If I have ever met a farmer to whom more bizarre things have happened to than Charlie, I don’t know who it would be. So, when I spotted him at a farm meeting last week, I was pretty sure I’d have my column for this week.
Over the years, I’ve written about Charlie on several occasions. I would guess he’s in his late 70s or early 80s and milked cows for most of his time on this earth. He has been blind in one eye for as long as I’ve known him and wears a glass prosthetic. One of the hardest working men I’ve ever met, Charlie continues to do custom hay work to this day and enjoys life to the fullest with a constant smile and positive attitude.
“Tell me what’s been happening in your life,” I requested of the elderly man when he came up to shake my hand and say hello.
“Oh, not much,” he replied in that patented hillbilly drawl. “You know I’ve slowed down a lot since I quit milking, don’t you?” There wasn’t more than a three-second interval between that statement before, “Well, I guess I haven’t spoken to you since I had a run-in with the law.”
“What happened?”
Not reluctantly, Charlie began. “Well, earlier in the summer, I had been baling hay way down south of town and had encountered my usual share of breakdowns and mechanical problems. It was getting nigh on midnight when I finally headed for home in my old truck.” He paused to remind me that he didn’t see too well at night because of having only one eye and, therefore, drove much slower than most of the other people on the road. “I pull over on the shoulder once I see a good number of cars behind me, to let them get around me. Just the neighborly thing to do, you know?”
I assured him I did.
“When I got home, my wife was already in bed, so I figured I needed to shower off before calling it a day since I was covered in dust and grease. After I got out of the shower, put on my underwear, and headed toward the bedroom, I noticed a flashlight shining through the little window in the front door. I hollered, ‘Who’s out there?’”
A voice from the other side of the front door answered, “Sheriff’s department; could you come outside?”
Charlie, sure that the deputy’s voice was male, opened the door and stepped out onto the porch in nothing but his underwear.
“Is that your truck?” the deputy asked while pointing to Charlie’s truck.
“Yep,” Charlie answered. “Just got out of it a few minutes ago.”
“Well,” the deputy continued, “we’ve had a couple of calls into 911 giving us that license number as a suspected drunk driver. Have you been drinking, sir?”
Charlie assured the law enforcement officer that he probably hadn’t had a drink of alcohol, “Since Eisenhower was President.”
“You wouldn’t care, then, if I conducted a quick field sobriety test?” the deputy politely asked.
“Nope,” Charlie responded.
The deputy began his instructions. “I’m gonna hold this ink pen in front of your face and I want you to follow it, with your eyes, from side to side as I move it. Do you understand?”
Charlie reached up, removed his glass eye with his right hand and put it about an inch from the deputy’s ink pen before calmly stating, “I can follow that sucker all the way around my head, if you’d like.”
The deputy, according to Charlie, quickly excused himself and apologized for the inconvenience while hurrying to his squad car.
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
