The Stiff Neck Chronicles

All families have their quirks and quirky members. Many also have humorous anecdotes about particular members that are oft-shared and oft-repeated, until everyone in hearing range can quote them verbatim. My family is no exception. Fact is - We probably have quite a few more anecdotes to share than most families because the majority of our family members have a comic quirk or two or three. More likely than not, whenever two or more are gathered together, either my brother or I will recite one, or two, or three of those funny stories. And of course, I'm going to do so right now.

The first story I'll call, "Stiff Necks and Volkswagen's." Both my grandfather and my father worked for the railroad. Their jobs, as a locomotive mechanic and electrician, required them to crawl into small, tight  spaces and contort their bodies to reach parts and wiring. As a result, both developed deteriorating discs in their necks, which caused them pain whenever they were forced to swivel their heads too far to the left or right. So, their solution to the problem was NOT to turn their heads more than about 45 degrees to either side. Which meant that my dad did not, ever, turn his head to check behind him when driving. He always relied on his mirrors.

As you can imagine, this resulted in numerous fender benders. Anyone who parked their vehicle in the driveway at our house did so at their own risk, as my dad was notorious for backing into any vehicle parked there. In fact, I don't believe we owned a vehicle that hadn't been backed into by my dad at some time. That included my brother's "new" hand-me-down car, which had just been freshly painted - to his utter dismay. And of course, Dad refused to have it fixed, so my brother had to drive that dented car back to the University of Virginia and throughout graduate school.

Now maybe backing into cars isn't a funny thing in your house, but after it happens as often as it did in mine, you get to a point where you may as well laugh. The biggest laugh we ever got over my dad's backing-up antics, was when he backed over a VW Beetle. Oh yes, he did. Really.

Dad was heading home from work in East End Shops one afternoon. Just as he approached the exit, a train appeared down the line and the gates descended. As was typical for dad, he got just a little bit impatient waiting, so he flipped his car into reverse and backed up with only a quick glance in his mirrors. WHAM! BAM! The back end of his old Ford reared up and came to a sudden stop. Dad quickly hopped out of the car to see what had happened and was completely shocked when he found the back bumper of his car firmly planted against the windshield of a little VW Beetle.

Thankfully the driver of the tiny car was not injured, but the bug had definitely been no match for the big, heavy sedan my dad drove. From that day on we called Dad's car the "bug smasher."

This second tale I'll title, "Stiff Necks and Hay!" As I indicated above, both my dad and granddad had an aversion to swiveling their necks to look behind them. I can't remember my granddad ever backing over a tiny German auto, but he did back over my dad. Oh yes, he did. Really.

Granddaddy purchased the farm, where I was born and where my husband and I now live, in 1950. He raised  and sold Hereford beef cattle for additional income and as hedge against another depression. So, of course, hay had to be grown, cut, and baled to feed the cattle during the winter. Dad and his brother, and my brother and our boy cousins were enlisted to help with the hay. One hot summer, Grandaddy was driving his Ford 8N tractor, pulling the hay wagon, while my Dad picked up the square bales and handed them up to another helper on the trailer who stacked them neatly.

No one really knows why Granddaddy decided to back up with the tractor and trailer, but apparently he had his reasons - likely to get into a better position to reach the next row of hay bales. All they know for sure is that he started backing up without looking behind him. Unfortunately, my dad was standing just behind the trailer wheel, handing up a hay bale, when the tire rolled up over his boot and laid him down in the pasture. Of course, that precipitated much screaming and yelling, by my dad and all the other helpers, yelling that Granddaddy couldn't hear for the roar of the tractor. But thankfully, he stopped backing up of his own volition just about the time the tractor tire reached Dad's knee.

Once again, we were blessed that Dad was not seriously injured, as the thick carpet of pasture grass cushioned his leg so that the weight of the partially filled trailer did no major damage. Dad was left with a sore knee, which plagued him from time to time for the rest of his life, and a great story to tell on my Granddad.

Next time I'll tell you the tale of the hen and the pie pan.