The Red Flannel Rag

that he passed on to me so that I could name all my twenty-two aunts and uncles, my

ninety-nine first cousins, and eventually tell the story of growing up in Hopkins Gap.

He voted in every election and was a rabid democrat. Only once in his life did he

admit to voting for a Repub lican, although he didn’t say who got his vote. He was very

private about his voting record, but I assumed he voted for President Eisenhower

because he had seen him several times when he was a soldier in Germany, and he

admired him as a general. He never admitted that he voted for Eisenhower, but he also

never denied it.

Dad was a small man of about five feet and seven inches. He was thin and wiry

like Grandma Molly and never weighed over one hundred and fifty pounds soakin’ wet,

but he was very strong. When he was young, his hair was dark brown and curly. He

didn’t lose any more of his hair after he returned from the war but by the time he died it

had turned gray like Grandpa Austin’s hair.

Before he went to the war, he had Grandma Molly’s sharp brown eyes with a

twinkle that revealed his quick sense of humor. Uncle Shirley described my pre-war

Dad many times. “We were the best of buddies. We made moonshine together, fought

off the Peakers, and drank a lot of whiskey before we got married.”

Not lon g ago, Uncle Shirley was telling me about Dad’s sense of humor when he

was a young man. He told me about a time when he and Dad got drunk and ended up at

Grandpa Austin’s house. They partied and drank some more whiskey until they passed

out on the floor. Dad woke up the next morning and apparently had a very bad taste in

his mouth.

Uncle Shirley said, “Your daddy woke up and punched me. He said, ‘Shirley, did

you see a man in this room just about five minutes ago?’ I said, ‘No, I was asleep until

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