This ain’t my fault… blame Jay G. for gettin’ me started.
We in the South see humor in anything– we pretty much have to. Any large gathering (weddings, funerals, reunions, meetings) quickly breaks down into groups “swappin’ stories.” The same thing happens when friends meet… “got any news?” “Nah, no good’n's.” It’s built into us, telling the stories we were told… because story telling is the best teacher. (Yankees, please take note– I know you’re thinking “oh, Mr. Rogers” right now. Yeah, he went to college in the South and married a Southerner. You’re welcome.)
I can remember being a small child and listening to my mother’s mother telling stories to me– everything from the family history (her father was blind but grew a large garden by touch) to her life experiences (she was a small girl when the Titanic sank, and she’s the one that influenced me to love history) to humor.
A boy finally got the nerve to ask his sweetheart to the picture show, and as they were watching, she gently lay her head on his shoulder. Moments later, she looked over at him and saw he was furiously twiddling his thumbs. Lifting her head, she gently whispered in his ear “can’t you do anything better with your hands?” The guy looked at her, stunned… and then began twiddling his thumbs in opposite directions.
I remember this for two reasons: one, it reminds me of some of my dates, and two… man, my grannie told naughty stories. (Heck, I got the PG-13 ones. My brother and cousins re-tell some real knee-slappers.) Even my father and mother passed some on (one day, I will have to write about my dad and the panther…).
The professional comedians who come from the South typify our story telling… for the most part, clean, decent, with a good message… and uproariously funny. Some have become popular recently (Foxworthy, Engvall, White), but the grand-daddy of them all was Jerry Clower. The first stand-up comic I ever heard, I’ve been trying to find the routine of his I heard… to no success. Needless to say, it involved scuppernong wine, grassers (geese that eat weeds out of gardens), a feather-tick mattress and the punchline “look-a yonder, look-a yonder, comin’ up the hill… SEVENTEEN NAKED GEESE!”
For some examples, three of Jerry’s skits:
Jerry’s version of the story Jay G. told above.
The “banana joke.” My parents loved it, because they used to get fruit (but never a banana) for a Christmas gift.
The talking chain saw. My favorite, because my father pulp-wooded from the time he was 15 until he went to work with Fairchild Aircraft in the late 1970′s. Also, a note– in the skit, Jerry references McCulloch as a saw brand. In the old days, McCulloch and Poulan were the two brands found most in the loggin’ woods. I’ve spent more time servicing saws of both brands than I care to admit. (They’re both crap, and both have been bought out by Husqvarna.)
Now, if ya’ll’ excuse me, I gotta go see if I can’t find a mess of peas and butterbeans to shell.
