Boyd Stone: Smiley's Story

Mr. Boyd Stone was yet another "character" I grew up knowing. He was born on a small family farm near the town of Tar Heel in southeastern North Carolina and continued to live out his life as a farmer there. During my childhood and teenage years I can't ever remember him looking any different. He was an older man with a curved spine, or as he called it a "humped back." The only time I ever saw him not wearing work pants and shirt was when he was at church. He chewed tobacco and usually had a bit of "backer juice" on the corners of his mouth. He was missing more than a couple of teeth but was always smiling. He drove an old black Ford pickup truck with more of the same "backer juice" down the side because he would spit out the window.  If you were to see Mr. Stone in town, and did not know him, he might not catch your attention other than being one of many older gentleman that farmed in that part of the state at that time. This story is not as much about how he looked but about the man himself. If you were to take the time and talk to him for more than one or two minutes, you would never forget him.

My Mother's sister,  Aunt Rosa, married Robert Stone, (more about him in other parts of my blog). Boyd Stone was Uncle Robert's Father. His kids and grandkids simply called him "Pa." He was married to a lady named Dorcas. They had four children Charles Paul, Robert, Ann and John B.

My Uncle Robert and Aunt Rosa farmed tobacco and a few other crops that Boyd and Uncle Rob would sell such as corn, okra and watermelons. I started helping on my Aunt and Uncle's farm when I was big enough to drive the old Massey Ferguson 135 tractor that pulled the old fashioned "stick type" tobacco harvester. For those of you that are uneducated on tobacco farming with "stick barns", the harvester held 9 people consisting of 4 "croppers", 4 "stringers" and one person to "catch the sticks" and lay them on a flat or drag when the stringer would holler "Stick!" The flat or trailers full of newly strung tobacco sticks would then be hauled to the tobacco barn to be hung on horizontal beams or poles to be cured with gas heat.  All I had to do was hold the tractor in the middle of the row and sand up on the clutch to stop it when someone would holler "Whoa!" and let up on the clutch slowly when they would holler "Go ahead!" Until I grew up a little and learned to do it myself, My Uncle Robert would turn the tractor around at the end of the row for me and we would move on to the next row.  I was probably about 8 years old when I was given this fairly simple but important job. As I grew up, I was given different jobs in the process.  I had known Boyd my whole life but in this environment is where I got my real first impression of the man. The first thing I want to tell you about Boyd Stone is that he was a hard working man. Boyd farmed his whole life but at this point in time was usually working as a cropper and his job was to pick the ripe leaves off the tobacco stalk and hand them to the stringer to be strung on to a tobacco stick. He could work from before daylight until way after dark and was twice the age of the grown men and women working in the field at any particular time. When we had moved away from using stick barns and harvesters, he would walk and crop slow and steady all day long and would work most young folks into the ground.  I guess hard work is a reoccurring theme when I write about folks from our "greatest generation."

Now that you know a little of his background, you need to know what makes him stand out in the minds of most folks that knew him well. Boyd was a "cut up," he always had a story or joke for you. Some of his stories were mostly true, some were just stories that were funny and were totally made up just to get a response from the listener. It really didn't matter what the response was. The more you laughed or the more offended you were by his story, the happier he was. His goal was to get some kind of response from you.  For example, not long after I started driving he came up to me at a family fish fry we were having at my Aunt Rosa's house and said, "Hey Joe, you better keep your eyes open when you go round huckleberry curve tonight." My response was, "Why's that?" To which he replied, "Because you would be a dang fool to drive with them closed." He then laughed to himself and moved on. Like I said, he always had a story or a joke, but like anyone, some were better than others.

One of the best stories I can remember him telling was told as if it were the honest truth and from what I can gather it most likely was. The story as I remember him telling it went something like this.

Boyd and his wife Dorcas had guinea fowl in the yard of their modest farm house. Many farms back then and now have guineas for a few reasons. They lay eggs that are great for baking. They eat ticks and other insects that are pest, and they make great bugler alarms. Whenever anything or anyone comes up in your yard, the Guinea will make an awful racket. One night Boyd was asleep and heard the aforementioned racket and went outside with a single barreled shotgun to investigate. One should know that Boyd slept in button up long-handle underwear with the flap that buttons in the back. The buttons were long gone and the flap in the back was just open. Picture if you will, our hero outside in the dark in his long-handle underwear with his flap a flapping shotgun in hand with the hammer eared back. As he stood under a tree outside his house very quiet listening and looking for any type of disturbance, his yard hound came up behind him and stuck his cold nose to the region that was left exposed by the flap being down. (or has he put it, the dog put his cold, wet nose in his crack). This startled Boyd so much he accidentally pulled the trigger to the shotgun causing it to fire into the air, killing his prize guinea that was perched in the tree!

Boyd loved to deer hunt and fish. He even had a pond on his property that was known for having several monster large mouth bass caught out of it. One of which is hanging on my dad's wall.  While deer hunting with dogs around the area he lived his "handle" on the CB radio was "Smiley." This name fit him well because he smiled most all of the time, and due to the fact I mentioned earlier, he was missing more than a few teeth. He often told tales of fish that were caught and past deer hunts and like any good outdoorsman there were a few tall tales of the ones that got away. There were always stories about everyday life and growing up and living in a small town and farming.

What follows is perhaps his best known story and I have no idea as to where he heard the story or if it actually happened. Boyd told the story as if it were the gospel truth. I may have my doubts, but who am I to dispute a fellow storyteller with a reputation like his?

In the 50's and 60's the invasive plant "witch weed" was found to be in North Carolina. The state and federal government were working on eradicating the plant. The government would send out inspectors to each farm and if they were to find the plant they would spray some type of weed killer on it to keep it from spreading. One hot summer day around lunch time one of those inspectors paid a visit to the Stone Farm. Boyd was lounging on the front porch in the shade taking his noon break. It was too hot to be inside and Mrs. Stone would not let him in the house as dirty as he was from working all morning in the fields. The government inspector introduced himself and showed his ID card. From what he told me the exchange went something like this... "Mr. Stone, this card gives me the right to inspect all of your property, so with your permission, I'll get started." Boyd replied without even lifting his head off the porch, "do what you have to, but stay out of the pasture behind the house." "Mr. Stone, as I said, this card says I can go anywhere on your property.".... "I'm telling you it would be best to stay out of that pasture." .... "But Mr. Stone this card..." Boyd cut him off with a wave of his hand, and replied, "Do what you have to, but don't say I didn't tell you." About 20 to 30 minutes later Boyd was awoken again by the young inspector but he could only hear him yelling from the pasture behind the house. "Mr Stone! Mr. Stone!! Your Bull is after me!!!!"  Boyd hollered back, "SHOW HIM YOUR DAMN CARD!"

Like many of the friends, family and folks I grew up with, I do not have one bad memory of him. He was a "handful" for his family from I understand. This was especially true in later years due to him being so "ornery" at times and most likely due to his fierce independence. He did love to give my Aunt Rosa "a fit" and I loved to hear them go at each other. I really don't know who was more hard headed. They would fuss and carry on, she would fuss and he would smile.  He will forever be remembered by folks in those parts as a hardworking man, who loved his family and friends, and lived a long life full of stories, jokes and laughs. He left behind a family of hard working, fun loving folks who still carry on his ideals and traits. The land he loved and worked is still mostly held by family members and he was laid to rest on that property in a small grove of trees. There is even a road down on that farm the family and the county addressing saw fit to name, "Smiley's Corner." There are so many stories I could share that he told, or about him in general, but I think the best way we can honor his memory is to go out and try to make someone smile today.