Our story today starts and ends with a death in Anderson, MO. In between, we stop off in OK and learn about related topics such as lasagna and trailer homes.
In the last Episode, I showed this handwritten note in Hannibal’s scrawl which I found in the Trinket Bible.
Here it is
It contains a reference to her dad – Carbomb -- dying April 22, 1981, in Anderson, MO, along with his widow’s phone number.
Today’s story is about that death and the trip Hannibal took me on in 1981, when I was three, to visit her dad’s widow. But before we get to that, we have to make a stop aaaallll the way over in a place called McAlester, OK. For some reason.
Where in the Heck are We?
We are in McAlester, OK. Population 18,000. It is 1981.
McAlester for the unfamiliar – which is just about everyone – is about 120 miles Southeast of Oklahoma City and sits just outside the Choctaw Nation.
There is nothing in McAlester. Not even a Waffle House.
Except the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, affectionately known to many as “Big Mac”. It was built in the early 1900s and is very Spartan and brutal. They don’t even have air conditioning!
Back in the 1970s and 1980s – when this story takes place – it was known as one of the most corrupt prisons in the country. There were also several prison riots there. So, all in all, a really nice place.
Although, SportsCenter did once broadcast Big Mac’s “inside the rodeo walls” prison rodeo from there. I’m not so sure it’s a great idea to give the inmates giant pissed-off bulls to ride or lariats for calf-roping.
Sweet Cheeks
Back to McAlester. It’s later summer 1981. I am three years old, and adorable.
See?
Source: Me
The afternoon air is hot and humid, something I am not used to. I am used to heat in Hansford county, where it usually gets above 100º F in the summer. Sometimes even in the winter. In the Texas panhandle, anything above 20% humidity would be considered sweltering. Not, however, in the middle of Oklahoma.
I am in the back seat of my mom, Hannibal Anne’s, beige sedan sitting on the crackly yellow seats. I have a stash of books in my backpack. I am sweating. My face cheeks are flushed and red. Not sure about the other cheeks. Ahem.
We had been driving for hours and were pulling through an area I certainly had never been to before. There are Post Oak trees lining a winding dirt road. I see a picnic table in front of a trailer house. The scene is still except for the slow movement of the trees.
Hannibal’s face was not raging and her eyes were not dancing. Odd for Hannibal.
She sat in the driver’s seat looking at the trailer house. We sat there for maybe 15 minutes as Hannibal watched. Did I mention it was really hot? And humid?
I watched Hannibal and could not pick up on where we were, why we were here, or what her mood was. I looked across the back seat at the three packed bags. Was this place familiar to Hannibal? I looked at books and slept most of the way, but I didn’t see Hannibal use a map.
We were about 400 miles from Hansford County. Nowadays, that trip might take 6 hours. Back then, probably a lot more.
With the humidity, it felt like we were a lot further away than 6 hours.
Trailers for Sale or Rent
Trailer houses always registered with me. I always worried about them, and their inhabitants, for two reasons. One involves tornados and the other involves lasagna.
Hansford County is in the core of Tornado Alley. During It Was a Very Good | Bad Year, otherwise known as 1982, or as Groundhog Year, a severe F4 damage ripped through Hansford Co.
In 1971, a wide mile-wide tornado came through. That was before I was born, so my memory is a bit fuzzy on that one.
Anytime there was a tornado warning and we would seek shelter, one of my first questions would be “what about everybody in the trailer homes?” I would usually be reassured that advance warning had been issued and occupants would be in the school or library basement.
As Hannibal would say “you are such a worrier”. Maybe. I would think – in my head -- “well, you don’t seem to have much to worry about.” She never really seemed concerned for anyone.
Some hired hands who worked for my Grandfather, Dayton, lived in trailer homes. The homes would be located on his land so they could keep an eye on the cattle or equipment. I remember them as hard working, dedicated and nice people. So, of course, I would worry about them, that they lived so far out, and what if they could not hear the sirens.
Here is a conversation I remember when one of those tornado warnings came along.
FREDO
You are driving me nuts with this tornado worry. Listen. They got tires are on the roof in case lightning hits. (I knew that.)
Even if they can’t hear the sirens, Dayton will radio them. We try to give them enough notice to seek shelter. Everything is going to be OK.
ME
10/4 . . . Good Buddy! (Which I totally learned from that Convoy song.)
Well, what if they don’t hear the radio? What if the radio is turned off? What then?
FREDO
Then we will drive out and tell them?
ME
In a tornado?
FREDO
You are driving me nuts with this tornado worry.
Once, Twice Three Times Lasagna
A few months after this conversation – maybe early Winter -- we were waiting for Fredo to come in the door for dinner.
Hannibal had put more than the usual amount of effort into making dinner. We were having lasagna. It actually smelled pretty good. I could almost taste the melted cheese.
Fredo arrived home from the fields, showered and made his way to the dinner table. As he sat down, his mouth slightly opened and his eyes registered a look I had not seen before. He dug his fork, gingerly, into the lasagna. His face started turning white. My eyes started moving from Fredo to his eyes locked on the lasagna. Then over to Hannibal. What was going on? Even Hannibal didn’t seem to know. She smirked.
Fredo suddenly stood up. The next thing I heard was the bathroom door slamming shut. Clunk. Fredo was ralphing. Hannibal was pounding on the door yelling “Hey! What is wrong?” It’s not like anyone can answer a question when they are mid-ralph. I stayed at the table, probably the safest place, trying to figure out what could have happened. Fredo didn’t get sick that often.
After a bit, Hannibal returned and commented the lasagna was likely no longer warm. She cut a square for her plate and one for mine. I just followed her lead. She had a bite and so did I. I forked it up and watched the cheese drip and dangle down to my plate. Stop playing with my food!
We both finished our plates. I thought the lasagna was good. There sat Fredo’s plate – untouched and clean, which I stared at. Hannibal must have caught on to my staring at Fredo’s empty plate.
HANNIBAL
You know Pablo? Well, he is dead. He lived out in that trailer. You know the one, that trailer you can barely see when we drive to Stratford.
I couldn’t imagine where this was going. Hannibal seemed unfazed that someone had died or that we just had dinner without Fredo and that he was now sick in bed.
HANNIBAL
Your dad just told me that they couldn’t get Pablo to radio in for work. So, your dad went out to Pablo’s trailer. After yelling for Pablo and not getting a response, your dad had to go inside the trailer. The smell was ghastly. Pablo had left the oven on and open to stay warm. Somehow this blew up the trailer and Pablo along with it. Well, Fredo said Pablo looked like lasagna.
From that time on and up until 2020, as far as I know, Fredo would do anything to avoid all contact with lasagna.
But, then, Hannibal knew that.
What does this story have to do with Lasagna, you ask? Nothing. It’s about trailer homes.
The Cheese Wheel of Misfortune
Flying Teak Bowls from Outer Space — Henning Koppel for Georg Jensen; Image Courtesy of PFFK #7
Back to McAlester, OK. I was in the back of Hannibal’s car, staring at this trailer house and running my very own reconnoitering. You know, in case of a tornado hits. Or trying to figure out the kind of people who were inside. Or was it empty.
About that time, a somewhat tall and slender woman appears outside the trailer front door. She had short gray hair, glasses and a gentle smile.
HANNIBAL ANNE
Hi Aunt Albie.
AUNT ALBIE
Well, if it isn’t Hannibal Anne! In the actual flesh! Oh, and look at this adorable little blonde girl! Why, I am so glad you are here, dear. Just so wonderful that you are here.
Hannibal looked toward me in the back seat and told me to get out. To which I did. Thankfully the car was not in motion this time as she said it. That would not happen until next year.
I followed Hannibal to the front door where she and Aunt Albie hugged. Hannibal introduced us. Aunt Albie gently patted my back.
Once inside, I noticed the temperature was exactly the same as it was outside. I sat on a sofa inches from the front door. The kitchen was to the left. There it was, the telephone, it was on the kitchen wall. In case I needed to call my Grandparents, at least I had located the phone. Hannibal came out of the kitchen and told me to sit still. She and I sat in silence while I could hear activity in the kitchen.
AUNT ALBIE
Y’all come on into the kitchen. I’ve made some tea and snacks.
As I turned into the kitchen, I saw something I had never seen before. It was huge, the size of Aunt Albie’s chopping block. A block of at least 5 pounds of cheese. Shaped like a wheel. Was this heaven? I couldn’t believe it! I ate an amount that I’m pretty sure put me into some kind of glorious food coma.
The next thing I remember was waking up, in the middle of the night, on the sofa. I looked outside to familiarize myself. I saw little lights flying about and flickering.
The little lights were beautiful. When one of the lights went out, I would stare at the exact spot waiting for it to flicker back on. Only to see it come on in a different place. I wondered if these were the pixies my Grandmother told me about. You know, the ones that live in the Sunbeams.
I watched the lights flicker away until my eyes couldn’t hold open any longer. Somehow the cheese and the lights took away my worries of being hit by a tornado or being blown up by an oven.
Swimming in It
The next morning I woke to the hot room and Hannibal Anne. It seemed even hotter in the morning than it was at night. It was so hot and so humid. It never ended. You could not escape it. Like I was swimming in the hot air. I’m pretty sure the local species of catfish would be just fine in that weather.
Aunt Albie must not have been in ear shot that morning. You can imagine the questions I had. Hannibal explained to me that Aunt Albie was poor and did not have a husband. I asked why we were there. Hannibal explained that this was her Aunt and Hannibal felt that she just needed to check in on her. (Said Hannibal never.)
Again, my inner thoughts went back to the “bad childhood” Hannibal didn’t have. Aunt Albie did not seem bad at all.
ME
How is she poor with the most delicious cheese I have ever had? It is even better than the Christmas cheese at Muff & Dayton’s.
That was the cheese that came in these giant gift baskets that Fritz Thompson and his wife gave out at Christmas. They were known as The Owl and The Beanpole (or so says my Aunt Ju Ju).
ME
And what are those flying dancing lights in the night time? Are they spirits?
HANNIBAL
The cheese is Government Cheese. You can only get it if you are poor. The lights are fireflies.
Get ready. We are leaving in a few hours. I have to run a few errands first.
Time to Fire Fly
I had never seen fireflies before. To this day, whenever I do see them it reminds me of good ole McAlester, OK. Home of the Big Mac.
The afternoon came, and I realized it was just Aunt Albie and me. Hannibal was gone. For a few hours at least.
Albie told me more about the fireflies. I was fascinated. They were a free gift from nature, she said. You just need to keep a good environment for them. She explained that in late summer the fireflies lay eggs under the leaves from the Post Oaks and under dry grass. As long as you don’t remove the fall leaves from your lawn, new firefly babies will be born the next year. That seemed simple enough, like most wisdom is. I think more people need to catch on to this, though. In other words, yes, I am totally saying ban all gas operated loud leaf blowers – and the humans who operate them.
Hannibal returned mid-afternoon. I could hear her and Aunt Albie talking in the kitchen. I was hungry and was hoping for some more of that fine ash cheese. More cheese! As I rounded the corner, in anticipation of the cheese being on the chopping block, I froze. Instead, there was an open duffle bag spilling out over the sides of the chopping block. The bag was overflowing with cash. The most cash I had ever seen. Like $50 or something. Or so I thought as an adorable little 3 year old. It was a lot more than that.
Hannibal smiled at Aunt Albie, came toward me, grabbed my elbow and escorted me to the car. After she stuffed me in the back, she returned to the trailer and minutes later came out with our bags. The car reversed, backed down the winding dirt road the way we came, and through the Post Oak trees we went.
Somehow, I knew not to ask questions. So I did anyway.
1. Aunt Albie seemed quite nice. Would she have given Hannibal a bad childhood? The worst of it was the heat.
2. How am I going to get my hands on more of the government cheese?
3. When we get home can we breed fireflies?
4. Aunt Albie isn’t poor anymore. I wonder where Hannibal got so much cash? Will Aunt Albie be able to get the cheese again?
5. I don’t think I have ever heard of any of my friends taking a trip like this. Did they?
6. When will we be here again?
I guess I expected that we were heading back West to Hansford County, about 400 miles away. Up to I-40 and then straight through to Texas. Well, that didn’t happen.
Don’t Know You From a Hole in the Ground
A few hours into the drive, three to be exact, the car stopped at a house. It was dark outside. An older lady, with a surprised look on her face, was looking out of her house’s front window, through the olive green colored drapes. I had never seen her before. This time I was quick to ask.
ME
Where are we? Who is that?
HANNIBAL
We’re in Pineville, MO. Well, a few miles away in Anderson, MO. This is my dad’s wife after my mom. Get out. We are going in.
We walked through the unlocked door.
MARGIE
Oh my, Hannibal! What are you doing here? I was not expecting you! You could have called ahead?
HANNIBAL
Oh, hi Margie. I didn’t have your phone number. I was nearby and wanted to stop by and give you my condolences.
We know now that was a straight up lie. Margie’s phone number was on the scrawled out note shown above.
ME
I really need to go to the restroom.
HANNIBAL
Here, go to that door. It’s the restroom. Place your feet on each side of the carpet, in front of the toilet. There is a hole under the carpet.
As I was in the bathroom, I could hear Hannibal telling Margie that she had an errand to run and that Hannibal needed Margie to watch me. Margie tried to say she could not as the visit was so unexpected. Hannibal insisted. I looked under the red carpet and sure enough, there was a hole. I kneeled down and peered into the hole. It was too dark to see anything. I wondered how Hannibal knew this.
It was so late, I must have fallen asleep. I clearly remember Margie, what she looked like and the surprised overwhelmed look on her face. After Hannibal was gone for at least an hour, I don’t remember leaving or saying good-bye to Margie that night. I just remember Hannibal carrying me out of Margie’s when it was still dark.
Next thing I knew, the Sun was out and I was in the back of Hannibal’s sedan. We were heading back to Hansford County.
I brought up different bits of the trip to Hannibal, I had questions. She would shut them down. I never learned more than I saw.
Well, I did learn one thing. Since my childhood, there have been a few intriguing discoveries. Like Government Cheese. I love cheese. And fireflies.
Also, I never had an Aunt named Albie.
I checked. Hannibal’s mom’s maiden name was Winnie Fowler. Winnie had four sisters, none of which were named Albie or anything close to that. They were Genieve, Binnie, Earlene and Betty.
Though she did have a brother named Albie.
Here is the 1940 census record.
Source: Ancestry.com
Hannibal’s dad also did not have any sisters named Albie, or anything close.
Why Are We Here?
Why did Hannibal go to Anderson, MO? How did she know there was a hole in front of Margie’s toilet? Where did she get the cash from in McAlester? Was she there to visit someone in prison?
Hannibal had told everyone her maiden name was Tackett. That she was adopted. She never mentioned the name Puryear, the town of Pineville, MO, or an Aunt Albie.
Yet, here we are.
What are the common themes? The same as most of the things I found in the Trinket Bible.
Dayton, the cattle theft that took place in 1979, and Pineville, MO, a town of three people.
[The End]
Government Cheesecake Factory
Oh wait, I get asked at least 1 time what Government Cheese is. It is really an equivalent of American Cheese, but really good. It goes back to surplus milk in the 1970s and early 1980s and what to do with it. Turn it into cheese and give it to food stamp families, was the Government’s answer. The old stories say it was given out in blocks, but I remember it was a cheese wheel.
Apparently, a lot of this cheese still exists and is stored in caves in Missouri. I hadn’t thought of Government Cheese since I was three years old – not at all – until I found the death note above and it all came back to me.
So I looked it up, mainly to make sure I had not invented it in my dreams or something. Here is a recent article I found.
When I traveled to various places – even to developing countries, like Europe, I will often try out local cheeses. Not that I am counting, but I had cheese in 14 different countries.
I even have a personal note from Max McCalman. Who is a cheese guy and bills himself as a “highly visible advocate for artisanal cheese production and a dedicated scholar of cheese”.
You can have all that. I say, give me some Government Cheese. It is still the best, or at least the most memorable, cheese I have ever had.
Plus, I am told reliably by the Internet that it melts good and is great on hamburgers or in grilled cheese sandwiches.
Oh, man, that’s making me hangry. The End!
