Ellis, A Common Man
Someone once wrote that a person was not really dead, until they were forgotten. My friend Ellis, was a common man who should not be forgotten. I first met Ellis through a student of mine, while I was teaching in the small town of Petersburg, Michigan. He was from Harlan County, Kentucky, which is known as the roughest, toughest county in the United States. I don't know if he ever reached the eighth grade in school. But he never suspected that he held a doctorate in friendship, with majors in common-sense and woodcraft. I learned a great deal from him as a teacher.
Ellis was a tall man, maybe six foot two or three. Thin as a rail, tough as hickory, and long arms, like those you have seen in pictures of Lincoln. I heard stories of how he had single-handededly caused great pain to three young punks. He was possessed of a great thick head of hair which I watched as it turned gray. There wasn't a single tooth in his head, and he seldom shaved. His life in Kentucky had been confined to working in the coal mines, and hunting. He was a crack shot with either a shotgun or rifle which the Germans soon found out.
The greatest change in his life came with WWII. He was drafted, as were many of the young men from the hills of Kentucky. After basic training he became a member of a tank destroyer outfit. I remember three stories he told me as we were out hunting together. The first one I related earlier in this blog, but it I repeat it here.
He said that a German staff car was about to cross a bridge, and his squad waited until the car reached the middle of the bridge, before they destroyed it. One surviving German officer was captured and asked if he spoke English. The German replied that he didn't. Ellis then said, "Let's shoot the sonofabitch, and cut cards for his watch." Ellis said it was funny how quickly the German began speaking English.
Another long story was about the time he and his squad while on patrol, decided to find shelter for the night under the turret of a destroyed tank. It was winter and snow had covered all of their tracks leading to the tank. They awoke in the morning hearing German voices as they dug trenches, and prepared to stay where they were. The space under the tank was crowded for six men, and the hole was only three feet deep. They were all very aware that a single grenade tossed into the hole would be the finish of them all. Unable to speak or have a cigarette was torture. There was no heat and their feet were becoming frozen. One guy in the squad, unable to stand it any longer, crawled out from under the tank and took off in the night. This situation lasted for some days, until, taking a chance, they radioed for help, and giving their position, the Germans were shelled. They were saved, and all had frost-bitten feet.
Yet another story was how he kicked in the door of a house where some Germans were hiding, and a German coming out bayoneted him in the thigh. His buddy behind him shot and killed the German. Ellis spent some time in a barn, sitting on a milk stool while a medic stitched up his thigh.
The final story I remember and could relate to, had to do with the time Ellis entered a motor pool which was supposed to be cleared of mines. He stepped on a mine and heard it click. He knew it was a mine callled by the G.I.'s a "Bouncing Betty." This type of mine was designed to jump into the air and explode waist-high. Ellis told the guys near him to get the hell away, as he was going to step off of the mine and try and roll off to one side. Sometimes when were working together or hunting I saw him dig steel springs and bits of metal from his legs. The Germans had filled their mines with scrap steel.
After the war Ellis married a girl he knew who was pregnant. It wasn't love, it was simply the right thing to do. By the time I knew him, there were seven children. Each one should figure in a novel, but this story is all about Ellis.
Ellis worked for a number of years for a local plant that manufactured deep-freezers. All was well, until the plant closed, What does a 53 year old man without any education do? The answer is anything, and everything. He delivered coal, split and sold wood, hauled trash, painted houses and many, many more jobs in order to feed his large family. One thing he could do, which didn't require a degree, was hunting. I often thought his family lived on rabbit. And speaking of rabbit, I have seen him while rabbit hunting, quickly throw his shotgun to his left shoulder, and while standing on a fallen log, roll a rabbit. He was right-handed. Pheasant, duck, squirrel and deer were also on his plate. We had some wonderful times hunting together.
One of the great events of Ellis and his sons was the yearly " National Coon Dog Field Trials." These were held outside Kenton, Ohio. People came from all over the U.S.bringing with them dogs and guns to sell or trade. There was also moonshine, and some ladies of easy virtue. The trials were held in a couple of fields, which were soon covered with campers, pick-up trucks, and tents. All around were tables covered with guns, or spread on blankets on the ground. The air smelled of wood smoke and beer. And everywhere dogs chained to long chains or wires, awaited buyers. Someone could have made a fortune from the scattered beer cans everywhere.
Ellis, his sons and I spread blankets on the ground and awaited customers. We always came for one day only, and never overnight. I had managed to pick-up some guns during the year, and had hopes to sell them at a profit. And I always came home with some cash and a new used gun of my fancy. Ellis and his sons offered dogs and guns for sale or trade. It was one great frontier time. I suspect it is gone now. And at that time, the 60's, there were no automatic rifles to be seen. No AK-47, or machine guns. It was all strictly shotguns, rifles, and pistols. The field trials all had to do with raccoons and dogs. A young kid would drag a coonskin wrapped sand bag, to make a trail for the dogs to follow. The dogs had to follow the scent, and the first dog to cross a line, tree a live coon, and bark was a winner. And other events I have forgotten.
Many a night (you hunt at night) Ellis and I sat in the nice warm car waiting for his boys to tree a coon. When the dogs barked, we left to shoot the coon out of the tree. In the basement of Ellis's house, hung the skins of raccoons, which, when dry, were sold. Another source of food for his family came from left-overs. There were large commercial farms which left some corn in the field after the picking machine had passed. But the biggest bonanza came after potato harvesting. Potatoes were left here and there all over the field. Ellis, his sons and I managed to completely fill the box of my old pick-up truck. We build a huge bin in his basement and his family was supplied all that winter.
All of this and I haven't even mentioned either fox hunting ($40 bounty), or fishing. But it is about time to tell of his helping me. What did I do when during one night the basement flooded? Called Ellis, who came with a sump pump. Or the time when after a severe storm, a large limb hanging over the drive, required removing, who to call? Ellis, of course. This was almost a disaster. A ladder was put up from the bed of his large truck, under the limb. When the limb was cut the ladder had no support and fell, leaving Ellis and the still running chain saw in the air. He fell on his back, bending the ladder, the saw missed him, and all was well. Strong back, remember, I said he was made of hickory.
And then there was the time he and I killed and cleaned 43 of my chickens.
There are many more stories I could tell about Ellis, but this is long enough. Everyone has a story, and this is my attempt to tell his. Ellis was anything but a common man.
Aloha
Grant
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