“He Needed Shootin'” & Other Crazy Things I Heard Grownups Say

When the grownups got together, they mostly talked about boring stuff — kinfolks, marriages, funerals, babies, whisky drinkers, sinners, and saved sinners. But sometimes, when they didn’t think I was listening, they said crazy things — and laughed. Grownups thought the most peculiar things were funny.  

I heard Aunt Belle tell Mama —  
“Ben needed shooting, so Eula shot him.” 

It was when I was seven. We were visiting Mama’s cousin Belle. After supper, I was playing with my Pick-Up Sticks. Aunt Belle was telling Mama about Aunt Eula and her husband, Uncle Ben.  

“Since Ben got out of the hospital — he was only there overnight. She just winged him. Since he got out, he’s changed — stopped all his cattin’ around, cussing, and meanness.” 

 “Praise the Lord,” said Mama. “Ben made Eula’s life a misery. I told her to leave him the first time he hit her. What will happen to her?” 

“Not a thing. The police knew about Ben. Everybody knew. Ben needed shooting and Eula shot him.”  

She laughed. I didn’t know why that was funny, but I perked up, all ears, to find out if it was a joke, and why Uncle Ben needed shooting, and if Aunt Eula really shot him. 

Just then, Grandma noticed me listening. She looked at Bell, put a finger to her mouth, and said, “Little pitchers have big ears.” That meant they’d send me out to play in the yard. They didn’t think I knew their trick, but I’d figured out when I was five.  

And I heard Daddy tell Mama —  
“I tell you, if  Berthel ever wants to kill Harley, all she’ll have to do is wash him.” 

Uncle Harley was Daddy’s cousin. He and Aunt Berthel lived two counties over from us. One Sunday, we were on our way home from visiting them when I heard Daddy say that. I knew he was kidding because he laughed.  

Then he said, “I don’t know where Harley gets it. Our people aren’t dirty. I care a lot about him because he was always good to me when I was a boy, but it’s hard to spend time at his place.” 

He sounded sad for a minute, then laughed again. “Dirt and spit are all that’s holding the man together. Wash it off and he’ll go right down the drain with the water – dirt, grease, and all!”  

I pictured Aunt Berthel trying to wash Uncle Harley.  

Mama said, “Berthel told me they caught a pair of skunks and they’re keeping them as pets?”  

“Oh, yeah. Harley’s real proud of them. He showed me. He has them in cages by the back porch.” 

Mama made a face. “That’s right by the kitchen window. The smell!” 

Daddy said, “Yep. I don’t see how the poor little skunks can stand it.”  

When I got home I tried to draw Uncle Harley going down the drain. I couldn’t make it come out right, so I drew a picture of Aunt Berthel trying to make him get in the tub instead. I made drawings of the skunks too. 

And I heard Aunt Mattie tell Mama —   
“Oh, I have to tell you what Minkie’s done now — wrecked a man’s car.” 

Aunt Minkie and Aunt Mattie were Mama’s aunts.  

Aunt Minkie was always doing funny crazy, funny things — like the time she yelled at a policeman and ran over his foot.  

They lived in Quincy, Florida, near where Mama had grown up. Aunt Mattie had a farm. She came to visit us every autumn after her crops were in, and always brought good things to eat, funny stories about Aunt Minkie, and lots of pictures. 

Most of her pictures were of weird things — an old fence, a settee, a road, a cattle gap, and houses.  

Grownups were always taking pictures of things that didn’t matter and showing them to each other.  

She held up a picture, and said, “Look here — W.B.’s (Mama’s daddy) new cattle gap. Now old Popeye can’t wander off. And here’s Gert’s new settee. And here’s…” 

Suddenly, Aunt Mattie laughed, and said, “Oh, I have to tell you what Minkie’s done now!” 

“Louise’s two girls, Inez and Bea, married two brothers — isn’t that something? And they built real nice houses right across from each other on the road to Gretna. W.B. offered to take Minkie to see them. She humphed and said she was perfectly able to drive herself. She’s pushing ninety and ought to not be driving, but she’s stubborn. Anyway, she got in that big old Hudson of hers and drove to the houses. That road’s only two-lanes, and the girls have driveways, but Minkie didn’t bother with them. She stopped in the road in front of Bea’s house. Then, she pulled across the road to look at Inez’s — just parked herself in the oncoming lane. 

“Inez told me she had come out after saw Minkie’s car. She was walking towards her when she saw a car come up over the rise —straight at Minkie. The man in the other car must have seen her car in his lane because he pulled around. Just as he did, Minkie jerked her car over and crashed into him.” 

“Lucky they weren’t killed. Inez said the man climbed out, holding his head, and looked at his banged-up car. Minkie came charging at him, mad as a hornet. 

“‘You had no business getting in my lane. You can thank the Lord I’m alive! You came all-around killing me!’  

“The man told her she was in his lane. Then he said, ‘Ma’am, you shouldn’t be driving.’ 

“When Minkie heard that, she went right up in his face, shook her finger, and spoke to him like he was dim-witted. 

“I had to see my niece’s new house! You should have known I’d move back to my lane!’”  

Mama and Aunt Mattie laughed and went back to looking at pictures of boring stuff. I figured that was the end of the good stories, and went outside. 

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