Interesting People

Mr. Lester Sabin

Mr. Lester Sabin was the industrial arts teacher in my high school. At that time we called it “Shop”. He was an excellent teacher, demanding quality work and was very patient with us (he had to be!). I believe I learned more things from him that were useful to me in later life than in any other high school course.

Peter Rabbit

Having said that, I have to point out that he had some interesting traits that high school students have a way of picking up on. He was very deliberate and laid-back, and talked in a slow, steady monotone. Sometimes it was difficult to determine if he was awake. The students nicknamed him “Peter Rabbit”, but never called him that to his face. When he needed to get the attention of the class amid the din of whirring machines and pounding hammers he would blink the lights and exclaim several times in a slow drawl “Felllaaas”. The “fellas” would turn off machines, stop all work, and await the pearls of wisdom which were about to be dropped. When he became upset with something or someone he would slowly drawl, “It makes me madder than sixty”

There’s Juice

One time we were checking an extension cord and light socket for continuity. The bulb was not lighting so Mr. Sabin unscrewed it and said,”I will check to see if there is juice”. He stuck his finger in the socket, looked up, and slowly pulled his finger back out. “Theerre’s juice”, he slowly exclaimed.

Mail Pouch

Mahlon was a student who liked to chew tobacco in shop class although it was forbidden. One time the lights started blinking, work stopped, and Mr. Sabin drawled,”Fellas, there is saliva in the waste basket. Mahlon, are you chewing tobacco again?

Tablesaw Etiquette

One time he pointed out to us that when using a table saw, one never uses the rip-fence and miter gauge at the same time since that can bind up the piece being sawed and cause it to be hurled through the air at a high velocity. A few minutes later everyone was back to sawing, Mr. Sabin was sitting at his desk. Suddenly a sharp piece of wood flew right past his ear at high speed and stuck in the plaster wall behind him. Someone had used the miter gauge simultaneously with the rip-fence. What followed was blinking lights, “fellas”, and some slow, methodical scolding.

Buck

A student named Buck had a class schedule that caused him to come into shop class at the middle of the period. He would walk in and scan the place. If he saw that the teacher was not present, he would blink the lights a few times and loudly exclaim, “Fellaas, where-the-f*** is Peter Rabbit?”. The other students got a big kick out of his daring and bravery.

One time Buck came in, didn’t see the teacher, and loudly exclaimed “Where the f*** is Peter Rabbit?”. Well, it turned out that “Peter Rabbit” was working underneath the lathe and Buck didn’t see him. Peter Rabbit slowly crawled out from under the lathe, stood there and stared at Buck. All work stopped in anticipation of Peter Rabbit’s next move. After a minute or two of silent staring, Peter Rabbit crawled back under the lathe and everyone went back to work.

Buck never again entered the class with that profane question.

Many things went on in that class that are hard to explain and made no sense. I remember seeing one boy holding a dead rat by the tail and roasting it with a blowtorch. Another time someone drizzled gasoline in a small stream from a blowtorch across the room and up the ladder to the lumber loft. One end was lit and the flame shot across the room and up both sides of the ladder. Another student, pretending to be a fireman, put his hat on backwards and climbed up the flaming ladder. These incidents were rare, but this kind of thing is what I remember because they would probably not occur in today’s schools. In spite of this, much valuable learning took place in shop class. However I believe the class was often used as a place to relax and wind down from the rigors and boredom of some of the other classes.

Ike

When I was in grade school a man by the name of Charlie Biles sold Heberling Products (patent medicines, herbs, elixirs, etc) in the front of my grandfather’s store. The old men of the town would meet there every morning where they would chew tobacco, spit into a box full of sawdust, and spin yarns. I would hide in the back behind some boxes to listen. This is how I got my sex education along with other great pearls of wisdom. One of regulars was Ike.

Ike

Ike Coler was a farmer in Randolph. He was a big man with a large chin that was further enhanced by a huge chaw of Mail Pouch chewing tobacco. His preferred attire was grey and blue striped Oshkosh overalls. He had a livestock truck and he hauled cattle to market for the local farmers. But his most interesting quality was his quick wit and barnyard philsophy. He also stuttered a bit which made his quotes even funnier, and even Ike laughed about that. Following are some of his stories And sayings. It is difficult to capture the effect in print but I’m going to try.

On living a long life

“If every day you would t-t-t-take a spoonful of honey and a spoonful of w-w-whiskey, when Gabriel blew his horn they would have to kk- knock you in the head”.

Cow’s Tails

Ike told about some dogs getting loose and biting the tails off of some of his cows. “A cow w-without a tail is pp-pretty worthless because she c-can’t swat the flies off”, said Ike. Then he looked up with big eyes and added in a tone of helplessness, “N-Now I c-c-can’t fu-u-urnish tails for every d-damn dog in town”.

Ike the Surgeon

Ike told about his neighbor Freem Ladd calling him over to look at one of his chickens that was sick. “I knew it would k-kill Freem to loose a chicken because he was so damn tight. I l-looked at the chicken and saw right away it couldn’t pass its eggs. S-s-so I t-took a r-razor blade a-a-and operated on it. L-l-l-laid three eggs just like a machine gun!”.

Ike the Vet

Ike talked about a calf that was sick. “I t-took him to the vet and he said to give it a pint of lard”. “B-but he didn’t say w-which end to put it in. S-so I p-put a pint in one end and a p-pint in the other. Ffff-figured when they got together something was bound to happen!”.

Ike the Political Advisor

When Ike heard that my father was running for the local school board he dropped by to offer some invaluable political advice:

“Dutch, yy-you nneed to g-go out there, ss-sh-shaake some hands and kk-kiss a ff-few asses and g-get yourself elected to that school board”.

Giving Directions

One night Ike was standing in front of the gas station and a man stopped and asked him how to get to Deerfield. He pointed, waved his arms and said,” Y-yyou g-go down h-here for t-t-three m-m-miile– y-you g-go – and th-then yy-yyou… “. Finally, his stuttering got the best of him. “Oh shit, you could be there before I can tell you”. With that Ike turned and disgustedly walked into the gas station.

Chinese Rot

Ike told this story about one of his friends who was in the navy during the 30’s. His ship docked near Tientsin, China ( now called Tianjin). The story goes that this friend went on shore leave for a few days and upon returning to the ship found that he had picked up some kind of a strange venereal disease. They called it “Chinese Rot”. No one knew exactly how it worked but the sailors thought that some kind of little worms got into your thingy and drilled holes all the way through. Then when you peed it squirted out everywhere, “ Jj-just l-like a lawn sprinkler”. So to make everything work correctly it was necessary to hold your fingers over all the extra holes. “You ha-had tt-to h-hold it like a flute”, said Ike.

I can almost hear the music now!

Eugene “Dutch” Roliff

Dutch

Although my father didn’t finish high school, he was an educated man in the ways of the world. He knew most of the plants and animals of the area, and how to survive both in the woods and in the back streets and bootleg bars of Akron. He was an expert with a rifle and shotgun, and taught us how to use and respect these weapons. He did respect knowledge and education, but he didn’t have much use for pompous people, nor did he think that a fancy degree would change a person who was morally bankrupt. On hearing about someone who was supposedly highly educated but got caught in some dishonest or shady deal he would say, “It just goes to show, If you take a son-of-a-bitch and educate him, all you end up with is an educated son-of-a-bitch”.

Dad was not a large man – maybe 5 feet nine inches tall with absolutely no fat – all muscle and sinew. He had no rearend to speak of. His pants hung down in back where the rearend should be. Sometimes someone would make fun of his lack of a behind.

“When they made me they made MEN, not asses!”, was his usual reply.

Early Days

When I was born Mom and Dad lived in Akron. It was 1933 during the depression. At the time Dad was working at the B.F.Goodrich Rubber Company. He was soon laid off as were many people at that time. In order to keep from being homeless, we moved in with my Grandparents in Randolph, OH. They pretty much kept us from starving. Dad helped out to some extent by working for the WPA for very little money. Also he spent much time and effort raising a garden which helped provide food.

At the time the neighbor boy Donny had a chicken coop full of nice white pigeons that he raised as pets. The pigeons had a habit of coming over to Dad’s garden and eating his plants. Complaining to the neighbors about this did no good. They said that they had no control over where their pigeons went or what they ate.

One morning Donny went out to feed his pets. What he saw was a coop full of dead pigeons with blood, pigeon parts and feathers all over the floor and walls. When Dad was asked about this, he said it looked like the work of foxes or weasels to him.

Only God will ever know what really happened.

Operation Cat

Dad was the person who was often called when any of the local farmers needed castration done. He had the necessary skills and along with his razor-sharp pocket knife and a little sheep dip as antiseptic the job was done in short order.
My buddy, Kenny, had a black tom cat that was as ornery as sin. I suggested to Kenny that Dad had some skills that could possibly change that cat’s attitude. I asked Dad and he said, “Sure, bring him over”. I wondered how Dad was going to perform this operation without getting clawed to death since that cat was as ornery as a snake and we had no anesthetic. Well, he obtained a burlap bag and some twine, put the cat in the bag and closed it with the twine, tying it really close to the cat. He then cut off the corner of the bag and pulled the cat’s tail out along with the appropriate parts. I heard a few low growls and deep breaths from the bag as the sharp knife did it’s work. The operation was over in a matter of seconds. Dad then untied the bag. The cat emerged, ran in two or three tight circles, and tore off into the woods.
“He will be gone for about three days”, Dad said. “What will he be doing”, I asked, “Canceling dates”, Dad replied.

Evil Knievel

On the south side of Ravenna on Rt 44 there is a bridge over some railroad tracks. It is about a 50 yard span with a 40-foot drop to the tracks below. The bridge had to be replaced in the early 30’s and at the time of the following incident the girders were in place but the deck had not been installed. The story goes that Dad was headed to Ravenna on his motorcycle. Ike Coler had asked for a ride so he was on the buddy seat of the bike. When they came to the deck-less bridge there were detour signs that guided traffic around it. According to informed sources Dad ignored the signs and took the Harley across on one of the girders with Ike hanging tightly on the rear. The workers had to scramble to avoid being hit.

“T-thhe damn fool went right across”, stuttered Ike, and rode home with someone else. My dad never would admit to this one but several people told me about it.

There were other stories about Dad and the bike. Mom told one where he was showing-off for her by going by at a high rate of speed standing up on the seat. The buckles on his boots became tangled and he went flying, doing a face-plant in the weeds.

It is interesting to note that Dad would have killed me if he had ever caught me on a motorcycle. I remember the time my buddy Mahlon drove his new Triumph over and proudly parked it in the yard. Dad looked at the bike and then looked at Mahlon and said, “If you ever want to play dirty trick on Gene, just get him on the back of that thing and let me see it!”.

To this day I have never been on one.

Prodigal Son

When I was 17 I played guitar in a polka band. One of our jobs was at the Lakeview Cafe, a small bar south of town. If my mother had known that I played in there she would have had a fit. Thinking it over later I can see why. I played there for a year before she found out. By that time it was OK since I hadn’t grown horns or a tail .

One of the consequences of my playing in a band was coming home late, although I can’t blame all of my lateness on playing music. One morning about 4 AM I arrived home, took off my shoes on the porch and proceeded to pussyfoot into the house. Opening the kitchen door produced a loud clatter that sounded as if the house was being destroyed. What happened was my dad had taken all of the pots and pans in the kitchen and piled them up behind the door, so when I opened the door the whole stack came tumbling down with a racket loud enough to wake the dead and scare the bejesus out of me. I heard him exclaim from the bedroom, “Gene, If you’re going to come home so damn late could you be a little quieter about it. We can’t sleep with all the noise out there”.

Another time I arrived home about 6 AM . I thought I had made it to my bedroom without being discovered. I sat on the bed, took off one shoe and sock. At that time Dad walked in and said, “Gene, are you getting up this early?”. “Yes” I said, and put the sock and shoe back on. I stayed up all day although it almost killed me.

In this category I plan to post stories about special people that I have known or heard about, things they did and said that were interesting to me and hopefully to the reader.