Then the man said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved."
Genesis 32:28-30
The more time I spent around my grandfather, the more it seemed like he was stuck in kindergarten the way he acted. His terms, his stubbornness, and his joviality were all examples of how he was stuck in kindergarten, but on this day it was the names he used.
Visiting with Papaw in the summer was always a special treat. A simple country man with simple country taste. Never was summer so relaxing as when Papaw and I would spend it together. Rarely would a conversation or activity become very deep. We always had plenty to talk about, and plenty to do, but we never got in a hurry. It was just country living at its best.
One of the activities that we always had to attend to was the cattle. Normally, Papaw kept about fifty head of beef cattle and regularly traded them and bought more. Never once did this take on the high stakes type environment that seems so stereotypical of farmers today. All trading was conducted under a large oak tree, sitting in nylon webbing lawn chairs, and sipping on sweet tea. No haggling or name calling ever occurred. Just polite conversation and a handshake.
Papaw’s reputation for being a fair man was well known throughout Iredell County and it was not uncommon for people to show up out of the blue to do business with him. Papaw was a farmer because he loved it, not to make money. Sure he made some money, but just what was fair, and just enough to keep his family taken care of; nothing more. As such it was not taken as out of the ordinary when Tom Simon showed up to purchase some cattle.
Papaw and I were sitting in the front yard, sipping on some ice tea, discussing the virtues of chewing tobacco. Papaw and I often had this discussion about, “worm medicine” as he called it. No amount of his nagging would get me to try it. It repulsed me just as much then as it does now. However, Papaw never let up. As a matter of fact we buried him with a pack of tobacco. While Papaw was explaining to me for about the fourth time that day how it could be used to soothe bee stings, Tom came riding up in a brand new pickup truck.
With Tom was an older gentleman, slightly stooped, carrying a wooden cane. Both were very congenial and greeted Papaw very warmly. Papaw immediately sent me for more lawn chairs and iced tea. When I returned with the chairs and iced tea we all sat around and discussed just about everything. We talked about the Braves. We talked about Papaw’s days as a truck driver. We talked about how nice it was now that the road was paved. After a long time we finally got around to why Tom and his friend had showed up, which was to buy some cattle.
I was impressed with Tom. He was polished. He was smooth. There was no doubt in my mind that this man was a salesman. His companion, on the other hand, was down home country. A very simple man, of very few words. He quietly sipped on his iced tea, and didn’t really contribute to the conversation; just an occasional chuckle or nod. However, Tom was smooth and tried to work his salesman tactics on Papaw, but he still paid just what anyone would for those calves.
I was always very happy with the way that Papaw never tried to exclude me from any adult conversation or activities. None of this conversation between him and Tom was any of my business, but I found it fascinating as I listened in. I was not even chastised for throwing in my two cents worth, even when I realize now that it really had no bearing on the conversations they were having. I was still stuck on the Braves when they had quietly moved on to the new paved road and my comments about Hank Aaron were just as welcome then as before.
Papaw and Tom talked for quite some time about just about everything. It was hard to even notice when the conversation slipped quickly to the calves he wanted to buy and the price that would be paid. That entire exchange lasted only about a minute in about an hour and a half conversation. Just as quickly as that portion of the conversation appeared, it disappeared. Only the most observant would have noticed the conversation that bore out about a $2,000 exchange. They quickly continued with their conversation about the Braves, the weather, or just about anything else. Shortly after that Tom and his companion got back into his new truck and rode away.
Papaw and I continued our daily regimen of working on various different projects around the farm, broken up by a grilled cheese sandwich and an episode of All In The Family. One thing that seemed to be never ending was the fence line. We set out across the pastures to the far reaches of the farm to repair some of the fence. Somehow it seemed that the further away the fence was from the house, the worse it was. We weren’t really let down this time either. There was an old pine tree that had fallen on the fence leaving a wide opening that any cow could make it through. I would say that we began to work on it, but in reality I began to work on it. Papaw was great at convincing you that “we” were going to do something, but when it came down to it, it was only “I” that was swinging that axe. However, you know I really didn’t mind. I was spending some time with a man that really meant the world to me. I was only too proud to swing that axe for him to clear that fence. While we worked that morning Papaw regaled me with his thoughts on the honorable profession of buying and selling cattle. He was so smooth at it though that I had no idea that he was not speaking very highly of the profession. He referred to Tom numerous times in the course of our conversation as a “penhooker”. Unfortunately, I had no idea that it was not what you would consider flattering.
Later on that afternoon Tom returned because he and Papaw had agreed to go to the new meat packing house together. Now, for beef cattle farmers few things are more important than a new slaughter house. The new Cool Springs meat processing plant had just opened, and Tom was able to get us in for a grand tour.
Tom, Papaw, and I all piled into Tom’s car and headed out to the new processing house. Papaw was truly in his element. He and Tom talked as if they had known each other since grade school, when Tom was really twenty years Papaw’s junior. Papaw could make anyone feel at ease with his simple country charm and wit. Part of his wit was how he would try to seem like a big city man, when in reality he had rarely been outside Iredell County. Tom mentioned that a six-pack would make the trip to the processing plant much better, and of course Papaw couldn’t agree more. Tom stopped just a couple miles down the road at a local Philips 66 and got a six-pack that he and Papaw shared. I will never forget the way that Papaw turned to me and said, “Now your Mamaw don’t have to know about this boy.” There was nothing like his devilish smile and loving way. Mamaw never did hear about the beer. Papaw and Tom finished their beers as we reached the processing plant. We walked in as if we owned the place and Tom proudly began to show us around.
Now, I had never really been to a meat processing plant before, so this was kind of eye opening. It seemed that no matter where we went there were carcasses hanging like obedient soldiers. Many chutes where cattle are lead on their final journeys. One particular room I remember was the room full of cow heads and organs. This, in no small way, was the most disgusting room I had ever seen, but also somewhat fascinating at the same time. It was such an odd pile of discarded cow parts strewn with their heads piled on top, their bodies hanging naked in the next room ready for stakes and Sunday roasts.
The next day Tom and his companion returned to collect the cattle that he had purchased the day before. As they were riding up into the driveway, I excitedly ran to tell Papaw about their arrival. I opened the screen door onto the back porch and shouted, “Papaw, that penhooker feller is here now.”
Papaw moved quicker than I had ever seen to come near and quiet me down. He effectively grabbed me and told me, “Boy, don’t be saying that now. It’s not terribly flattering.” Until that moment I had no idea that his comments the day before were not said in the best light of Tom.
Papaw and I had already locked the calves Tom was buying into the barn away from the other cattle. Some of these cows were not very happy about being locked up and as we began to try to load them onto Tom’s truck they became even less happy. Each of us got a stick of some kind to help guide the cows. Tom’s companion used his cane for his stick. I was dumbfounded when he warded off one of the cows from charging him with his cane. Tom’s companion, even with his unsteady legs, deftly raised the cane and whacked the cow squarely between the eyes. That cow had no compunction about backing right down. After about an hour of something that could only be described as a Laurel and Hardy routine we finally got the cows loaded onto Tom’s truck. With as little fanfare as when he first showed up, Tom and his companion were on their way, and I never saw the Penhooker again.
Genesis 32:28-30
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| Jacob wrestling the angel, in a detail from a fresco by Eugène Delacroix (1861) |
There are a variety of reasons why we call people, things or places the names that we do. Often in the ancient Hebrew tradition or even in the Native American tradition, names mean something. Abraham means father of a multitude, Jesus means will save, and here Peniel means the face of God. These are all noble sounding and meaning names, but we tend to lean towards less favorable names too – like the names we give each other on the playground in elementary school.
The more time I spent around my grandfather, the more it seemed like he was stuck in kindergarten the way he acted. His terms, his stubbornness, and his joviality were all examples of how he was stuck in kindergarten, but on this day it was the names he used.
Visiting with Papaw in the summer was always a special treat. A simple country man with simple country taste. Never was summer so relaxing as when Papaw and I would spend it together. Rarely would a conversation or activity become very deep. We always had plenty to talk about, and plenty to do, but we never got in a hurry. It was just country living at its best.
One of the activities that we always had to attend to was the cattle. Normally, Papaw kept about fifty head of beef cattle and regularly traded them and bought more. Never once did this take on the high stakes type environment that seems so stereotypical of farmers today. All trading was conducted under a large oak tree, sitting in nylon webbing lawn chairs, and sipping on sweet tea. No haggling or name calling ever occurred. Just polite conversation and a handshake.
Papaw’s reputation for being a fair man was well known throughout Iredell County and it was not uncommon for people to show up out of the blue to do business with him. Papaw was a farmer because he loved it, not to make money. Sure he made some money, but just what was fair, and just enough to keep his family taken care of; nothing more. As such it was not taken as out of the ordinary when Tom Simon showed up to purchase some cattle.
Papaw and I were sitting in the front yard, sipping on some ice tea, discussing the virtues of chewing tobacco. Papaw and I often had this discussion about, “worm medicine” as he called it. No amount of his nagging would get me to try it. It repulsed me just as much then as it does now. However, Papaw never let up. As a matter of fact we buried him with a pack of tobacco. While Papaw was explaining to me for about the fourth time that day how it could be used to soothe bee stings, Tom came riding up in a brand new pickup truck.
With Tom was an older gentleman, slightly stooped, carrying a wooden cane. Both were very congenial and greeted Papaw very warmly. Papaw immediately sent me for more lawn chairs and iced tea. When I returned with the chairs and iced tea we all sat around and discussed just about everything. We talked about the Braves. We talked about Papaw’s days as a truck driver. We talked about how nice it was now that the road was paved. After a long time we finally got around to why Tom and his friend had showed up, which was to buy some cattle.
I was impressed with Tom. He was polished. He was smooth. There was no doubt in my mind that this man was a salesman. His companion, on the other hand, was down home country. A very simple man, of very few words. He quietly sipped on his iced tea, and didn’t really contribute to the conversation; just an occasional chuckle or nod. However, Tom was smooth and tried to work his salesman tactics on Papaw, but he still paid just what anyone would for those calves.
I was always very happy with the way that Papaw never tried to exclude me from any adult conversation or activities. None of this conversation between him and Tom was any of my business, but I found it fascinating as I listened in. I was not even chastised for throwing in my two cents worth, even when I realize now that it really had no bearing on the conversations they were having. I was still stuck on the Braves when they had quietly moved on to the new paved road and my comments about Hank Aaron were just as welcome then as before.
Papaw and Tom talked for quite some time about just about everything. It was hard to even notice when the conversation slipped quickly to the calves he wanted to buy and the price that would be paid. That entire exchange lasted only about a minute in about an hour and a half conversation. Just as quickly as that portion of the conversation appeared, it disappeared. Only the most observant would have noticed the conversation that bore out about a $2,000 exchange. They quickly continued with their conversation about the Braves, the weather, or just about anything else. Shortly after that Tom and his companion got back into his new truck and rode away.
Papaw and I continued our daily regimen of working on various different projects around the farm, broken up by a grilled cheese sandwich and an episode of All In The Family. One thing that seemed to be never ending was the fence line. We set out across the pastures to the far reaches of the farm to repair some of the fence. Somehow it seemed that the further away the fence was from the house, the worse it was. We weren’t really let down this time either. There was an old pine tree that had fallen on the fence leaving a wide opening that any cow could make it through. I would say that we began to work on it, but in reality I began to work on it. Papaw was great at convincing you that “we” were going to do something, but when it came down to it, it was only “I” that was swinging that axe. However, you know I really didn’t mind. I was spending some time with a man that really meant the world to me. I was only too proud to swing that axe for him to clear that fence. While we worked that morning Papaw regaled me with his thoughts on the honorable profession of buying and selling cattle. He was so smooth at it though that I had no idea that he was not speaking very highly of the profession. He referred to Tom numerous times in the course of our conversation as a “penhooker”. Unfortunately, I had no idea that it was not what you would consider flattering.
Later on that afternoon Tom returned because he and Papaw had agreed to go to the new meat packing house together. Now, for beef cattle farmers few things are more important than a new slaughter house. The new Cool Springs meat processing plant had just opened, and Tom was able to get us in for a grand tour.
Tom, Papaw, and I all piled into Tom’s car and headed out to the new processing house. Papaw was truly in his element. He and Tom talked as if they had known each other since grade school, when Tom was really twenty years Papaw’s junior. Papaw could make anyone feel at ease with his simple country charm and wit. Part of his wit was how he would try to seem like a big city man, when in reality he had rarely been outside Iredell County. Tom mentioned that a six-pack would make the trip to the processing plant much better, and of course Papaw couldn’t agree more. Tom stopped just a couple miles down the road at a local Philips 66 and got a six-pack that he and Papaw shared. I will never forget the way that Papaw turned to me and said, “Now your Mamaw don’t have to know about this boy.” There was nothing like his devilish smile and loving way. Mamaw never did hear about the beer. Papaw and Tom finished their beers as we reached the processing plant. We walked in as if we owned the place and Tom proudly began to show us around.
Now, I had never really been to a meat processing plant before, so this was kind of eye opening. It seemed that no matter where we went there were carcasses hanging like obedient soldiers. Many chutes where cattle are lead on their final journeys. One particular room I remember was the room full of cow heads and organs. This, in no small way, was the most disgusting room I had ever seen, but also somewhat fascinating at the same time. It was such an odd pile of discarded cow parts strewn with their heads piled on top, their bodies hanging naked in the next room ready for stakes and Sunday roasts.
The next day Tom and his companion returned to collect the cattle that he had purchased the day before. As they were riding up into the driveway, I excitedly ran to tell Papaw about their arrival. I opened the screen door onto the back porch and shouted, “Papaw, that penhooker feller is here now.”
Papaw moved quicker than I had ever seen to come near and quiet me down. He effectively grabbed me and told me, “Boy, don’t be saying that now. It’s not terribly flattering.” Until that moment I had no idea that his comments the day before were not said in the best light of Tom.
Papaw and I had already locked the calves Tom was buying into the barn away from the other cattle. Some of these cows were not very happy about being locked up and as we began to try to load them onto Tom’s truck they became even less happy. Each of us got a stick of some kind to help guide the cows. Tom’s companion used his cane for his stick. I was dumbfounded when he warded off one of the cows from charging him with his cane. Tom’s companion, even with his unsteady legs, deftly raised the cane and whacked the cow squarely between the eyes. That cow had no compunction about backing right down. After about an hour of something that could only be described as a Laurel and Hardy routine we finally got the cows loaded onto Tom’s truck. With as little fanfare as when he first showed up, Tom and his companion were on their way, and I never saw the Penhooker again.
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