Uncle Bill

Uncle Bill was my mother's bachelor brother. He lived on the old family farm to the Northwest of Hartington and well, he wasn't the cleanest of guys. Mom was always worried about Uncle Bill and when he showed up, she gave him the third degree on cleanliness. Once a year, she went out and cleaned his house.

I went along a couple of times. The house was almost the same as it was in the dirty 30's. A dust bunny trail lead from the door to the wood burning stove to the bed. He didn't have a washing machine so the bed was, well use your imagaination and see if you can hear my mom screaming about it. (Aunt Bee and Aunt Rebe got in a few licks, too.)

Uncle Bill lead the simple life. He got up, put on his overalls and DeKalb or John Deere hat, and headed for the coffee shop in town. Rain or snow, he headed for the coffee shop in town. He had coffee and then he sat is in car and watched life go buy until mid afternoon when he went back to the farm. Once in a while, there was a cow or two to take care of but this farmer didn't really do much farming. He planted his corn and left it up to God what would happen. The weeds took root and fought the corn for the moisture until fall when he harvested.

Then the holidays came along. He was expected to show up for Thanksgiving and for Christmas Eve but it was always a struggle.

"Go find Uncle Bill and tell him to come up to the house," mom ordered.

Off we would go. We searched the cafes (there were two of them back in those days--The Cedar Cafe and Ed's Cafe.) If those came up empty, then we searched the streets for the car. Occasionally, he would be napping, mouth open for all of the world to see and for my dear mother to worry about what folks might think.

Worst of all, the car might be found at the Widow Evans house. Mom would have none of that. The mention of the Widow Evans drove her into instant rage. "They are just friends and I don't want you boys to think anything else!"

Eventually, the message was delivered. He did not instantly appear but fairly soon, the unwashed uncle and the unwashed car showed up at the house. Mom was the ultimate Christmas person so the house was full of decorations--including a deer hear on the front porch with a blinking red light for a nose. She baked tons of cookies and little loafs of bread of various kinds. He took his medicine and sat down at the kitchen table and started to paw through the cookies.

"Wash you hand!" she'd bark. He did. "Let me see what's growing in your ears," she'd say as she started her exam. He continued to eat cookies. When he was done, he pulled his can of Old Velvet tobacco from his overalls, held a cigarette paper, and rolled a cigarette. If he coughed when he lit it, burning tobacco flew through the air like Roman candle shots.

"You're going to burn the house down!" She'd say as she grabbed for a damp towel to put out the embers now burning on his overalls. He said nothing but the twinkle in his eye told me he knew what buttons to push.

Christmas isn't the same for me without the fuss my mom generated. Uncle Jelly isn't standing around with his red nose and funny laugh as he sampled one too many of my dad's Tom & Jerrys. And there is no bachelor Uncle Bill around to drive the siblings nuts. He was the family maverick.

Just like me.