Behind the Grindstone: All Boy and the Others

It seems nicknames and the southern culture go hand in hand. In one area we frequented in the past almost every man had a nickname. A man without a nickname was a man without friends. Just a few from the area where we stayed were:

Hamstring, Hacksaw, Butt Cut
(the first cut from a log)
Lightnin’, Thunder, Elmo
Good Eye, Bad Eye, Dog

Good Eye had lost an eye in a loggin’ accident thus he had one Good Eye. Bad Eye had lost an eye the same way leavin’ him with one Bad Eye.

Slim and Tiny and Bug Un
Goose and Moose and Duck
Squatty Body, Wild Man, Cowboy
New York, Skinny and Buck

Buck had watched alligators swim under ducks and catch them so he decided to give it a try. With a hollow reed to breath through and rocks to weight him and his tow sack down, he would wade into an old slough, slip under the ducks, grab them by the legs and stuff them in his sack.

Bookey, Bokey, Pokey
Skeeter, Wet Back, Gator
Buzz, Cob, and Hog Jaw
Bo-Bo, Jo-Jo, Tater

We rode all day in a team and wagon driven by a man who introduced himself as Hog Jaw ending in a cookout with several hundred people. Hog Jaw knew everyone and everyone knew Hog Jaw. That was the only name I heard anyone call him.

Bimp and Injun and Shorty
Too Tall. Slick and Cornflake
Bubba, Pinball, Catfish
Sundown, Country Boy and Jake

Sundown was workin’ out as a pipeline welder. One afternoon he was settin’ on a bucket smokin’ a cigarette. A man drove up and asked him what he was doin’. He said he was waitin’ on sundown and a paycheck. Unknown to him he was talkin’ to his boss. The man said, “I can’t do anything about sundown but I can about the paycheck.” He wrote him a check and fired him on the spot. Sundown.

There’s an old sayin’ that, “What don’t kill you makes you stronger.” I’m not sure about that but it will make a good story and is liable to give you a nickname. Not one man I met said he didn’t like his nickname and most used nothin’ else. Oh, I almost forgot All Boy. It seems when All Boy was a kid his dad worked for a wealthy man who run a loggin’ crew. He always drove a new pickup and would leave it at their house and ride through the woods with his dad in their old pickup. One day they came home to find the new pickup painted bright yellow with a gallon of paint and a brush. His dad said, “You can’t blame him. He’s all boy,”

Instead of this political correctness where everyone is offended by something we need a good dose of backwoods southern culture where folks have learned to laugh at themselves and with others. Maybe we just all need a good nickname.

At least, that’s the view here from behind the grindstone.