Word: hollerer
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Along with most other holler folk, Floyd Handshoe is virtually illiterate. To keep his job, according to federal regulations, Floyd-the father of 14 children-must struggle ignobly off to school two nights a week, when most menfolk thereabouts have other things on their minds. His wan, dark-haired wife says hopefully: "Floyd never could read. I notice now he can write his name real good. They act like it hurts them to go to school, but it don't." Nonetheless, the Handshoes' main aim in life is not to qualify for factory jobs but simply...
Room to Prank. By comparison with a city slum, an Appalachian holler offers an infinitely rich, exciting life, which mountain folk extol in a courtly tongue directly descended from their Scots-English ancestors, who first penetrated the region two centuries ago. Children have creeks to fish in, plenty of room to "prank," as their parents say. Last hog-killing time, several of the Handshoe boys dried a hog's bladder, filled it with peas to make a giant-size rattle. Then, relates Floyd's wife Dollie, still shaking with laughter at the memory, they "took and tied...
Without Envy. In a perceptive new book about Appalachia, appropriately entitled Yesterday's People, Jack E. Weller, a Presbyterian minister who has spent 13 years in the region, writes of a church-backed attempt to organize garbage collection in a typical holler where the families had traditionally tossed their refuse into stinking heaps near their houses. The people were so incensed at this intrusion that some of them took to dumping their refuse on the garbage collector's lawn. In Appalachia few community-wide campaigns go much further...
...drink and a chat with friends. Yacht clubs, which usually let visiting yachtsmen plug in free of charge, are not much happier. Said Ted Tolson, vice commodore of the St. Petersburg Yacht Club: "They hook up on our docks and blow all the fuses in the circuit. Then they holler like hell because the power...
...energy of the life it describes. Jim McCauley wrote as he talked, and he talked Texas with a wild and wheezy wit that makes these pages twang as they turn, and sounds like Will Rogers when he still smelled of horse. His story is oral literature at its best. Holler Calf Rope. "It was natural for me to be mean," McCauley confesses contentedly, and at 14 he was much too mean for East Texas. One day he tangled with an older and stronger boy. "I was about ready to holler calf rope when his knife fell out of his pocket...