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No
man is an
island unless
hunted skunk
launches scent
Mr.
Crusoe,
there's room
for one more
if you can
stand that
infernal smell
By
W. T. Block
Reprinted
from Beaumont
Enterprise,
Wednesday
August 26,
1999.
As
an ex-soldier,
I always felt
a certain
nostalgic
empathy for
the comic
strip
character,
Beetle Bailey,
who is always
trying to
avoid Sgt.
Snorkel and
all his KP and
ditch-digging
details. Today
(Aug. 17),
however, I
realized that
Beetle and I
shared an
outcast status
in common
also, when
Beetle said,
"I guess
running into
that skunk
will do it."
It
was the year
1927, near the
end of my age
of innocence,
and I honestly
don't think I
knew a polecat
could perfume
a person so
dreadfully.
The day
before, my
mother had
bought me a
new pair of
overalls and
the only pair
of red boots I
ever owned;
and I was
wearing them
that Sunday
afternoon when
my brother, my
cousin, and I
decided to go
"skunk-hunting."
The
location was
in our old
abandoned
sugar mill,
where the
polecats had
taken up
residence
beneath a
20-foot long
syrup-cooking
kettle. My
brother and
cousin began
poking bean
poles under
the kettle,
when suddenly
one of the
little
stinkers
stopped in
front of me,
turned around,
and he sprayed
me with
maximum
skunk-pressure.
For
the next six
weeks, I was
"pariah cum
laude" of Port
Neches. Very
quickly I
learned how
old Robinson
Crusoe felt,
all alone on
that deserted
island.
I
ran crying to
my mother. She
took me down
to Block's
Bayou,
stripped me
naked, buried
my new
clothes, and
scrubbed me
for two hours
with octagon
soap and a
stiff brush.
And believe
me, I probably
lost a lot of
skin, but none
of the odor,
which
seemingly has
to wear off
with time.
Immediately
my sisters
screamed if I
came anywhere
near them. For
two weeks I
ate my meals
alone under a
pecan tree out
in the
barnyard, and
at night my
mother fixed
me a pallet on
the corn crib
floor, where
the wharf rats
and a couple
hooty owls
hung out. I
suppose all
the deodorants
ever bottled
could not have
improved my
fragrance very
much.
After
two weeks in
the barnyard,
my mother sent
me back to
school, but my
teacher took
one whiff of
me and sent me
home again.
Another week
went by before
she tried once
more to send
me to school.
I got to stay
in school that
time, but the
other kids
held their
noses whenever
I walked by.
I
might as well
have been on
old Robinson
Crusoe's
island. Once I
sat down in
back of the
building to
eat my lunch,
but all the
other boys got
up and walked
away. After
that, I went
out to the
stadium
bleachers and
ate alone.
All
of that seems
so very long
ago now, in
fact, 71
years, and you
know, I
haven't gone
skunk-hunting
a single time
since then.
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