Larry Van Deventer
Bumps In The Road is about people. It is about the people and places that have influenced the author's life. There are stories about his father and mother and how they shaped his life ('Sometimes when men work they tear up things.')
Read about 'How Sisters Can Hurt You' -- 'In a super human feat of physicality, my sister, 'The Killer' swung that sodden broom and struck me in the sweet puddin' head. Water sprinkled down from the sky for 30 minutes after that nefarious act of hatred. Seven pigs, 14 chickens, a milk cow, brownie the dog and one cat came and stood in the shower to cool off. 'The Killer' satisfied with her revenge, stalked off to the house and the game was over. I won't admit that she hurt me, but as the old Coon Hunters used to say about ineffective coon hounds, I didn't 'track right' for a few days after that. However, I still won the final game of that World Series 79 to 2 to 0.'
You'll read love stories like 'Charles and Rebecca.' 'Finally, I rose to leave. As we moved toward the door, he asked, 'Did I show you my Becky's picture?' I replied, 'Why no Charlie, you didn't.' He took it off the mantle and told me the story again about how they met. Then with a wistful smile and a far away look in his eyes, he said, 'When you are unhappy, the days go by slow, and you think the nights are never going to end. But when you're happy the years fly away. It seems like it was just yesterday when we got married.'
In 'A Sudden Summer Storm' you'll read, 'It got darker than the inside of a cow. Then the rain came. As I sat inside the camper trailer, the first sound of the rain was a frying, hissing sound as the drops fell through the leaves. Then as Old Man Thunder rolled and Lady Lightening swaggered, the rain became a torrent. The raindrops sounded as large as tennis balls. They beat upon the trailer with such intensity that I felt like I was trapped inside a snare drum played by a rock-n-roll musician. As the old timers used to say down home, the wind blew so hard that it rained sideways. The wind grabbed the trailer and shook it like a dog would shake a rag doll. The trailer danced around on its wheels as if doing an Irish Clog Dance. The wind laughed loudly as it rushed pell mell through the trees. The trees whipped back and forth, slashing the air in a thransonical symphony of motion. I was fearful that one would break and smash into the car or the trailer. I felt powerless and weak crouching inside that flimsy trailer. Then almost as suddenly as he came, Mr. Storm stomped off through the countryside seeking other humans to intimidate.'
There are also stories about skills no longer needed ('I am a poster child for obsolescence'); Pearl Harbor ('Forgiveness is a wonderful thing.'); daughters who wreck cars; students who get a second chance (Trisha).
Read about the way people make concessions to health and life ('I like fake food'); 'A friend of mine observed recently that we spend our first forty years trying to kill ourselves and the last forty years trying to stay alive. The truth is, a typical breakfast for us consists of fruit, low fat milk, oat cereal and perhaps toast and jelly. On the occasion that caused me to think of this article, BW and I were eating our fake eggs, fake bacon, fake biscuits, fake butter, drinking our fake milk and drinking real orange juice. The irony is we have actually convinced ourselves that that breakfast tasted as good as the real thing. Sigh.'
You will read more stories about his hometown that sounds like a place you would want to live: The Busy Bee Restaurant where the love patrol courted the starry-eyed girl, the library where Hazel Yardley and his mother nurtured the love of reading, Mrs. Davis' store that was across the street from the school and the old artesian well that could make the town a tourist Mecca if only the town fathers would wake up.
You'll read about 'The Rose Bush' ('Mom had an old fashioned rose bush in the side yard.'); stories about Dead Horse Creek and Grandma's House; Battling a groundhog over the garden in 'Groundhog 1, Gardener 0;' 'Pap Sherrard's Remedy for Boils;' Kenny and the bees; 'Nelly Bell the Jeep;' why you should never teach your daughters how to drive an old truck; and the many other experiences that weld families together. This collection of stories will take you to a time and place that you will enjoy visiting and you may not want to leave. Enjoy.
Dr. Larry Van Deventer was born at home in Ghost Hollow, Indiana, more than 12 lustrums ago. His highest college degree is a Ph.D. from Indiana State University in 1983. He is married to Wanda and they have two daughters. In his life he has worked on farms and in service stations and a bank. He worked as a custodian while in college, served in the U.S. Navy and served as a full-time minister.
He has also been a public school teacher, assistant high school principal, high school principal and school district superintendent, newspaper columnist and now a college professor.
At this stage in his life he does pretty much what he wants to do and doesn't get started on that until he feels like it.
The Calvertsville store was the center of social activity in my early childhood. There was more to it than that. Calvertsville was a small community that was the center of social, education, religious, and commercial enterprise for the portion of Highland Township where we lived. The Calvertsville General Store was the precursor of the giant Wal-Mart Stores of today. You could go there and purchase food, meats, clothing, dry goods, candy, over the counter medical supplies, hardware items, plumbing items and other miscellaneous articles. They also sold gasoline from hand pumped, gravity fed pumps located at the main entrance. Their motto could have been 'If we don't have it, you don't need it.'
There was a large porch on the store that served as protection from the rain and snow where people could rest and visit. Many times my dad backed our car under that porch to install the tire chains to help us get through the snow and over the 'big hill' that stood between the Calvertsville Store and our farm. Many happy hours were spent in that store listening to my dad and his friends gasconading (telling tall tales and funny stories). Friday night seemed to be the favorite evening for the best socializing, although any evening would find people gathered at the store.
On the West Side of the building was a garage where Otto Baker repaired cars. Later an icehouse was added. Still later, free movies were shown on the side of the building to entice people to shop there. The building still stands but it is long vacant. Someone parks huge trucks in front of the store now where the porch and pumps once resided. It seems so blasphemous to have those grotesque vehicles put next to an icon of my past.
Sitting beside the store was the Concord General Baptist Church where I attended Sunday School and received my early religious training. It was, and is, a frame building with white clapboard siding. The store and church shared a stone parking lot. Large concrete steps lead up to the main entrance. When I was a child, it probably would seat several thousand people. Something happened to make it shrink because now, it might seat a maximum of 150. I remember sitting in the auditorium during Sunday school while several classes were taught in the same space because there were very few classrooms. It truly took a tremendous amount of concentration to focus on my class.
The feed mill stood across the road from the store and church. Farmers would bring corn, which would be processed into feed for their animals. Farm wives would use the feed sacks to make clothing, dish cloths, wash cloths and other items. It was also a place of socializing. The hammer mill was located under the floor. A John Deere Tractor engine provided the power for the machinery. It was a 'Johnny Popper' or 'one-lunger' as we called them. It had no muffler and it would thunder throughout the community. When I was a little tasker, I was afraid to walk past the exhaust pipe when it was running. I truly thought that it might injure me in some way. The sound was louder than a cheap suit and tie.
Grain used to make the animal feed was poured into the hammer mill through openings in the floor. There were no guards or safety devices in place. One day my goofy sister (the Killer) slipped and fell into the opening. She grabbed the side and held on until the mill worker quickly yanked her to safety. I don't care what other people say or what you may read in the newspaper, I did not push her or trip her. Not that I didn't think about it! That's my story and I sticking with it. Besides the animals would not have eaten the feed with her in it. It would have tasted icky.
Just up the road was the school. It was a two-room brick structure, which housed grades one through eight with two teachers. The two rooms were called the 'Big Room' and the 'Little Room.' Why? One housed grades one through four and one housed grades five through eight. You figure out which was big and which was little. Students were asked to sit on the front row to cite, recite and cipher. I remember listening to the older students interact with the teacher when I was supposed to be reading or doing my work. I learned many things from them. It required amazing powers of concentration not to.
Goose Creek runs through the community. The two names, Calvertsville and Goose Creek, are used interchangeably to refer to the community. The stream is fed by several springs up through the hills and hollers north and east of the metropolitan area. The metropolitan area is composed of hills, hollers, houses and farms. We lived on a farm two miles north of the general store.
Such was my world as a child. It was the equivalent of a shopping mall and community center. Would that I could go back to the Calvertsville store to be greeted by Ralph Martindale and his family. How I long to reach into the cold water of the pop machine and get a six ounce bottle of kokoler (Coca-Cola). Then I would get a bag of salted peanuts, pay Ralph a dime for both, and go outside on the porch. After taking a seat on a nail keg, I would pour the peanuts into the bottle, take a long drink, lean back and enjoy a lazy, hazy summer afternoon. It doesn't get any better than that. However, as Sir Thomas Moore said, 'You can't go home again.' I'd like to try.
