I was 20 when Clyde and I fled from Charleston to ride through the storm headed for Miami. These few lines came from that trip. It may not make sense but it brought to my mind such strong memories that I wanted to share. I am happy to say that Clyde saved it those many years ago. I wrote it as fun and gave it to him. It's been 50 years. Unbelievable. I hope you enjoy. I did...
Ballad
of the Hurricane Hunters
We'd
often go drive, just to feel alive
That
was my Unc and me
Goin'
to a dive and slippin' 'em five
For
a Pint—they were never free.
Back
in the car aimed for afar
Me
and my Uncle Clyde
We'd
shoot for a star and open that jar,
A
quart of corn inside.
That
September morn when all were forlorn
A
hurricane dead in our path
All
would have sworn twas that bottle of corn
Pointed
us into nature's wrath.
It
was six hundred miles and many long trials
To
reach that storm a ragin'
We
set on our dial, listened to music awhile
And
everyone was a wagin'
We
wouldn't get back to the old home shack
In
one piece, or even two,
The
seal we did crack without looking back
Pouring
us both a toot.
In
Savannah town we began to frown
A
cop pulled us over the side
The
map I threw down to cover that brown
Bottle
of Whiskey, I tried
He
never saw but the set of his jaw
Showed
us that he was not fooled
There
was a flaw—the smell in our craw
We
might as well have drooled.
But
it was a trap for this lawman chap
A
camera full on Clyde
The
look on that sap, his face you could slap
We
were on TV—LIVE!
We
said our hello and were ready to go
When
we got a little surprise
A
cup of J.O.(that's O.J. I know)
And
a word of sound advice.
With
a smile on his face, he said have a taste
Of
our O.J. there in your cup
Saying
with grace, and little or no haste,
“Be
careful, or I'll pick you up.”
We
took off quite slow, into third he did throw
The
car as we did pick up speed
Waving
to show we would not eat crow
From
that cop, thank God, we were free.
On
down the way we did stop to say
“Get
in,” to a hitch hikin' man
He
offered to pay but we gave him O.J.
With
a touch of corn from the can
He
said, “What is this?” We said it was piss,
For
we were loaded by now.
“This
I will miss.” We told him to kiss
And
what he could eat for chow.
The
sailor looked frightened, his face it had whitened,
A
hundred miles back to the hour
Then
it did brighten, a sandwich to bite in
A
hoagy, with great lusty power.
The
last line was a fetch, the imagination to stretch,
It
gets sluggish after some time
And
more, just a tetch, the lines we can catch
more
words that're going to rhyme.
Back
to the tale of a hoagy gone stale
in
the hands of the sailor man.
Now
I will not fail to end my portrayal
of
the swabby, if ever I can.
He
had to be a Chief with whom we'd no beef
But
drunk he thought we were.
He
thought that he'd see'f for Tampa we'd leave
the
road we'd traveled so far.
Drunk
as we were, we told him, “No sir!”
And
stopped to let him out
“You
miserable cur, stick it in yer...”
Came
the trailing end of his shout.
Who
gives a damn about that sailor man
Clyde
said to me with a laugh
Not
a Tinker's damn nor a codfish ham
Said
I, drinking my pint ahalf.
Further
our flight into the darkening night
The
car a'gainin' speed.
And,
Oh what a sight! Lightning did strike!
And
my uncle, by gosh, he pee'd!
An
oak tree was struck! The force it did pluck
That
plant right out of the ground!
A
moment of luck did save this young buck
The
right word it cannot be found.
We
did stop and think how close to the brink
Both
of our lives had been.
But
nary'd we shrink from pouring a drink
And
continue our life of sin.
Now,
let us go back to the start of our track
And
the reason this trip we're taking.
The
hurricane flack promised excitement we lack
A
leg to Miami we're shaking.
In
an old Spanish town we stopped to look 'roun'
At
'leven or twelve at night.
My
old girl had a frown, no longer the crown
Of
glory I held in my sight.
I
found out she was married, too long have we tarried
On
the girl that I lost to a bum.
Having
to be carried 'cause the drink I had shar-ed
Was
overly filled with rum.
Oh,
my life it could end, I hadn't a friend
To
lay my sorrows on
No,
she couldn't send a letter to end
A
love I'd procured on the lawn.
“To
hell with this strife! She's somebody's wife!”
My
uncle he was a sayin'.
“You've
the rest of your life to be thankful you're sife!”
My
accent he was a trayin'.
Forgive
me the rhyme but it's approaching the time
For
me to hit the sack.
For
the present time all the lines look fine
Except
for the foreign track.
You'll
have to think on if these rhymes seem wrong
Or
even if they seem like bunk.
Just
remember this song is sung all along
By
me and my uncle who're drunk.
The
hour is here! Did I hear a cheer?
A
few more lines to pen
But
now, I fear, I know not where
This
rhyme to begin again.
St.
Augustine is past, how it could last
I
honestly do not know
Clyde,
he was smashed, and my eyes were all glassed
But
off in the car we did go.
My
watch showed three, though it was blurred to me,
The
road it flowed beneath.
And
we did agree that we were both free
To
live by the skin of our teeth.
The
story 'tween here and Miami so dear
To
the Yankees who come from the North
Is
not very clear because of the beer
mellow
memories waddling forth.
It
was four in the morning, Miami's skies forming
Lighted
patterns over the city.
The
night was through storming and without any warning
The
blip of a blue light—a pity.
Clyde
was asleep and in dreams very deep.
The
cop rapped on the glass.
This
fuzz was a creep who asked to peep
At
registration under the dash.
My
unc came awake with a startling shake
And
asked, “What the hell?”
While
the officer spake, the nephew did quake.
Nervous?
Yes, you could tell.
The
policeman did state that our license plate
Was
not a Florida tag.
How
well I equate his intelligence great
As
a torn piece of gasoline rag.
A
person with sense or even a dense
Individual
of Southern birth
Would
not pull us hence, nor even dispense
Such
words, a chuckle worth.
Registration
he inspected not having detected
Several
bottles on the floor.
Ownership
respected, he stood and directed
We
drive a little bit slower.
Second
scrape with the law and still ne'er saw
All
the liquor we had in the car.
Our
nerves were all raw so up we did draw
To
a motel's open front door.
We
slept for an hour, then took a shower
As
the sun was breaking the dawn
While
others did cower at the hurricane's power
We
smiled and then we were gone.
Radio
turned on, I searched for a song
To
help us on our way
The
announcer at dawn said the hurricane was gone
To
Charleston, as it may.
“Well,
son of a bitch!” We near ran in a ditch
As
both of us did swear.
Ain't
that a switch? We'd have to be rich
To
chase the hurricane rare.
So,
I cracked a seal as Clyde turned the wheel
Heading
back for our town.
The
rubber did peel and tires did squeal
As
the car came hurtling 'round.
Listening
to the radio we never went slow
The
ride was faster now.
The
blue sky did show as our hopes did go
To
be in the hurricane's howl
No
exciting event did follow the extent
Of
our journey to the Holy City.
We
were just bent on finding a hint
Of
high powered winds so pretty.
The
radio was blaring as we were now nearing
The
city limits of our fair town.
Disgustedly
hearing the news that was searing
our
ears as we were shot down.
Our
hurricane had turned—we listened and burned
And
both let out a “DAMN!”
It
was then that we learned, by our hurricane spurned,
It
was heading again for Miam'!
