand. twuz a dredful turn fer thangs to take. so here's a repeat.

pinions of buddy don:
ye cant win harts n minds with bullets

i wish i could find the quotayshun whar sumbidy wuz arguin that ye kin establish democracy with a gun. i thank twuz in the washington post, but i cant find it nohow. the riter pointed out how thay had dun been a few democracies made thataway. a cuple he menchuned wuz the american revolution n the french revolution.

but thatn dont wurk fer whuts a'goin on in iraq, witch thats whut the riter wuz trine to say, that ye could make a democracy usin a gun. problem with his eggzamples is that the holders of the guns wuz the folks who wuz fitin fer thar own democracy. twuz the insurgents in the fite, not the big powers, be they the british or the french monarchy. tiz us in iraq.

the history of the worl shows ye that it takes a folk makin thar own cuntry to git ye a democracy out of it. n that means that the folks has to git it into thar own harts n minds that democracy is whut they wont. ifn they dont wont it, then ye cant enforce it on a counta ye wood be voted out furst time they tuck a vote.

so whuther we lack it or not, whut we half to do ifn we wont democracy overn iraq (or innywhar) is to cunvints folks to wont it fer thar ownself. ye gut to win thar harts n minds. taint easy.

take whut's a'goin on over in iraq right now. furst, we had to close one of thar media outlets, al arabiya, on a counta how twuz broadcastin saddam hussein. in its place we dun put up a stayshun or our own name of al iraqiya. thang is, folks in iraq druther here al arabiya than al iraqiya.

problem fer us is were in a fite we dont hardly know how to win. these is just my pinions, so ye kin ignore em all:

1. folks livin in iraq aint used to democracy n dont hardly wont it


2. ifn ye could give democracy out to folks in iraq, its hard to bleeve they wood vote the way we wont em to


3. folks livin in the arab worl larnt how to fite asymetrickull battles frum lawrence of arabia n they been a'usin it ever since (have ye dun red t. e. lawrences seven pillars of wisdom? do ye wonta unnerstand whut's a'gone on over thar? then ye gut to read it! the movie aint near as good as the book fer this kinda thang)


4. folks livin the arab worl have been wontin n havin theocracy in sted of democracy most of thar histries.


5. thays folks over here that seems to wonta make us a theocracy in sted of a democracy


6. ifn folks over here, whar we gut us a form of republican democracy, kin wonta a theocracy, it shouldnt cum as a sprize that folks wonta keep the theocracies they dun gut or could git back


7. granted, iraq wuz a secular muslim nayshun, n thats whut we wont it to be, but thays minny folk over thar that never wonted it to be secular


8. member that the main thang saddam n osama couldnt agree on whuz whuther to have theocracy or a secular gummint


9. mos everthang we kin do with our power is a'gone hep tuther side make its points agin us

corse, ifn we cant win the harts n minds over here, whut kin we speck frum our efforts over thar? we wuz set on gittin osama, dead or alive. whutever becum of him? we wuz a'gone smoke him out frum whutever hole he wuz in. he wuz publick enemy number 1 with a bullet. now hes a forgotten man livin in pakistan or afghanistan, sumwhars whar we aint gut a nuff troops to ketch him.

did sumbidy use weppons of mass distrackshun on us?

i luv my cuntry the way i luv my son. ifn he wuz to tell me he wuz gittin reddy to do sumthin stoopid, lack try smokin crack, i wood criticize him. i wood try to stop him. i wood have a march on his home if i thought it wood wurk. fack is, i wood do everthang i could to git him to stop. i wood not be anti-son fer doin so. ifn he persisted in takin the rong path, i couldnt pertend its rite jes to show him my support. i wood half to tell him the truth.

same applies to my cuntry. twuz a miss take to git distrackted frum gittin osama. period. ifn we dont stick with doin whut we say were a'gone do, then aint nobidy gonna take us serious.

n ifn ye aint tuck serious, ye dont win harts n minds. fack is, ye kin only win harts with luv n minds with better idees. bullets dont fit neethur deescriptshun.

life of buddy don, chaptur 112:
goin home

them last lonely days in frankfurt am main, west germany, finely cum to thar end. corse thay wuz a slew of lil thangs i had to do fer them germans to let me go, papers fer the d-a-a-d, givin satisfackshun to the immobilien that rented us the apartment, yew name it, but i run thru it all lack twuz the las nine miles of bad road before ye git to the hiway.

frieda wuz a big hep in everthang. we had colleckted sum thangs that woodnt wurk over in amurka lack our tv n radio, so after much convintsin, she agreed to take em, promissin to find em good homes on a counta she dint need nuthin. she organized a lil goin away party fer me with all the folks we had hung roun with: erika, branimir frum croatia, marketta frum finland, winston frum tanzania, richard frum england n a few otherns i caint member rite now. we all gut together in the taverna marthon n had us a big greek dinner n way too much beer. they give me four bottles of wine to member em by, witch i dint wont em on a counta thay wuz a limit on whut ye could brang into the cuntry, but ye caint say no to a gift, kin ye?

then it cum time to pack up everthang in that trunk, witch here agin cum frieda to hep out. turnt out thar wuz thangs we had to throw away lack that plastick closet n sum old food. twuz a lil embarrassin how whenever we tuck the apartment apart, thousands of lil cockroaches wuz hidin everwhar. we had always had the problem n tride our best to kill em all, but dint seem to matter nun whut ye dun. frieda wuz nice bout it, claimin that everwhar ye had humans, ye had cockroaches. she splained how she wuz studyin ecology n had larnt that thay wuz only a few speeshees of animulls in the hole worl with growin populayshuns: cockroaches, pigeons, rats, mice n humans, witch i caint member ifn thar wuz sum otherns she listed. she sed twuz easy to member witchns wuz growin on a counta all ye had to do wuz thank bout witchns lived offa human garbage. thats the kind of friend frieda wuz.

that nite i barly slep. all i could thank bout wuz emily n sum of our add ventchurs. fer sum reason, i gut to thankin bout all the lil crushes we had shard with each other. fer sum reason, she lacked to talk bout who she had a crush on n who i had a crush on n sumtimes she lacked to fantasize together bout thangs that coulda happend. she lacked to git me to talk bout my crushes, witch i had a cuple here n thar. i wuz attrackted to a messy german gurl that wuz in our classes only we never larnt her name. she lacked hearin bout her n maginin how thangs mite be ifn she wuz innerested in me or mayhap sumthin happend twixt all three of us.

then thar wuz marketta, witch i reckon we bof has us a lil crush on her. she wuz a dark n mysterious type of woman who spoke english with a purty acksent n lacked to keep her hand on yer arm whenever she wuz talkin to ye. we had gone to nitespots now n agin so i had danced with her a few times, witch emily lacked to git me to do that n then talk bout whut twuz lack n whut mite could happen.

corse she had crushes her ownself, lack this crush she had on that english feller name of richard straw. she lackd to magine we had us a open marrg whar she mite git a kiss or a lil more frum him. n she lacked to talk bout how purty marketta wuz n wunder why richard dint ast her out.

but oddest thang wuz, she lacked fer me to make up lil fantasies, speshly bout brangin marketta home n havin sumthin happen twixt the three of us. tiz odd that i wood have truble sleepin on a counta thoughts lack these. hadnt nuthin never happend, but mayhap i wuz sorry i hadnt dun nuthin to make sumthin happen? wuz that whut she really wonted? corse, i wuz a lil shy bout openin up a marrg on a counta how thangs had dun gone in my furstn.

bout 3 am a baseball game cum on the radio n i gut up n started packin the las thangs. i had my last brakefuss at a lil konditorei on a counta i dint wonta make a mess at home. bout 8 am, frieda n erika rang the buzzer n hepped me put my thangs in thar car. they drove me down to the hauptbahnhof n hepped me git it reddy to lode onto the train. they each give me a big ole hugs n promissd they wood visit us in amurka sumday. then i dragged my stuff onto the train n off i went.

the flite wuz sumthin lack eight hours long, but ye left at noon n gut to new york by 3 pm on a counta the time differnts. durin the flite, i couldnt hep but thank bout how nice twood be to hold emily in my arms agin. but i fell asleep fer a lil nap n dreamd bout emily only she turnt into marketta n then that messy german gurl till i woke up with a lil start. i almos felt guilty bout havin betrayd emily by havin that dream. thang wuz, i dint even know if she wuz a'gonna be thar to meet me whenever i gut offa that plane or wood she stay in looseburg till i could go git her? we dint have the money fer long distunts n letters wuz slow, so i dint know who wuz cummin fer me.

twuz a big shock whenever i finely gut offn the plane to see my cuntry agin. fer one thang, twuz big n messy n pushy. thay wuz a feller on that plane with a long black coat n a black hat, witch i larnt later twuz the uniform of a seckshun of jews call haseedem. i never met a ruder person. whenever we cum to wait fer our luggage, he pushd rite to the frunt, pushd aside a ole lady who cride out, 'i never!' turnt out he dint have hardly no luggage, jes a lil briefcase lookin thang made out of metal.

but he wuz jes one amung minny that wuz pushin n i finely gut into the ack whenever i saw my trunk cummin. i had dun gut me a lil cart to move thangs. i pushed it thru to customs, witch they ast did i have innythang to deeclare, so i splaind bout them bottles of wine. they laffd n sed i could go on.

i pushed that cart rite out of customs. i looked agin at my skedule n noticed my nex flite wuz in 45 mints frum a airport name of la guardia, witch the lufthansa plane had landed at jfk. i found a feller wearin a red hat n ast him bout whar this la guardia wuz n how could i git thar in time fer my flite. he looked at me lack i wuz a lil simple n sed i couldnt git thar in time fer that flite, even ifn i tuck a cab. i dint have no amurkin money n dint hardly have no german marks neethur, so thar wuznt no way i could take a cab. he sed thay wuz a bus that wood take me, but thay wuznt no way i wood make it in time.

twuz a puzzle i dint need. i wuz plum tuckerd out. then whenever i wuz about to push that cart out to the curb whar i could git the bus, i run into sum kinda barrier they had put thar sos the cart couldnt git out. i tride to squeeze it thru, but waznt no way to doot. purty soon a big old fella who wuz blackern wintson frum tanzania cum by. he wuz wearin a red hat n sed he could hep me carr my thangs, but i wood half to pay him. i tole him i dint have no amurkin money n offerd him dm5, witch he dint lack it but he tuck it n then hepped me git my luggage to the bus. while i wuz standin in line, he went to change the money. purty soon he cum out a'boilin mad. turnt out he only gut a lil under $3 fer his wurk n he wonted me to give him more. i tole him i had dun give him everthang i had, witch twuznt the hole truth, but i wonted to save my east german marks. lucky fer me, the bus cum then n i drug my stuff on toot.

turnt out that bus dint git to la guardia till bout 45 mints after my flite had dun left. i gut a dime i had saved the hole year jes in case n made a long distunts call n tride to call mama colleck, but thay wuznt no anser. i tride callin brew out to the farm. no anser. finely i calld virgil, witch he sed everbidy wuz out to mcghee-tyson probly. i ast could he call out thar n git em wurd i wood be on a later flite, witch i had dun figgerd the nex flite i could git woodnt git me home till near midnite.

turnt out emily did make it to the airport n twuz lack winnin a jackpot to have her back in my arms. she wuz all tanned n lookin jes as beeyootiful as could be. everbidy wuz tired, but daddy wonted to stay up n talk bout whuther i had finely seen the lite bout the evils of communism, witch i hadnt never pertended otherwise ceptn to say i figgerd folks wuz folks. we gut into a lil argument till i wuz too tard to carry on. emily had dun gone to bed, but daddy dint wonta let up. so i ast could we switch sides fer a while, witch that purty much ended it.

i went to bed n found emily a'waitin fer me. we wuz hungry fer each other, witch the nex lil while seemd lack a blur till twuz near dawn n she wuz snorin nex to me. i wuz tard as i had ever been, but i couldnt sleep. i wuz too eggcited to be back home. i put my arms roun emily, witch she lacked to sleep spoons style n hugged up close. her hair smelld of tubacka n i could feel my lungs twitch. but i wuz home n fack is, the smell seemd so nice that i kissed her hed till she woke up n turnt over n kissd me. her mouth tasted lack a ashtray, but twuz deelishus. we dint sleep agin that nite.

maginayshun of buddy don:
whut if?

much of whut we been a'doin in the worl is based on speckulayshun n the condishunul statement. in other wurds, we wurry bout whut ifs:

• whut if saddam wuz allowd to keep his weppons of mass destruckshun?
  
• whut if he wuz to git together with al qaeda to attack us?
  
• whut if saddam ackshly had had weppons of mass destruckshun?
  
• whut if saddam ackshly had had a allyants with al qaeda?
  
• whut if north korea could shoot a missle with a nukular bomb on it far a nuff to hit the usa?
  
• whut if missle defents really wurked?

i reckon ye kin cum up with yer own 'whut ifs' n ifn ye caint, jes do a google search on sumthin lack 'bush justification for iraq war' or 'condi rice' or 'donald rumsfeld' or 'dick cheney' n yer bound to find plenty of 'whut ifs' that we couldnt dare let turn into mushroom clouded smokin guns.

so ifn ye wood allow me, id lack to put up a whut if my ownself ceptn tiz more of a 'wooda, coulda shoulda' kinda thang, witch thems losers wurds (fer instunts, back in 1996, sum vol fans mite coulda been sayin, 'we wooda won n coulda won n shoulda won ifn only that memphis fella had been calld down when his knee hit the ground'). i reckon tiz fittin to be usin losers wurds on a counta almos inny way ye mayshur it, we is lackly to be usin lots of losers wurds ifn thangs dont start gittin better.

so, feelin lack a real loser, id lack to spin this here 'whut if?'

cast yer memry back to late 2001 n early 2002 in afghanistan.

whut if we had put all our effurt into puttin that cuntry back together? whut if we had dedictaed the $170 billyuns to fixin that cuntry in sted of spendin it on brakin iraq? whut if we had put 100,000 troops in afghanistan n kep em thar till we had run down osama, ded or alive? whut if we had tole pakistan that they wuz eethur with us or agin us n ifn they kep on givin folks lack them talibans n al qaeda places to hide, then we wood let our army cross thar border?

whut if we had caught osama bin laden n mullah omar n put em on trial in publick? whut if we had larnt untold secrets bout thar organizayshuns sos we could really brang em to a end? whut if we had eggsposed em to the worl fer the losers they really is? whut if we hadnt made em into martyrs even befor thar ded? whut if we had tuck away thar claim to be standin up to amurka on a counta how they wuznt able to?

whut if we had shut down the easy movement of money round the worl in secret accounts? whut if we had been real serious bout stoppin money frum gittin launderd n then used to pay fer terrst attacks?

whut if we had used all that money we spent on the destruckshun of iraq fer the bildin of afghanistan? whut if we had hepped them afghans bild a real securty force, sumthin to replace the warlords or at lease to brang em into the gummint in a coopertiv manner? whut if we had built skools n roads n brung in tracters n hay balers n everthang a farmer mite need to make a livin offa sumthin that aint a poppy? whut if we had put all our effurt on gettin democracy eggzackly rite in jes one place, one remote difficult place, a place the worl has calld god foresaken but whar faith wuz still a'livin, a place that everbidy had jes ignord till it could grow up groups lack al qaeda or them talibans? whut if we had made it the beacon of freedum n democracy in the muslim worl?

whut if the evenin news wuz filld with pitchers of afghan children gittin diplomas? n afghan factries gittin bilt? n afghan commerce cummin back? whut if we wuz seein 'made in afghanistan' on lots of thangs we buy at walmart? whut if them leaders of afghanistan hosted the league of arab states, jes fer the fun of it, even tho they aint arabs perzackly?

whut if we had hepped em bild a secure pipeline rite down the middle of thar safe n secure cuntry, brangin oil frum uzbekistan n/or the caspian sea n/or turkmenistan n/or wharever tiz up in thar down to pakistan n then to the arabian sea? whut if once that oil gut to flowin, we sed to them saudis (aint they amung the real state sponsors of terrism?) n iraqis n who knows who that they could take thar oil across the street to sell, lessn they wonted to lower thar prices?

whut if the worl wuz seein whut we dun n sayin how twuz a good thang? whut if the worl wuz talkin bout how them amurkins is the bes folks aroun, how that thar george w bush is a grate man thats gonna be memberd ferever as a true friend of justus n freedum? whut if other cuntries wuz beggin fer thar chants to git on the good side of the usa?

whut if amurka wuz sayin to the res of the worl, git rid of yer terrists n mayhap ye git a visit frum us?

whut if folks wonted to git a visit frum us?

whut if we had attackd hate with luv? whut if we ackshly bleevd lots of that new testament stuff bout returnin evil with good n hatred with luv?

whut if thay wuz fewer terrsts everday on a counta how folks wonted to bild good thangs in sted of bombin em?

whut if ...

whut if ...

whut if ...

 

thankee fer yer indulgents.

now: back to reality, already in progress.