“It was payday and, as usual, the fishermen got drunk, which dulled their senses about the boy’s needs. When they got back to the lake, Si was seriously ill. The DoseDo Sisters were blurry eyed from trying to drown their fears with moonshine. They were still aware of the urgency to give the boy the medicine, though, and ramshackled the place looking for a dime. Si started shaking again with another chill, and one of the sisters said, ‘We’ll just have to use a nickel.’
“The other sister reasoned, ‘But that will be only half enough, and Doc Anner said it was very important to give him the proper amount.’
“‘That’s right, and he is one more sick boy!’
“‘But iffen we don’t do something and do it fast, he’s not gonna make it.’
“Both of them started crying, then one wiped her eyes and said, ‘Sister, I found another nickel! Two nickels make a dime. That’ll work.’ “With that decision made, they measured out all the calomel that they could heap onto the two nickels. What a blessing that their hands shook and much of it was lost before they were able to give it to the boy. But even so, Si was overdosed and was lingering, closer to death than life, when the doctor, returning from an emergency, stopped to check on him. When she saw him, she thought that his symptoms were those of someone who was overdosed. As soon as the sisters explained what they had done, the doctor went to work to counteract it. She was able to save him, although his health was broken. Si was never again able to work with the seine crews. Some folks thought that the incident affected his mind as well as his body, but all agreed that his fiddle playing was still superb.
“Of course, all this happened long before I knew him. My earliest recollection of Uncle Si was his sincere testimony at a Thanksgiving Day celebration, when he said, ‘I am most thankful that the DoseDo Sisters had two nickels when I had the chills and fever.’
“I had heard the story of the overdosing so I thought he was simple-minded when I heard him say it the first time, and I was sure that his mind was warped when I heard him repeat it year after year. But I learned to like Uncle Si, and the year I was sixteen, MaryBeth stirred my emotions so that I was not only in love with her but filled with empathy for him. With no thought of embarrassing the man, I spoke up: ‘Uncle Si, why are you thankful that they had two nickels when they almost killed you with them?’
“PaPa looked at me and I could feel a reprimand coming, which would be bad enough anytime, but the thought of being dressed down in front of my new love made me wish I could find a gopher hole so I could crawl in and pull the dirt in behind me.
“But Uncle Si looked at me and with a twinkle in his eye said, ‘But, Charles, you ain’t given a thought ter what would’ve happened iffen they hadn’t had a dime or two nickels and had used ten pennies.’
“A smile replaced the scowl on PaPa’s face. He walked over and gave Uncle Si a hearty pat on his back as he said, ‘Amen, Brother. Amen!’”
Telling time: 10–12 minutes
Audience: 4th grade–adult
I want to acknowledge and thank my cousins Ray and Jeanne for their contribution to this story.
Guest Ghosts
The Spanish galleon lurched like a wounded swan on the darkening Gulf waters. The pirate ship, silhouetted against the sinking sun, slid alongside like a vulture, and a swarm of sordid men, eager to finish the fight, stormed onboard. The outnumbered Spaniards fought gallantly until all were strewn like trash over the deck. The pirates, now eager for their loot, poured down the gangway with Captain Gaspar striding ahead. When he reached the closed stateroom door, he kicked it open, then stopped, frozen in his tracks. As the men stared into the twilight gloom, silence spread until only the lapping of the water was heard. There before them was a señora whose classical beauty seemed to brighten the room. In the face of death, her regal bearing was as obvious as the white lace mantilla that cascaded over her blue-black hair.
Gaspar broke the silence with a bellow. “I swear I’ll cut the heart out of any man who touches her.”
The men slowly returned to the deck and collapsed among the cadavers and gore. Later, Gaspar broke the silence with his orders to board ship, and from their ship the men watched, in amazement, as the notorious, swashbuckling Gaspar courteously led the señora to the deck. He tenderly placed her violin in her arms, and then, with a sweeping bow, Gaspar backed to the rail and jumped over to the waiting boat. After the order to set sail rang clear, Gaspar stood in the stern of the receding vessel and watched as the white mantilla rippled in the evening breezes.
The clear tones of the violin stole over the waters—violin music that is still heard off Florida’s Gulf Coast during the moonlit nights of May. But few, indeed, live to tell it when they linger to listen to the violin music during the dark nights of October. It is then that the phantom ship appears, disappears, and reappears, with the long-drawn tones of the violin coming from her deck. She is crossing the Gulf’s troubled waters to bring winter tourist ghosts to old Florida Cracker houses.
Before you flip your calendar to November, there’s always a guest ghost in every pantry and two upon the stairs. There are three guests in the attic and four sitting on the chairs. There are five in the kitchen and six out in the hall. There are seven ghosts on the ceiling and eight upon the wall. There are nine guests in the parlor, doing what ghosts always do! And ten ghosts at your back and all of them shouting, “BOO!”
Telling time: 4–5 minutes
Audience: 5th grade–adult
The Season’s Seasoning
Well, now, I’ll tell you, down in Palm Beach a few years ago, a Mr. and Mrs. Small were a couple, along about sixty, who had plenty of money. They’d worked hard during their lives, had had many lucky breaks, and had pinched here and pinched there until they’d sort of pinched themselves. They had become a selfish, hard-hearted couple. They lived in a big mansion because they wanted folks to know they were rich. They had gardeners, maids, cooks, a butler, a chauffeur, and other trappings that went with having money, but even so they were not happy.
The year I had in mind telling you about, Christmas came along and about five o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Small set down to their Christmas dinner. There was crystal a-sparklin’, silver a-shinin’, and an assortment of spoons to do the spoonin’ with, and all sorts of other eatin’ gear. The tablecloth and big dinner napkins had fancy air holes all embroidered in them. The couple sat there just as stiff as two frozen flagpoles, Mr. Small at one end of the table and Mrs. Small at the other. They were so far apart they needed to wave their napkins at each other to make sure they were both there.
Well, the butler commenced to serve. They had soup and a mite of this and a speck of that.
Mr. Small said, “This soup ain’t hot enough. Heat it up!”
Mrs. Small said, “James, put an extra plate under the soup so it won’t mar the table.”
And then Mr. Small took a sip of the reheated soup. It burned his tongue, and he let out a stream of words that I won’t repeat.
When the turkey was served, Mr. Small thought the dressing wasn’t seasoned enough, and Mrs. Small thought it was seasoned too much. And then a mite of holly dropped off the chandelier and got on the plate, and Mr. Small bit into it before he saw what it was. Well, they kept a-nibblin’ and a-fussin’ and a-fussin’ and a-nibblin’.
After a while, Mrs. Small looked up and saw a ragamuffin about twelve years old with his nose flattened up against the window and his eyes stretched wide. That woman came out of her chair like she’d been stung by a whole colony of fire ants. She rang the buzzer for James. When the butler came in, Mrs. Small yelled, “Get that guttersnipe off the grounds. Throw him over the fence. I’ve told you for the last time to keep all the gates locked.”
“Yes, madam,” said James and went out the pantry door.
Well, the Smalls kept on a-pickin’ at the turkey and each other till, when they got up from the table, they were feeling lower than a snake’s belly. Mrs. Small went upstairs to get away from Mr. Small,
and Mr. Small went into the library to get away from Mrs. Small.
Then, for the first time in years, Mr. Small decided to light a fire himself. He started into the kitchen to get a match. Well, sir, when he opened the door, he thought he was seeing ghosts. There were the butler and the butler’s wife sitting down to their Christmas dinner at the kitchen table—giggling and having a great time—and right between them was the ragamuffin Mrs. Small had ordered the butler to throw over the fence. As soon as the butler and his wife saw Mr. Small, the smiles left their faces for they figured they’d get their walking tickets. But they offered no apologies. The boy bent a bit further over his plate of victuals, and all of them went right on eating. Mr. Small looked at them a minute and then went over to get the match. He took his time doing it, though, and sort of peeked out the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t in any hurry to leave the kitchen; it felt so warm and comfortable. He fumbled for the match and just sort of stood there.
Pretty soon the boy turned to him and said, “Mister, this here food is awful good. Ain’t you goin’ ter eat some?”
For the first time in months, a smile came to the corners of Mr. Small’s mouth and his stomach commenced to feel empty. And in no time he was sitting down at the kitchen table with a dishtowel tucked in his collar and his sleeves rolled up, spoonin’ up victuals with the butler, the butler’s wife, and with the boy, whose name was Tom.
Along with the victuals came some funny stories too, some that Mr. Small had known for ages but hadn’t thought of for years. Right in the middle of a big laugh, the kitchen door opened and in came Mrs. Small. Her nose was stuck up in the air like a weathercock on top of a cupola, and when she saw her husband sitting down at the kitchen table with the butler, his wife, and that ragamuffin, she stood there dumbfounded. But she’d commenced her married life doing her own cooking, and the warmth of the stove and the smell of the pots and pans kinda got under her skin, and when Mr. Small looked up and said with a chuckle, “Come on in, honey, sit down and have something to eat,” she did. For a little while she wasn’t all thawed out, but it wasn’t long before she’d forgot about trying to be something she wasn’t and started spooning up victuals along with the rest of them.
Well, sir, the old gentleman bent over his plate with a lump in his throat and a funny feeling in his heart. A tear or two dropped onto the dressing, and it seemed like the tears seasoned the dressing so it was the best dressing he’d ever tasted in his life. When it was all over and they’d wrapped up some gifts and let little Tom open them, the hands on the clock said eleven, and Mr. Small called the chauffeur to take Tom and his presents back to where he lived.
As Tom started to leave, Mr. Small said to him, “I wonder if you’d come back for New Year’s Eve.”
“I sure will,” said Tom, beaming all over, “but it’s kind of far away, ain’t it?”
For just a moment the old gentleman thought, and then he said, “No, Tommy, we have New Year’s early in our house. We’re going to have it tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll be here,” Tom said as he ran out to get into an automobile for the first time in his life.
And so the Smalls had New Year’s the day after Christmas, and I heard they enjoyed it so much that they had Christmas one day, New Year’s the next, and Thanksgiving the next for some time. And later, after little Tom grew up, every time he came home from college, the Smalls had Christmas every day.
So, I tell you, if you want to season the season, just invite someone in who is not going to have a Christmas dinner, and you’ll find that you’ve added the secret seasoning for the best dressing you’ve ever tasted.
Telling time: 10–11 minutes
Audience: 3rd grade–adult
Here’s a good, tellable story that must have been a spin-off of the successful “Bringing Up Father” cartoon strip and its real-life characters. I heard it more than fifty years ago and don’t recall ever hearing the title. This is my version, which I’ve added to my telling repertoire.
Index
The index that appeared in the print version of this title was intentionally removed from the eBook. Please use the search function on your eReading device to search for terms of interest. For your reference, the terms that appear in the print index are listed below.
A
Andes Mountains
Apalachicola, Florida
Apopka, FL
Appalachian Jack
April Fool’s Day
B
Battle of San Juan Hill
Berka, Albert
Big Freeze of 1889
Boiling Springs
“Bringing Up Father,”
Buenos Aires
Buffalo, NY
Bunnell, FL
Burnett, Gene
C
Calhoun County
Canal Point
Carnival Queen
Chicago of the South
Chicago, IL
Chief Chuleotah
Chile
Chipola River
Collins, William E.
Conners, William J. “Fingy,”
Cracker History of Okeechobee
Cracker, as nickname
D
Darrow, Dr. Anna
Davis, Jefferson
Demens, Peter W.
Doc Anner (see Darrow, Dr. Anna)
Doctor Darrow’s Drugstore
E
Eaton, John Henry
Eaton, Margaret (see O’Neale, Peggy)
England
Eustis, FL
Everglades
F
Flagler, Henry
Florida’s Past
Fort King
Fort Matanzas
Fort Pierce, FL
Fort San Marcos
Fountain of Youth
Franklin House
G
Gamble Rogers Folk Festival
Gaspar, José
Golden Rule
Great Depression
Gulf Coast
Gulf of Mexico
H
Hancock, Judge H. H.
Hanna, A.J.
Hanna, Kathryn
Hardee, Gov. Gary
Harney River
Harney, William Selby
Hurricane of 1928
J
Jackson, Andrew
Jacksonville, FL
K
King Okahumkee
Kismet Land & Improvement Company
Kismet, FL
Kissimmee River
L
Lake County
Lake Dorr
Lake Harney
Lake Okeechobee
Lee, Deputy Charles
Lincoln, Abraham
Longwood, FL
M
Madison, Dolly
Marion County
Matanzas River
McManus, George
“Men’s Flapper Chorus,”
Micanopy, FL
Minorcans
Montgomery, AL
Mormon Tabernacle Choir
Mosquito County
Moultrie Creek
N
Native Americans
O
O’Neale, Peggy
O’Neale, Rhoda
O’Neale, William
Oakland, FL
Ocala Storytelling Festival
Ocali Forest
Ocklawaha River
Okeechobee County
Okeechobee, FL
Orange Belt Railroad
Orange County
Orlando, FL
P
Palm Beach Canal
Palm Beach, FL
Pearl Harbor
Pinellas Point
Plant, Henry
Pogy Bill (see Collins, William E.)
Princess Weenonah
R
Reynolds, Colonel
Roosevelt, Teddy
Ross, John Henry Eaton
S
Saint Johns River
San Augustin
Sanf
ord, FL
Savannah, GA
Seminole
Silver Springs
Smith, Drawdy
St. Joseph Times
St. Joseph, FL
St. Petersburg, FL
St. Petersburg, Russia
State Folk Festival
Sydney, Australia
T
Tallahassee, FL
Tampa, FL
Tantie Bridge
Tantie, FL
Texas Ranger
Thanksgiving
Timberlake, John
Twenty-Mile Bend
Tybee River
U
U.S. Department of Statistics
U.S. Navy
Union Tavern
V
Virginia (state)
W
Walker, Wade
Washington, D.C.
West Palm Beach, FL
White Springs, FL
Will, Lawrence
Here are some other books from Pineapple Press on related topics. For a complete catalog, visit our website at www.pineapplepress.com. Or write to Pineapple Press, P.O. Box 3889, Sarasota, Florida 34230-3889, or call (800) 746-3275.
Tellable Cracker Tales by Annette Bruce. Memorable characters from Florida history come alive in these folktales and legends, tall tales, and gator tales. Pull up your favorite chair and a few listeners and start your own storytelling tradition with the gems in this collection. (hb & pb)
Sandspun compiled by Annette Bruce and J. Stephen Brooks. Folktales teach, inform, heal, and most of all entertain. Here’s a collection of homespun tales told with flair by some of Florida’s best storytellers. (hb & pb)
Grits & Grunts: Folkloric Key West by Stetson Kennedy. A portrait of the Key West that was, this book is a treasure trove gleaned from the rich multiculture that came to full-flower on “The Rock” during the first half of the twentieth century, “when Key West was Key West.” You’ll find an abundant sampling of the art of Mario Sanchez, as well as many never-before-published photographs. (hb)
Alligator Tales by Kevin M. McCarthy. True and tongue-in-cheek accounts of alligators and the people who have hunted them, been attacked by them, and tried to save them from extinction. Filled with amusing black-and-white photographs and punctuated by a section of full-color photos by award-winning Gainesville Sun photographer John Moran. (pb)
Classic Cracker by Ronald W. Haase. A study of Florida’s wood-frame vernacular architecture that traces the historical development of the regional building style that offered human comfort in Florida’s environment. (hb & pb)
More Tellable Cracker Tales Page 9
