Watch What You Say — Everything Ain't Always What It Seems!

I touched a little on my Grandpa Mauney — aka "Cowboy" — in an earlier post, and some of you have asked for more. I wish I could really tell his whole story, but Mom didn't share a lot about him. From what I gathered, he grew up rough. Of course, growing up in the twenties would be rough for anyone.

What I do know: he rode an Indian Motorcycle. He played semi-pro baseball — and that was one thing I know well about him and his family. As it would have it, him and three of his brothers all played baseball, one of them making it all the way to the pros — the Phillies, actually.

Then he went to war, serving in the U.S. Navy during World War II, spending a good deal of time in the Philippines. He came home with a lot of tattoos. Let me see if I can remember them all — a full three-mast clipper ship on his chest, a portrait of him and my grandma covering his entire back (with Cowboy written under him and Louise under her), a mermaid, a nurse, a hula girl, and a few others we'll leave at that. He also brought home a couple of knives and swords from his time on a PT boat, which he hung proudly on his walls.

He wore black western shirts, cowboy boots, and a Stetson hat. That was Cowboy.

Now, one of the reasons we didn't spend a lot of time over there was that he liked to drink — a little, according to him. A lot, according to Mom. He worked every day the textile mill was open, fine every other weekend — but on payday? He was gonna drink a little. I know my mom and her siblings had it rough growing up, and so did my grandma. But by the time I came along, well — I never saw anything other than a grandpa. He was a man of few words. He said it once and he meant it, and buddy, we knew it. But he was always good to me, as best I can recall.

From my vantage point as a kid, Grandpa was a big man — about 6 feet tall, 190 pounds, and from what I remember, very muscular. He looked like a wrestler.

Which brings us to the story.

Concord, NC — where he lived — once held their Centennial celebration, and as part of the fun, every man had to grow a beard or they'd lock you up in an old cage-style jail cell right in front of the courthouse until someone paid your "bail." It was all in good fun to raise money, of course. So Grandpa grew out his beard. Then someone bet him he wouldn't shave his head but keep the beard — and he did.

Now, at that time there were two brothers in Charlotte, NC — right next to Concord — who were professional wrestlers. Big men. Beards. Shaved heads. You can see where this is going.

He went to Myrtle Beach with my parents, and back then most hotels had a bar downstairs. That night, around 2 in the morning, he came beating on my dad's door telling him he needed him right now, downstairs. Dad got dressed and ran down thinking Grandpa was in trouble.

He wasn't in trouble. Not even close.

Someone in that bar had asked him if he was one of the Smith Brothers from Charlotte — the wrestlers. And Grandpa had everyone in that bar convinced that he was — everyone except one guy who wasn't buying it. So when Dad came down ready to fight, Grandpa said, "Wayne, tell this guy I'm one of those Smith Brothers." Dad said, "Yes he is" — and went back to bed.

I should mention — I was there for that trip. Well, almost. I hadn't quite arrived yet, if you know what I mean. Still had a couple of months to go. 😄

But back to the main story.

Now, to everyone who talked about his drinking, Grandpa seemed drunk a lot. But here's what I found out one Saturday.

We got up early, loaded the truck, and headed to Tuckertown Lake to fish behind the dam. As we came into Mt. Pleasant, Grandpa asked Dad to stop by the ABC store so he could get something to drink. Now try and follow this — I told you the size of him — and he only got a half pint of whiskey. We spent around 8 hours at that lake, and he sipped on it all day long. He came home with half of that still left.

He was not drunk. There was no way — he hadn't had enough to make me drunk.

But when we turned onto his street, his whole demeanor changed. He fell out of the truck, stumbled up the steps, and collapsed into his rocking chair in the den — acting like he was fast asleep.

Mom got mad at Dad and said, "You took him off and let him come home drunk!"

Dad told her, "Be careful what you say around your dad. He is not asleep, and he hasn't had enough alcohol to get Junior drunk. This is all an act."

Dad told me later that he asked Grandpa about it. Grandpa said he'd been doing that for years. Said it was amazing what you hear and learn when people think you're drunk or asleep.

Watch what you say. Everything ain't always what it seems. 😄

This one was as funny as it was touching, and it dealt with some rough things too — but that was Cowboy. Thank you for your time, and do yourself a favor — take someone to church Sunday.

God Bless. — Big PaPaw