Musings of a Simple Country Man
By Hobie Morris
(Brookfield, NY – April 2014) A few days ago Billy asked me to convey his thanks to many Brookfielders. Billy can’t read or write. I has tried to retain some of Billy’s often colorful language by occasionally using phonetic spelling of his words.
I taint much of a letter writer and my spelling is a lot worse. Failed kindergarten so my scholin’ pretty much ended there. Dad was in the pokey for makin’ shine in the hog trough. I had to do the farm work most of the time. Pa was in and out of jail most of my growin’ up years. One day a vacuum cleaner salesman came to our house. He wanted Ma real bad to buy one—even though we had no electrics. Apparently Ma was in a buyin’ mood because she ran off with him. We lost the farm and I soon took to the road. Wandered into Brookfield last fall just as winter was a’settin’ in. I didn’t have any money, only the clothes on my back and no place to go. I found a rocky place near the road where I slept in the leaves and could watch the world go by. Then one mornin’ a little snow covered me. I started shiverin,’ was hungry and pretty down and out.
Then a miracle happened. Two people spent an afternoon puttin’ up a place for me to stay. (I was wanderin’ in the woods tryin’ to warm up). The place was nothin’ fanci but perfect for me. Compared to sleepin’ on the cold ground it was like a hotel. The next day the snow and cold really began, and it’s come with lots of wind ever since. But this ole hobo was like a bug in a warm rug. When it got really cold I’d walk along the road until I warmed up.
Apparently the word spread that an old hobo was acampin’ in a bunch of rocks and cliffs south of the Brookfield village. Then it began to happen and has continued to happen every day since. People kept stoppin’ and leavin’ all kinds of food. They came on tractors, trucks, cars—even on foot. Some even had cameras and took pictures of me. I wasn’t very presentable and stunk a little bit but that didn’t seem to matter. I especially loved the keds. They would yell out ”Hi Billy, Hi Billy” and would wave at me. I would jump in the air or at least try to, but I am too old to get very far off the ground. But I was just trying to show them how happy I was to be liked. One couple stopped every morning and brought me fresh rye bread—my favorite. I’ve been wandering all over for many years. I’m an old man now, my teeth mostly gone, my beard white. I haven’t had a lot of luv in my life and have been kicked around more than I can remember. But not in Brookfield.
Winter is about over and soon I’ll be hoofin’ on. I get itchy feet in the Spring. That’s the way I’ve always been. But before I go I want to thank all the kind people for making Brookfield a different place.
You took me under your arms and took darn good care of me. I’ll never forget all the good and loving people here about. In many ways I never thought possible I’m a new old man. I’m heavier in weight but lighter and brighter in my heart. I’m really somebody now, thanks to you all. When I think of Brookfield in my travels I’ll think of two words—love and kindness. Thanks, Your old friend Billy.
Hobie Morris is a Brookfield resident and simple country man.
Good one!