On being a ghost
I went for a walk/jog a week or so ago, went north from the farm, a direction that I don’t usually go. I noticed that the old farmhouse just west of the Buzzard Glory church has collapsed. That was the last of the houses where people lived along this road when I was a kid.
Dean Merrigan lived there, don’t remember if he had a wife but I think he did. He moved away when I was pretty young. The only thing that I clearly remember about him was that he drove a Studebaker pickup truck. I haven’t seen one since. Later Chloe Lewis moved into that house with his wife and son, but not for very long. People tended to starve out pretty quickly in this neighborhood.
First house north where the little kit log cabin sits was occupied by Joe and Blossom Pribil and their son Kent. There was a big barn there at one time and they kept a few dairy cows. They built the pond on top of the hill south of the road and buried a pipe from the pond down to the barn so they could have running water. The pond never had any water in it since it is built smack on top of a hill. Don’t know why they thought it would. Joe bought a truckload of hogs at the Gallatin sale barn once and they all got sick and died not too long after he brought them home. They couldn’t catch a break. Kent grew up to be really weird and went to the University of Missouri when I was there.
After they left, Harold and Hazel Middleton moved in. I worked for them a little bit hauling hay and used to take them fish that I would catch with trotlines in Grindstone creek during the spring rains. Several other people lived there and finally the place was bought by a guy from Harrisonville who knocked down the house and put up the cabin. Last year a local guy bought it, but he was in a logging accident and broke a bunch of bones and now it is for sale again. Nobody seems to have much luck there.
Straight east of the farm was where George and Viola Myerdurk lived with their two sons Larry and Duane. Out behind where the house used to be is the shell of a 4 door 1938 Chevy. I remember going up there one time and the Chevy was laying on its’ side in the driveway. George was working on the underside of it. I guess he didn’t want to crawl under it so he threw a chain over the top and pulled it up on the passenger side with his tractor. Try that with your Toyota and see if you can drive it away. Duane and Larry used to come down to my house to play with my brother and I. Kent Pribil was too weird, he never went anywhere. We made a space ship out of an old Case threshing machine that used to belong to my grandfather. The straw blower tube made a hellacious cannon. It’s about a foot in diameter and 8 feet long and you can point it any direction if you have a half hour to struggle with the cables and pulleys. I heard that Duane ended up in prison, and Larry probably did too.
Second house to the south was where Duke and Doc Clapper lived, a pair of battler brothers. Duke used to hire me to haul a pickup load of coal for him from Pattonsburg about once a month during the winter. Maybe that’s why I like those black greasy fireman songs. I’m the only guy I know who has ever actually shoveled a load of coal. Duke gave me a double barrel 12 gauge shotgun that I still have, don’t remember if it was for hauling coal or not. I still have it.
There were 6 or 8 other families on this road back then, but they are all gone now. Almost all dead for a long time.
It occurred to me while walking along one time that this is what it’s like to be a ghost. I’m still here, but all the people are gone. I can see them, I can walk down their road, through their yards and through their houses, but they can’t see me or touch me. Like a ghost, I really shouldn’t be here. I should be somewhere in some suburb with other aging baby boomers, keeping the lawn trimmed, watching my 401K, woodworking in the basement, doing whatever those people do. But I’m not. I’m still here.
The road is haunted, but down the road I go.
Dean Merrigan lived there, don’t remember if he had a wife but I think he did. He moved away when I was pretty young. The only thing that I clearly remember about him was that he drove a Studebaker pickup truck. I haven’t seen one since. Later Chloe Lewis moved into that house with his wife and son, but not for very long. People tended to starve out pretty quickly in this neighborhood.
First house north where the little kit log cabin sits was occupied by Joe and Blossom Pribil and their son Kent. There was a big barn there at one time and they kept a few dairy cows. They built the pond on top of the hill south of the road and buried a pipe from the pond down to the barn so they could have running water. The pond never had any water in it since it is built smack on top of a hill. Don’t know why they thought it would. Joe bought a truckload of hogs at the Gallatin sale barn once and they all got sick and died not too long after he brought them home. They couldn’t catch a break. Kent grew up to be really weird and went to the University of Missouri when I was there.
After they left, Harold and Hazel Middleton moved in. I worked for them a little bit hauling hay and used to take them fish that I would catch with trotlines in Grindstone creek during the spring rains. Several other people lived there and finally the place was bought by a guy from Harrisonville who knocked down the house and put up the cabin. Last year a local guy bought it, but he was in a logging accident and broke a bunch of bones and now it is for sale again. Nobody seems to have much luck there.
Straight east of the farm was where George and Viola Myerdurk lived with their two sons Larry and Duane. Out behind where the house used to be is the shell of a 4 door 1938 Chevy. I remember going up there one time and the Chevy was laying on its’ side in the driveway. George was working on the underside of it. I guess he didn’t want to crawl under it so he threw a chain over the top and pulled it up on the passenger side with his tractor. Try that with your Toyota and see if you can drive it away. Duane and Larry used to come down to my house to play with my brother and I. Kent Pribil was too weird, he never went anywhere. We made a space ship out of an old Case threshing machine that used to belong to my grandfather. The straw blower tube made a hellacious cannon. It’s about a foot in diameter and 8 feet long and you can point it any direction if you have a half hour to struggle with the cables and pulleys. I heard that Duane ended up in prison, and Larry probably did too.
Second house to the south was where Duke and Doc Clapper lived, a pair of battler brothers. Duke used to hire me to haul a pickup load of coal for him from Pattonsburg about once a month during the winter. Maybe that’s why I like those black greasy fireman songs. I’m the only guy I know who has ever actually shoveled a load of coal. Duke gave me a double barrel 12 gauge shotgun that I still have, don’t remember if it was for hauling coal or not. I still have it.
There were 6 or 8 other families on this road back then, but they are all gone now. Almost all dead for a long time.
It occurred to me while walking along one time that this is what it’s like to be a ghost. I’m still here, but all the people are gone. I can see them, I can walk down their road, through their yards and through their houses, but they can’t see me or touch me. Like a ghost, I really shouldn’t be here. I should be somewhere in some suburb with other aging baby boomers, keeping the lawn trimmed, watching my 401K, woodworking in the basement, doing whatever those people do. But I’m not. I’m still here.
The road is haunted, but down the road I go.
posted by tickmeister at 4:17 PM
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