Hanging Out with Tough Men

A Stodghill Says So blog:
From the beginning of my formative years I have enjoyed the company of tough men, the kind who work at hard jobs and wouldn't have it any other way. Tirebuilders and men who worked in the vulcanizing pit at Goodyear were the first I knew. Next came Squint, a roustabout with Cole Brothers Circus. When it came to town in late spring I was there as the trucks arrived. Getting a job as a local - a townie - was no problem so I spent a memorable week working like a slave and studying the permanent workers, the men who put up and took down the huge tent, carried water and food for the animals, manned shovels to clean up after them and did any other mean job that came along.
I happened to be there when Squint shaved that first day. It was something to see and remember. Squint worked stripped to the waist so from his hairline to his belt his skin was the color and texture of tanned leather. He wasn't a boss but was the leader and hardest worker whatever the job might be. He could spot a problem and fix it without waiting to be told or until an accident happened.
Squint used all the circus lingo and could cuss with the best of them, but he talked like a college professor. He tolerated having me around so after a couple of days I began peppering him with questions. I asked if he had gone to college and he nodded his head. I asked where so he said Dartmouth. An Ivy League man. I asked why he was a circus roustabout and he answered with a question, "Have you ever worked in the office of a major corporation?"
He knew I hadn't. I said no so he said, "If you had, you wouldn't need to ask."
I made a point of always being there when Squint shaved. He started the way many men did, picking up a straight razor, the kind the British call a cutthroat. There the similarity ended. Squint dry shaved. No water, no shaving cream, just that cold steel blade cutting the whiskers from his leathery skin. Watching was painful, but I couldn't force my eyes to look elsewhere. When he finished he'd run a hand over his face and neck to make certain he hadn't missed a spot.
Six years in the infantry and working rough civilian jobs meant knowing many tough men and enjoying their company. Not one of them dry shaved. Only Squint. I'm glad I got to know him even if it was only for a week.

Dick,

I like him.

My dad shaved with a staight edge also, but used shaving cream and water.

I had a cousin who became an Episcopal priest. For several summers he and his wife traveled with the circus. He loved the circus. Recently a friend, who also knew my cousin, which I hadn't previously known, said one day he called him and he said, "I've got to get out of my clown suit."

I love people who do things different, who follow their minds even when they lead them places they hadn't planned to go.

Nice guy, Dick.

Carol

I've know men like Squint. Some on the fair side of the law, others, well, life turns people sometimes. One fellow I met when I was sixteen, pulled a railroad bull off me, and discharged him from the moving boxcar before he could give me a flying Jesus. We exchanged names, but over time his got lost somewhere in the past. I think of him often when I write. I remember him as old. Being only sixteen at the time, anyone over thirty, un-shaven, and dirty looked old.
Whenever I see a homeless men, I look for my friend in their faces. Whenever I feed a homeless man...I take the time to talk to them. Life turns people sometimes. I've met some tough women too...most folks, when the need arises seem to hold their mud.