UNCLE TOM'S PIPE

One of my father-in-law's stories.

Every now and then Tom Jones (I called him Uncle Tom) would have somebody drive us to Bookie Poole's Service Station for Ruppert beer. We'd be sitting in the back of the truck, the wind blowing, and he'd be striking matches, trying to light his pipe. Had nickel boxes of matches then. Old country matches. I'd tell him, "Uncle Tom, you need some tobacco in your pipe."

He'd say, "Well, son, fix my pipe for me then."

I'd take that pipe and dump it out. Then I'd take a Golden Grain sack of tobacco out, and I'd go to putting it in that pipe. I'd pack it just like it was a hay bailer. Man, I'd pack it in there tight!

Then I'd say, "All right, here you go, Uncle Tom. Hold your mouth here." And I'd deliberately put it everywhere except in his mouth. He'd have his lips poked out, just a poking his mouth everywhere, looking for that pipe! I was playing with him. He wouldn't ever get mad.

Finally, I'd let him get it in his mouth. Then I'd strike a match and hover it over the top of it. But he couldn't get any air through it. "God!" he'd say. He was a sucking. His lips just a whistling around the stem of the pipe. And I'd just get so tickled I thought I was going to fall of the back of that truck. I'd tell him, "Uncle Tom, you've got to suck now if you're gonna get this pipe lit. Suck hard!"

And he'd just go at it. He'd finally catch on to the game, or was going along with it, I don't know which. He'd tell me, "Son, you packed that thing too tight! I can't get no air through it! You've got to do something."

Then I'd say, "Well, let me see," and I'd stir down there a little bit with one of those country matches and put the excess back in his bag of Golden Grain. Then I'd say, "Try that, Uncle Tom," and I'd go through that same thing again trying to get it in his mouth. I'd worry with him like that until we'd get home. That poor soul never got a good drag off his pipe the whole damn way!