Written by Art Gardner:

Harvey and Henry Hartman, were a couple of old bachelors who lived on their homestead up the draw south of the Martin brother’s homestead. When Don was about 13 years old, Harvey and Henry asked Don to stay at their cabin for a short while to see that their horses had water while they were gone on a trip. They told him they would give him a certain little horse they had in exchange for his services. Don stayed as agreed. I don’t know how he did, as I learned later that their pastime on a rainy day was to turn the bedding back on their mattress and cremate the bed bugs living in the seams with a lighted match. Anyhow, when they got back they informed Don that he wasn’t getting any horse. So I went to see them. Henry was at their camp on Douglas Mountain, at Esther Campbell’s mother’s homestead. They never had much success as horse runners, but they were on the mountain trying. Henry said they no longer had the little horse Don was supposed to get, and they had no other that would be suitable. Don had told me they had an old obsolete high cantle saddle that he would settle for as payment. Henry agreed that he could have it. But in a short time when Don went over to their place with a borrowed horse to get the saddle, they had changed their minds. No saddle.

This was in the summer of 1934. At that time I was camped on land I had filed on, and was cutting and peeling logs for a homestead cabin. In a couple of days I rode off the mountain one day with Leona Maddox who was on her way to Craig. I had her drop me off a mile or so from the Hartman’s cabin and I walked down through the cedars to their cabin. There was no one at home so I took the saddle and carried it out a half a mile or more from their place and cached it in the fork of a cedar to pick up someday soon when I got a ride with Leona Maddux or someone. I figured this being a mail delivery day, one of the Hartman’s would be at the Post Office. When I walked in there, Harvey was there waiting for his mail, as were several others. That is exactly what I wanted…witnesses. I told Harvey I had taken the saddle, and why. He said, “Well, we will see about that.” I heard afterwards he went to town and told his sad story to the Sheriff. But the Sheriff wasn’t interested in any bickering between neighbors out there in Brown’s Park. Anyhow, he never came out to get me as Harvey had wanted him to do.

For years after that, whenever I met Harvey on the street in Craig I would say: “Hello Harvey.” And Harvey would stalk on by looking straight ahead. Until one day I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Midwest Café talking to Buck Tisdel and Duke Hughes. When Harvey came along, Buck and Duke spoke to Harvey, who had stopped, and I spoke as usual. Harvey spoke to Buck and Duke, but I didn’t exist and was completely ignored. Duke, who knew nothing of our little disagreement, said: “What’s the matter with you Harvey? Don’t you know enough to speak to a man when he speaks to you?” Then Harvey recognized my existence and spoke to me. After that he always spoke to me and later would even visit with me when we met in town. That spoiled a little bit of my fun in life. It had always amused me to say: “Hello Harvey,” and see him stalk past looking straight ahead.

TV

I remember watching 'The Walt Disney Show' on Sunday Nights as a kid. It was a big deal for us. Every Sunday evening there would be a different 1 hour show. It was usually a story about an animal or a boy. Something similar to 'Old Yeller' except it was one hour long and it was a different story each week. The family hardly ever missed it.

We also liked to watch the weekly episode of 'Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom'. That was a favorite too. We didn't have 300 channels to choose from in those days. Just the 3 network channels. There was only one TV, and no way to record an episode in orer to watch it later. If you missed your show, you were out of luck for that week.

Now days, there are so many options available. Hundreds of TV channels. Internet. Gameboys, PS2, Xbox, Movie rentals, TV on Demand, etc.

Still, a good episode of Wild Kingdom today is a pretty good view. Grace and Rose spent hours watching 'River Monsters' this weekend. Have we really come a long way, or does the 'old stuff' still have what it takes?

Super Sport

The other day on a trip to town we encountered a Chevrolet Super Sport (SS) 396. It was right ahead of us in traffic. It was cherry red, with the paint and chrome both immaculately polished. It had the wide rear wheels with nice polished chrome rims. Complete with dual exhaust, it had a nice growl as the engine revved at the stoplight. It was a beautiful sight, and it was well loved by its owner right down to the 'classic vehicle' license plate on the rear bumper.

Of course, I did what any red blooded American man would do and I uttered the words, "Nice Car!"

My 15 year old daughter who was in the back seat has little appreciation for the history of the automobile, or any history for that matter. She replied, "What are you talking about? That car is ugly!"

The paramedics were able to revive me, though not without some difficulty. I truly owe them for their medical prowess and expertise.

I'm just thankful that my best friend in Montana was not in the vehicle at the time...for no medical gadget the paramedics possessed would have been able to save him.

Superstition

I was never really superstitious, but my mother was. I remember she would never walk on opposite sides of a pole. If I walked on the opposite side, she would make me walk back around, or she would, so that we had both crossed on the same side.

I remember one specific incident in California though that has always stuck with me. Mom had a mole that had grown on her forehead I think. She took a bean, and rubbed it on the mole...and then told me to take the bean outside and bury it under the tree. Which I did. She said it would make the mole go away.

And guess what? The mole did go away! I never got over that!

Yet in spite of it all...I still ain't superstitious.

Clint Kobaba

When I lived in Craig, there was one kid I really hated. It was juvenile really...but in my defense: I was only a 4th grader. I didn't really like my name as a kid. It was a pretty unusual name. I just wanted to be something common like Jim or Bob. But NO, I was Clint. And the only other person in town (that I knew) whose name was Clint...was a kid named Clint Kobaba. He was probably an alright kid, except that he had the same name as me, and we saw him as a little doofie. ( Like I was Mr. Cool! ) He couldn't even give the bird right. Like that was some big 4th grade right of passage.

I hated Clint Kobaba. In reality for no good reason other than our names were the same. And he had greasy slicked back hair, and he couldn't give the bird right, and, well, yes, he was actually a little doofie. So why did the only other kid in town with the same name as me have to be doofie??

Now I can sit here and wonder...did he feel the same way about me???

Jaguar's

I lived in Compton California when I was in the 6th grade. One of the few white kids in my school. I kept to myself and walked home fast. It didn't always keep me safe. It must have been fun to pick on the scrawny white kid.

I remember the guy across the street from my Grandparents house. I don't remember his name, but I remember he had a big gate at the front of his driveway where the front of his house began. Behind the gate, in the driveway, and in the garage, and sometimes even in the back yard, were Jaguar cars. Some restored. Some in the process of being fixed. Some in the garage or really 'The Jaguar Workshop'. I don't remember him ever parking one in the driveway though. They were always hidden behind that big wooden gate.

Of Course, I was just a kid. I had no appreciation at the time for the craftsmanship and prowess that was associated with the 'Jaguar' cars. The neighbor was obviously a collector of Jaguar cars. He owned several of them and fixed them up behind that big wooden gate.

He showed them to me once. I had no idea what an awesome thing he was sharing with me at the time. All I knew was that he had an avocado tree in his front yard. I didn't appreciate them at the time either.

Now I like avocado's and Jaguar's...but still can't afford either one.

I guess some things never change.

Changing it up

I've grown weary of the Craig stuff. I'm going to try something different and share some of the memories stored in the archives of Skinton Clinton. I may go back to Craig stuff at some point. I didn't really tell all the gunk floating around inside my head.