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  More Tellable Cracker Tales

  More Tellable Cracker Tales

  Annette J. Bruce

  PINEAPPLE PRESS, INC., Sarasota, Florida

  This one is dedicated to my four grand-Crackers—Amy, Bruce, David, and Joe—all of whom, on their own, made Florida their home!

  In Appreciation

  I would like to acknowledge my indebtedness and express my appreciation to David and June Cussen and Kris Rowland of Pineapple Press, the many helpful librarians, and the historians, storytellers, and friends who have contributed much to More Tellable Cracker Tales.

  —Annette J. Bruce

  Copyright © 2002, 2009 by Annette J. Bruce

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Inquiries should be addressed to:

  Pineapple Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 3889

  Sarasota, Florida 34230

  www.pineapplepress.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Bruce, Annette J.

  More tellable cracker tales / Annette J. Bruce.– 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Includes index.

  ISBN 978-1-56164-253-3 (hb : alk. paper)

  ISBN 978-1-56164-256-4 (pb : alk. paper)

  I.Title.

  GR110.F5 B778 2002

  398’.09759—dc21

  2002025128

  First Edition

  Hb: 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Pb: 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  Design by Carol Tornatore

  Composition by Shé Hicks

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Preface by Everett A. Kelly

  Introduction

  Cracker Jack Tales

  Introduction

  Cracker Jack’s Education

  A Few Simple Questions

  The Storm of Storms

  Folktales and Legends

  Introduction

  A Vanishing Breed

  JumboJim

  Mastodon Hunt

  Marooning on the Matanzas

  The Indian Legend of Silver Springs in Florida

  The Legend of Bernice and Claire

  Whirlwind

  Historical Stories

  Introduction

  William E. Collins

  Sheriff Pogy Bill

  Fingy Conners

  Peggy O’Neale

  Smoking the Pipe of Peace

  Tall Tales and Nonsense Stories

  Introduction

  Book-Learnt

  Dogbone

  BeeBee Bumpkin

  Stories for Special Days

  Introduction

  First, Consider the Cost

  Forever Thankful

  Guest Ghosts

  The Season’s Seasoning

  Index

  Preface

  One of my life’s greatest pleasures is to read of this great state’s past. It becomes even more delightful when one can do this through the eyes of those who actually lived in those days gone by. This collection of stories, gathered and retold by Annette Bruce, is done in the language and thoughts of those who have provided us this window into what and who made Florida unique. It provides one not familiar with our history a unique insight into the Florida of yesteryear.

  In reviewing this collection, I have found hours of laughter and, more importantly, another look into my state’s colorful past. I am sure you will find as much and more.

  Everett A. Kelly

  Representative, District 42

  Florida House of Representatives

  Introduction

  As I reflect on the stories in More Tellable Cracker Tales, I become aware that some of the stories in this volume might be classified as leftovers, in as much as I was telling them before Tellable Cracker Tales went to press. The word “leftovers” reminds me of my friend’s husband, who disliked being served leftover food. One evening my friend had nothing on the dinner table except leftovers. Her husband sat down and started eating.

  My friend chided him a little. “Honey,” she said, “aren’t you going to ask the blessing?”

  “Show me one thing on this table that hasn’t already been blessed, and I’ll be happy to” he replied and continued to feed his face.

  I’ll admit that only some foods and marriages are better the second time around, but all stories improve with the telling. As each person is unique, each story is different and creates its own reason for existing. And each time a story is told it will be a little different because different tellers are telling it and assuredly because different listeners are hearing it.

  The title of this offering of tellable tales has caused no small stir. One of the many who questioned me concerning the name “Cracker” asked me if I would not feel insulted if someone called me a “Cracker.” After I told him I would not in any way feel insulted, he remarked, “I guess it would depend on who called you a Cracker.” But I quickly assured him that anyone who wanted to insult me would have to call me something other than a “Florida Cracker”! As “class” has little to do with wealth or worldly possessions—graciousness is a key ingredient—I am convinced that the nineteenth-century Florida Crackers were folks with class, worthy of emulation.

  Each story in this book was chosen and tailored with not only the reader/teller in mind but the listener as well. Without hesitation, I recommend that your bookshelf and your repertoire include both Tellable Cracker Tales and More Tellable Cracker Tales.

  —Annette J. Bruce

  Introduction

  Cracker Jack Tales

  While the core of the Cracker Jack story is deeply rooted in Southern folklore, Cracker Jack is a character I created to personify the humor and values of native Floridians as I have observed them for more than three-quarters of a century.

  The Florida Jack, like the Appalachian Jack, is a popular character who can—and usually does—enjoy a bushel of fun while stirring up a peck of trouble. Cracker Jack tales are short, easy to learn, and enjoy the same wide appeal of the Appalachian Jack tales. Thus, Cracker Jack stories make wonderful fillers, which are often a godsend to a storyteller. Remember to keep them simple and uncluttered—much of their humor depends upon their brevity.

  Do Tell!

  Cracker Jack’s Education

  Cracker Jack, like many of his peers, was smarter in the head than the Yankees thought him to be. Even his Yankee teacher thought little of Jack’s learning. This was to Jack’s liking, for he never could figure out no reason atall for being in sech an all-fired hurry to get into the next grade. Why, every time you’d get into another grade, they’d expect you to learn a lot of new stuff. So, Jack was fifteen years old and still in the fifth grade.

  One day his teacher wrote on the blackboard, and then read aloud the sentence, “I ain’t had no fun atall dis here whole summer long.” Then she asked Jack what she should do to correct this.

  After some serious thought, Jack said, “Well, I reckon you might start out by gettin’ yoreself a feller.”

  This embarrassed the teacher. She gave Jack a sheet of paper and a dictionary and said, “Go to the back of the room and write this sentence in your own words: ‘A spasmodic movement of the optic is as adequate as a slight inclination of the cranium to an equine corrupted and devoid of his visionary capacity’.”

  Jack said, “Please, Miss, run that one past me one more time.”

  The teacher said, “I’ve written it on this piece of paper. See? ‘A spasmodic movement of the optic is as adequate as a slight inclinatio
n of the cranium to an equine corrupted and devoid of his visionary capacity.’”

  “Now, Miss Crenshaw,” drawled Cracker Jack, “I’m jest a cracker, but I shore don’t need no dictionary, nor none of them fifty-cent words neither, to know that a wink is as good as a nod to a blind hoss.”

  Telling time: 3–4 minutes

  Audience: 5th grade–adult

  Prior to the twentieth century, the interior of Florida was sparsely populated. Public libraries and schools of higher learning were as scarce as hen’s teeth. Because of their isolation, many of Florida’s citizens made an effort to stay informed about world events. They eagerly welcomed and conversed with the occasional traveler, and they read and re-read every word of newspapers that were weeks, sometimes months, old. This situation produced a class of people whose speech was not governed by any rules of grammar or syntax but was often generously sprinkled with erudite words.

  A Few Simple Questions

  Cracker Jack retained his penchant for fun and frolic long after his peers had settled into rocking chairs. Tickled by the many exaggerated accounts of how Florida’s climate would add years to your life, Cracker Jack was looking forward to the expected visit of the Yankee census-taker.

  Down on his knees in the front yard shooting marbles, Jack sat back on his heels and called off the dogs when the caller came to the gate.

  The man uneasily shifted his briefcase to his left hand and cleared his throat. “I’m with the U.S. Department of Statistics. Is there anyone here who could answer a few simple questions for me?”

  “Right now, I’m the only one here, but you must be livin’ right, ’cause yore luck is shore with ye! I’m so good at answerin’ simple questions they call me Simple Jack.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “I reckon I do. I ain’t dead here.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll celebrate my sixteenth birthday comes the twenty-ninth of February.”

  “February only has twenty-eight days except in leap year.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what they tell me. Iffen I weren’t one of those leapin’ babies, I’d be a whole lot older.”

  “Are you telling me that you are sixty-three years of age?”

  “No, sir. It’s easier for me ter just keep up with my birthdays. You can figure out my age for yoreself.”

  “Does anyone else live here?”

  “Right now, jest me and my pa.”

  “Where is he?”

  “My pa? He’s pickin’ oranges today.”

  “Picking oranges!” the census-taker uttered in total disbelief. “How old is he?”

  “He was ninety, January fifteenth past.”

  “And just the two of you live here?”

  “Yes, sir. Ma got mad at Pa ’cause he kept flirtin’ with the new schoolmarm and went home to her mama. And I reckon Grandpa won’t be livin’ here no more either.”

  “No, I guess your grandpa is dead.”

  “Well, you’ve guessed wrong, mister. He just left here this morning goin’ to the justice of the peace to get married.”

  “Your grandpa is getting married?”

  “I’m afraid he is!”

  “How old is he?”

  “We celebrated his one hundred twelfth birthday last Sunday.”

  “Now, what on earth would a hundred-and-twelve-year-old man want to get married for?”

  “Oh, he didn’t want to—they’re makin’ him. It’s one of ’em shotgun weddings, and Grandpa knows that Betty Lou’s pa is the best shot in this neck of the woods. So you can count on Grandpa being married by the time that Florida sun sinks into that lake.”

  Telling time: 6–7 minutes

  Audience: adults

  In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, tuberculosis ran rampant in the northern states. When it was found that Florida’s climate was a miracle cure for the dreaded disease, real estate hawkers made the most of this selling point. The stories about the healing properties of Florida’s climate were embellished until they were beyond belief by even the most naive, but these tall tales were especially enjoyed by the teller with an uninitiated listener.

  The Storm of Storms

  Cracker Jack was well liked by most folks, even those who believed him to be downright lazy. Others better understood Jack and knew that his primary problem was his notion. You see, he had a notion that life was one big party and that it was his sacred duty to enjoy it.

  Today was Saturday and Jack’s birthday, which gave vent to his notion. Jack was up bright and early getting his chores done so that he could get on with the business of having fun. Before he had finished feeding up, he spied his Grandpa riding up, leading his young white mule, Buncombe.

  As you might have guessed, it was the family’s admiration of Col. William Harney that had promoted the unusual name for the mule, and Cracker Jack thought that even Harney’s horse couldn’t be any smarter than his Grandpa’s mule, so he couldn’t believe his good fortune when he heard his Grandpa say, “Take good care of her, son! Have a happy birthday and many more. Yore Grandma and I love ya!”

  After a hearty breakfast, Jack got his Saturday night’s bath Saturday morning and put on the new clothes his ma and pa had given him. He slicked back his hair and, sitting proudly on the back of his mule, started out for Micanopy. It being Saturday, the horseshoe pitching, checker playing, and bragging would be in rare form around Veaseley’s Store; so Cracker Jack was in high spirits.

  As he rode down the road, he hailed Monk Martin, who was plowing his garden.

  “Why, Jack,” said Monk, “you’re dressed up like you’re goin’ ter preachin’.”

  This challenged Jack to convince the old, hard-working, illiterate farmer that today was Sunday. “Why, of course, Mr. Monk, I’m on my way to church. Purtin-nigh fell offen Buncombe here when I seed you out plowin’ on the Sabbath Day.”

  “Sabbath? Aw, Jack, you’re jest a-jawin’ me. Today is Saturday.”

  “No, Mr. Monk, I hate to tell you this, but you have done lost a day sommers. Today is Sunday, and if I wuz you I’d unhitch ’at mule and get back to the house ’fore the preacher comes ’long. Why, he’ll condemn your soul to hell for sure iffen he sees you a-plowin’ on Sunday.”

  “Yeah, I reckon he would,” Monk said and started unhitching his mule, and Jack rode on, singing “Shall We Gather at the River.”

  Monk Martin started back toward his house. When he was within hearing distance, he called to his wife, “Molly, get them clothes back in the house ’fore someone sees you out here washin’ on Sunday.”

  “Monk, have you tuk leave of yore senses? Today is Saturday!”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said, and had me out there plowin’ when Cracker Jack came ’long all dressed up—a-goin’ ter preachin’.”

  Monk caught and killed a big fat hen, and Molly cooked it with dumplings and the fixings. They ate a big dinner and sat around all day. Can’t say that they prayed or even conversed with each other, because they were too worried-up over being a day behind with their work.

  The next morning when the sun came up, the Martins were already up, champin’ at the bit to get to their duties. Monk hitched up the mule and had almost finished plowing the garden and Molly was up to her elbows in lye soap when the preacher pulled up in his buggy.

  “Monk Martin, I’ve long suspected that you were a man who had sold his soul to the devil. You frequently rob the Lord of time that belongs to Him by missing church services and have insisted on your wife doing likewise, but I never thought that even you were such a blatant sinner that you would actually plow on the Sabbath.” He continued to deliver one of his most powerful fire-and-brimstone sermons.

  Monk doffed his hat and stood there scratching his head before he spoke. “Preacher, what you’ve been sayin’ ain’t changed me much, but I’ve been ’round for more ’an fifty years and never have I seed sech weather as we’ve been havin’ here lately. That storm we had t’other day wus the worst one I ever seed. When it
lightened up and I came outten the house ter see the damages, there wus so much water in the yard that I knowed right away that the storm had blowed both of my wells clean outten the ground. Of course, they got so much water in them that they finally sunk back down. The next mornin’, I found that that ole crooked road that used to wind its way down to the waterin’ hole—well, Preacher, that storm had blowed that crooked road as straight as an arrow. And now I’m findin’ out that it’s done mixed up the days of the week so dreadful that we got two Sundays back ter back. I tell you, it’s ’nough to make a body think ’bout changin’ his ways, ’cause they jest ain’t no tellin’ what else that storm did or when ’nother one will come along more devilish than that storm of storms we jest had!”

  Telling time: 8–9 minutes

  Audience: 5th grade–adult

  This story could be used as a springboard to learn more about William Selby Harney, America’s most unsung hero. He was in Florida when he got his first commission in the U.S. Army. He did much of his fighting in Florida and made his home in Orlando at the time of his death. During his lifetime, the Indians called him a native name that meant “man who runs like a deer.” At his death, they changed his name to “man who always keeps his word.” He was often referred to as “the Indians’ friendliest foe.” He served as both Jefferson Davis’s and Abraham Lincoln’s commanding officer during their stints in the Army. Lincoln greatly admired Harney.

  Lake Harney in central Florida and the Harney River in south Florida were named to honor him. There are a number of other geographical points and at least one town in the West that also bear his name. Yet most Americans have never heard of William Selby Harney.

  And, by the way, they may not have heard of his horse, Buncombe, either. In their day William Harney and Buncombe were as well known as Roy Rogers and Trigger.

  Introduction

  Folktales and Legends

  While readers will find the stories in this category full of interest, the teller will find it a mother lode. “A Vanishing Breed” may be told as written or as three different short stories. The story lines of “The Legend of Bernice and Claire” and “The Indian Legend of Florida’s Silver Springs” are similar, and it has been said that the legend of Bernice and Claire is just a more elaborate tale of the ancient Indian legend. Since many disappointed or frustrated lovers have sought death together rather than live apart, both legends might be founded on truth. The legend of Bernice and Claire was declared to be the unvarnished truth by many of the old residents of Silver Springs, and Aunt Silla, who lived into the twentieth century, related the part she played in the drama many times.