The Family Album/Well, Anyway, We Can't All Be Civil War Cronies, So Here's Who's Who

by Arthur Baer

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WELL, ANYWAY, WE CAN’T ALL BE CIVIL
WAR CRONIES, SO HERE’S WHO’S WHO

JUST to think that Tuesday is the Fourth already. Doesn’t time pass quickly when you haven’t got a watch?

We don’t have those old-fashioned celebrations that we used to have when grandpop was alive. That’s grandpop’s picture there in his faded Civil War uniform. He claimed to be the youngest drummer boy in the war, which must have been a musical conflict because every soldier you meet was a drummer boy.

That fellow there alongside of grandpop was an old fellow who drummed with Stonewall Jackson on the Southern side. Grandpop and him were great friends in photographs, but they used to fight like the devil outside of pictures.

On the Fourth, they would get dressed up in their war uniforms and march down Railroad Avenue until their feet gave out.

After the parade was over, the newspaper photographers would take pictures of grandpop and his friend whose name was Yoder. Both of ’em were over eighty years old, but grandpop felt much superior because he was a bass drummer in the war, while Yoder was only a kettle drummer.

Grandpop claimed that he had much more territory to cover than Yoder, showing that his general had more confidence in him. That always made Yoder mad and he would squirt tobacco juice in grandpop’s direction.

Grandpop was kind of cowardly except when it came to drums, but this always got him made, too. I always found that no man was a coward when he was mad, because anger is a good substitute for bravery.

Grandpop would shake his hickory cane at Yoder and say, “I out-drummed you in ’61 and I can do it now.”

Yoder would switch his tobacco quid from one cheek to the other and holler, “I’ll knock you for a row of old Virginia bee hives.”

Grandpop would get so angry then that his collar would blister. He used to say, “I’ll take you like Grant took Richmond.”

Yoder would holler, “That took four years.”

Pop would answer, “I got plenty of time.”

Then Yoder would say, “You’ll need it.”

Yoder would threaten to punch grandpop so hard in the jaw that it would bleach his hair.

Just when it looked like they had to scrap of something, along would come another photographer to take a picture of these two old friends who drummed at each other sixty years ago.

Yoder would shake his skinny knuckles at grandpop and say, “I drummed you out of Virginia.”

Grandpop would retort, “How about Gettysburg?” That would make Yoder plenty mad and he would answer, “How about Bull Run?”

It would look pretty unsettled then, but another photographer would always come up and ask the old boys to pose in one of those friendly enemy pictures with two old foes, now pals. An armistice would be declared until the picture was taken, and then the battle would start right in where it left off.

It was dangerous to try to separate them, because they would borrow chewing tobacco off of perfect strangers. Us folks used to think that the quarrels were staged to bring the village constable within borrowing distance, as he bought the kind of tobacco that fitted grandpop’s mouth, but not his pocketbook.

Grandpop would holler, “I’ll drum at your funeral.”

Yoder would say, “You’ll annoy everybody but me.”

Grandpop would boil over and howl, “I was the youngest drummer boy in the war.”

Yoder would call him a liar and claim that he was so young they had to fill his drum with milk.

Grandpop would think a while and then holler that he was so young they had to put rockers on his drum like a cradle.

Along would come another newspaper photographer and the older drummers would stop hostilities until they had their picture snapped again in a love and kisses attitude. Then they would bust out fighting.

Seems to me that grandpop and Yoder ain’t much different from other folks who are very friendly in group pictures or flashlights, but let you turn your back once and they tear all the buttons off your reputation.

Well, good-by, and don’t forget to write.