Time Changes Everything ... well, almost

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hello all

Listed at 6 foot, Daddy was a scrappy, albeit short starting center for his high school basketball team ... really 5 feet, 11 and 1/2 inches ... back when the center jump after every goal was the rule ... had a good two handed set shot, I'm told ... until suffering a lifetime debilitating hernia while saving his brother from drowning and, as a result, was classified 4F during the early part of the war.

I remember the war well as we spent our nights listening to the shortwave for reports from Europe, including speeches by Sir Winston and Der Führer ... and at home ... war news of course, plus Jack, Fred, Allen's Alley, Fibber & Molly, Gildersleeve, and Amos & Andy.

On weekends, we frequented Stone Mountain, Grant Park, the Farmer's Market, Atlanta's airport and train stations, and almost always the original "Old Hickory House" on the Old Bankhead Highway ... giant pork sandwich, pickle, coke and chips for 20 cents. Sometimes we took in a Crackers' game or attended a singing, especially if either The Vaughans or The McBrayer Quartet were included ... or if Big Jim Waits was on the bill.

Vacations were usually at Grandma's in Bell Buckle, between Wartrace and Fostersville ... about 50 miles south of Nashville ... an all day adventure, including a 2 hour switchback ride over Monteagle, and the last 25 miles over dirt roads. Actually, we "swung in on a vine" was how Daddy put it ... horses, cows, pigs, geese, polecats, smokehouse, outhouse, wood stove, well water, oil lamps ... Grandma had taught Mama well ... not only could she cook and sew, she could milk too!

With most of his agents in the service, many of our weekends were spent interviewing potential salesmen with Daddy ... though they didn't know it, as they were the ones making the appointments, usually with Mama ... and the practice continued into the early fifties.

Methinks we met every insurance, vacuum cleaner, encyclopedia, and kitchen utensil salesman in Atlanta during that time ... and this little boy has always remembered that they all had well rehearsed spiels ... well, most.

Daddy said "You can't tell much of anything about a man from his memorized spiel and how well it's delivered" ... so it was my job to interrupt and distract ... after a while I sometimes got the green light, but usually only on cue. The hand may be quicker than the eye, but even master magicians can sometimes use an extra ...

I remember once plugging a vacuum into an outlet that didn't work properly while the salesman was preoccupied messing up mama's rug with his demonstration "dirt" ... poor fellow, we thought he was going to cry.

One book salesman ... complete with a delightful British accent, derby, and umbrella, ... new to this country; very sincere ... had memorized his entire spiel, as well as answers to anticipated questions ... but, if you interrupted him, he didn't know what to do ... so he just started over, word for word ... time after time ... and the same was true for his answers to questions ... only worse ... seemed he knew all the questions and all the answers too, but sometimes had trouble matching them up correctly.

It was a long afternoon ... but, he was nice and we finally got him talking rather than reciting ... smart, told wonderful stories when he was was relaxed ... Daddy saw something in him and had him return ... thinking he was going to sell some books, he was offered a job instead, selling himself and insurance.

The one I remember best was a young life insurance salesman, who was obviously new on the job and nervous ... he immediately went into his spiel, asking no questions ... and uninterrupted, he pulled out his application as he completed his pitch ... attempting to close with "I think a $5,000 policy would be just right for you; don't you agree?" ... and waited for Daddy's response.

He seemed anxious as Daddy took his time, seriously considering things ... and visibly showed his disappointment when Daddy slowly responded "No" ... followed after a few seconds with "I really think I need $25,000" ... eliciting an audible squeal as excitement replaced disappointment.

I'll swear his hand shook as he started filling out the application ... we had no idea where Daddy was headed or how he was going to get out of the hole he was digging ... not until the agent asked "occupation?" ... to which Daddy proudly responded "Test Pilot" ... I was young but I knew where Daddy was going, nowhere ... he was there!

He knew that test pilots were considered the highest of occupational risks by the young man's company and that he had been instructed not to approach them ... the young man was taken aback and flustered beyond belief. I'm sure that he had never anticipated such a situation, ... and things had gone so nicely too.

He stuttered and stammered for the longest as Daddy urged the application being quickly completed and signed; more than once asking the amount of the initial premium ... and when the coverage would go into effect.

Now, it would be a mistake of the highest order to conclude that my father was a cruel man ... he was the exact opposite ... and though a stern taskmaster, he was always fair ... gave respect to everyone who deserved it and some who didn't ... received it in return.

He went from country boy, fresh out of high school ... to office boy ... to debit agent ... to District Manager in '45 ... ultimately becoming his company's top senior marketing officer with over 5,000 agents and employees under his control ... all with the same company in a career that spanned 46+ years.

He went by many names ... those who didn't know him sometimes called him Robert or Bob ... I called him Daddy; Mama called him Honey; family called him Vaughan; friends called him "Mac" or "Mister Mac" ... he usually introduced himself as "R.V. McBrayer" ... but most called him Mr. McBrayer, or McBriar ... though our grocer called us McBrides for 15 years.

To him, darn was a bad word ... firm, gentle, fair, integrity, honor and respect; those were the words most often used to describe my father ... he was indeed a gentleman.
Daddy was made to wear a suit ... that is to say, that was his natural condition. If he wasn't in a suit, chances were he was in the tub or in the bed. He went hunting, fishing ... worked in the garden, painted the house ... to ball games ... washed and waxed the car, all in a suit ... played catch and came to the dinner table that way too, sans the tie but on occasion. He really had little choice ... his wardrobe consisted of suits, dress shirts, ties, dress shoes ... and more suits.

When it came to situations such as I've described, methinks you'd be hard pressed to find aplomb and deftness equal to his ... it was fun for me, that's for sure ... that he wasn't bested by any of those fellows made his little boy proud ... but he respected each and every one, that too is for sure. "Everyone has to learn" ... that's what Daddy would say.

It was a different time, again that's for sure; but they were all made aware of what had transpired ... either during or after the fact. Most were asked to dinner, and many became friends ... that they were better for the experience was their evaluation, not mine ... now what would a little boy know about that?

Truth is, we all were, especially me.

My initial thought had been to chew the "you can't and shouldn't try to judge a man from his agenda based, well rehearsed spiel recital" rag ... but, I wound up sharing some family stuff ... and maybe something more.

Please TOGGLE Barber's POLL to OPEN and CLOSE the Poll

Here's another ... "Cajun" Dorian was a wonderful man who worked with and for Daddy for many, many years ... he had a spiel that wouldn't quit ... not memorized like those others, Cajun was just being "Cajun" ... mesmerizing his audience with his stories ... and as they came increasingly under his spell, the whoppers got bigger and bigger.

Guess I heard and loved them all, at least those appropriate for young ears ... didn't really matter what he said ... it was the "Cajun" sounds and how he said things; his own enjoyment and his wife, Miss Lucy saying, "now Clarence" ...

I first met the Dorians when I was four or five ... Mama had tried just about everything to make me stop sucking my thumb ... we went visiting and Daddy had him show me his thumb ... well, it was only half a thumb, a nub, resulting from an accident long ago but I was privileged to hear a very long and scary story ... of how he had sucked his thumb almost clean off as a boy! Scary, but not scary enough to make me stop.

Now Mr. Dorian was not one to miss a chance to tell a tale or make a sale ... and when he heard that a woman with five children had moved into a farm house a few miles up the road from where he lived, he immediately drove out to greet them ... it was the neighborly thing to do and he hoped to sell them some insurance too. One thing led to another and he found himself telling the lady some grand story ... and she was eating it up, when one of her sons came up, demanding attention with "Mama, Mama" ... but she sent him away with "Don't Interrupt, Mr. Dorian's our guest" ... "Please Mama" ... "No!"

The scene was repeated several times over a span of a few minutes ... and finally, Mr. Dorian interrupted and asked "What is it son?" ... "Mister, your car's on fire" ...

Good thing Cajun was "Cajun" and not one of those folks reciting a memorized spiel who avoided interruptions with a passion. Well, that's how Daddy told the story, and Mr. Dorian agreed ... but, Miss Lucy told it different ... according to her, that experience is what caused "Clarence" to stop memorizing, reciting and selling and start just being "Cajun".

Der Fuhrer had it his way for quite some time, but then came "D-Day" and finally, the war that had dominated our lives for so long came to an end when Harry gave 'em Hell and the order to drop number two ... times were good, as was the economy ... Saturday morning double features, complete with a serial, cartoon, and newsreel were still a dime ... in '46, "The Man" hit .365 and "Rapid Robert" struck out 348 ... no interleague play or designated hitters but St. Louis beat Boston in the Series.

Things change ... it's written in the Book. What we are; our values, our perspectives ... are greatly influenced by our beginnings. Well, those were some of mine ... and with all the changes that have taken place, Daddy's "You can't tell much of anything about a man by his memorized spiel and how well it's delivered" ... is still true!

He had a delightfully wry sense of humor ... writing prescriptions on napkins for complaining waitresses and such ... in the late 1930s, he began sporting a toothbrush moustache ala Chaplin, ... or was it Der Fürher? Only his barber knew for sure but in 1941, one of "Ma Bell's" finest reported him as a suspicious character and he spent an afternoon explaining himself to the authorities ... clean shaven for life.

He promised to give me a pocketknife when "you grow up" ... never got one ... but he gave me his wristwatch, one his father had given him. He never watched me bowl but I gave him a trophy I won in 1960 and it was on display in his office until he retired ... and in his bedroom after that. Daddy never struck 348 in one season either, but he was still quite a feller!

The young insurance salesman? Unlike Daddy, he worked for more than one company during his career ... the one with which he started three weeks before he met us, and the one lasting until his retirement.

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