No Place Like Home

There’s no place like home, or at least what use to be the old home place. I was talking to an elderly citizen of Hazard. He was speaking on the many changes of people since he was a boy. About that time a young lady came tripping down Main Street in shorts. He said, “look thar, that is what I mean.” He tapped his cane a few times. He said, “In my day the girls wore four or five petticoats and long dresses that dragged the ground. We boys wondered what they would look like without them. Today, he said, you can see it all, skinny ones, fat ones, middle size ones. He said it was just like the old time auction sales. You could go up and pat and feel around a mule or horse you wanted to buy. He tapped his cane a few times again and said, “I had better be on my way.”

A gentlemen was talking to me a few days ago, I will not mention his name or age; the remarks he made amused me some what. He stated, “Did you ever see these contraptions that women are wearing on their ears this day and time?” I remarked I had not noticed anything unusual. He said, “I met two out there a few minutes ago that looked like the blind bridle that I put on my mule. Sure enough I did see about the same thing. I assured him the flood must have brought all this on. He stated, “No, indeed son, Hell or high water, neither one would cause women to put such things on their years.” 1957