The Marathon
Another pulse-pounding adventure with Dewey in the central role. Told by the man himself with much fanfare and sincerity. That’s “how come” I know it’s true.
Again the “main player” in this exciting saga is walkin’ thru the countryside. Nothing unusual about that fact. This particular event, incredible to say the very least, occurred during the Depression plagued 1930’s. Egad man, hardly anyone owned an automobile. The very few in existence were driven on a primitive road system.
The “man for all seasons” had been meandering about for several days, and his travels (hiking) had led him to the fair city of Mt.Airy, North,Carolina. After spending 3 days and nights in the Tarheel town , Dewey decided it was time to high-tail it home. After all, he’d left without tellin’ anyone about his destination, or when he might return. The folks back in Narz could possibly be a mite worried.
As he was exiting the Tarheel metropolis at it’s northern corporate-limits, Dewey spotted a chap sitting on his front lawn. The gadabout from Hungry Hollow had never met a stranger, thus he strolled over to pass the time of day. The man sitting there seemed a friendly cuss too, for he came walking across his yard to meet Dewey. The two met at the property’s white picket fence, said howdy across it, and their paws clasped in a firm handshake. The really gripping and prolonged kind.
It was spring of the year, the time when all good men are subjected to that detestable annual rite---spring cleaning. Through the winter this gent’s
basement had become cluttered with junk, and today he would get rid of it---at least enough to make a passageway down his basement steps.
All that accumulated junk, trash, stuff and what-nots had been carried up to his front lawn; it lay piled there in a massive heap now. A most unsightly mess. Already his neighbors were making snide and derogatory remarks. The southern gent had been sitting there mopping his sweat-drenched brow when Dewey happened along. A truck had been contracted to come haul the mess away but so far the vehicle was a no-show, considerably late. The man who pre-dated Sheriff Andy Taylor in Mt. Airy (Mayberry ) was having some anxious moments. His wife was overseer of this project and he would realize no peace until it’s completion.
Dewey and his new-found friend talked some---mostly about the weather and how dry it had been. They agreed a good drenching, sod-soaking rain was sorely needed if spring crops were to be bountiful. The good man then asked Dewey where he hailed from.
“Borned, raised and spent all my life in Narz. Virginia” Dewey responded in an emphatic manner.
The Carolinian said; “Why sure, I know where it is, matter of fact I’ve passed thru there several times. I especially remember two very high smokestacks”.
Dewey informed him that facility generated power for electric locomotives.
While this conversation was in progress Dewey had been eyeing those household articles that’d been transferred from basement to front lawn. In particular one item had caught his undivided attention---a heating stove! ( in Dewey jargon, heatrola. ).
Dukey Dew asked his newly-found friend if the stove was destined for the junk heap too. “Absolutely”, replied the Tarheel. “I’m getting’ rid of all this mess”. Looking past Dewey’s shoulders he hoped to see the truck coming that oughta’ been here 30 minutes ago.
Dewey remarked it was a good lookin’ stove and he’d certainly like to have it. The man from Carolina then laid some good news on Dewey.
“You’re more than welcome to take ownership. That’ll save me the trouble of loading it on a truck”. He looked down the road again and muttered a mouthful of invectives not fit for print. Still the vehicle wasn’t in sight.
At that moment the southern gentleman thought of something. This stranger from the north had not driven up to his property in a vehicle. He recalled how this Virginian had seemed to materialize from out of nowhere---walking! Quite naturally he asked how Dewey would be transporting the “creator of warmth” back to Narrows.
The man from the Commonwealth that is Mother of Presidents looked his southern neighbor square in the eye and stated; “I’ll carry it”.
“Hold on just a minute”, exclaimed the man who was a lifelong resident of the town where Andy Griffith had lived all the 3 years since his birth. The fella’ thought Dewey oughta’ be informed about a number of facts. The help of several neighbors had been required to carry the heatrola from basement to his front lawn. Even then it’d been one helluva’ struggle. There was a better than even chance his next-door neighbor had ruptured himself. At this very minute that poor soul was at the hospital emergency room having it checked out.
If indeed he had suffered a rupture, or if X-rays showed a disc had become slipped from it’s proper place, then sure as shootin’ the stove owner would find himself responsible for all incurred medical bills. But this man believed in fairness and doin’ the right thing, thus wanted to announce to the world his neighbor wouldn’t hafta’ sue. Any and all bills connected with that infernal stove would be paid out of his pocket!
Finally, Dewey was informed this stove weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 pounds, perhaps even more. After hearing those facts and figures Dewey simply replied: “ If’n I can git er’ on my back I can manage jist fine”. The Tarheel could hardly believe the statement even as Dewey uttered it.
After a few more kind words and some fond farewells, the fellow called a couple passersby in for assistance. The job of getting that stove on Dewey’s back was underway. After much struggle and considerable huffing and puffing he had it in exactly the right place. Telling his genial Carolina host he’d drop in for a follow-up visit next time he passed thru Mt.Airy, the man who lived to the north was off in that direction.
The gent from the town that would later gain worldwide fame for having Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney Fife as residents, merely stood there scratchin’ his head. Leaning far out over his fence, he watched the phenomena till it disappeared from view. Seldom does a day pass that a feller doesn’t see something new. The man who had just left with a 300 pound stove on his back couldn’t have weighed in at more than 130 pounds. What the Carolinain had just seen this day was truly awe-inspiring---he felt quite certain that, pound for pound, he’d just struck up an acquaintance with the world’s strongest man!
According to Dewey, he arrived home exactly 5 hours later. Toting a 300 pound stove on his back, the diminutive Hercules had walked every step of the way. Only by cutting cross-country and the utilization of shortcuts allowed him to accomplish this remarkable feat. Doubtful Dewey could’ve made such good time if he’d stuck to the main highways.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is 90 miles from Mt.Airy, North Carolina to Narrows, Virginia. Travelling north, a goodly portion of the mileage is uphill. With that large and cumbersome weight on his back, Dewey had averaged an incredible 18 miles per hour!
That feat in itself is quite astounding. But hold on!---this is not the end! The most amazing part of this story has not yet been told.
If you had been able to back-track on Dewey’s trail that long-ago day, you would have noted a peculiar something in the dust alongside his footprint. A small round mark, put there by the rubber-tipped end of a crutch. Seems Dewey was lame in one leg that day, and had been walking on one!
And these modern-day athletes who compete in decathlon and marathon events think they know about endurance and stamina. Compared to Dewey they’re so many pampered cry-babies and sissies.
Tis often said that no person is indispensable. Irregardless of your job or station in life, there is someone who can and will replace you. And that, good buddy, means you, myself, and everyone else. There are no shoes that can’t be filled. Not only can someone do it as good, somewhere out there is one who will do it better. Hurts the old ego a tad, eh what.
But I go along with this school of thought, am a firm believer in it’s 100 percent authenticity.
The most brilliant doctors and scientists age and retire. Many others are standing in line to take over their practice and \ or research. And they’’ll do it better. Heads of giant corporations step down . Business goes on as usual. To the face of the most beautiful movie-star comes the inevitable crease and wrinkle. The studio has an even more sultry young sex-goddess to take her place ---and the cameras grind on. The worlds greatest musicians play their last tune---many more will toot the same notes. Only sweeter. Presidents, Kings and Chiefs come and go--- but nations live on.
But R.I.P. Dewey. At least until now, no one has appeared on the scene who can even remotely begin to take your place. And I seriously doubt they ever will… |
