For your reading enjoyment, we continue to publish Rambling Vines by the late Marylea Vines as she re-calls events and names of Corning folks from many years ago. We are currently in the year 1992

For the second time I am proud owner of the book, “Man Behind the Badge” which was first published in 1959 by Mrs. Myrtle Irene Snider, a Corning school teacher. This is a story about a small-town police officer, with her husband D. L. Snider in mind. D. L. Snider, affectionally called ‘Snide’, was the Corning one-man police force for many years.

Mrs. Snider presented me with a copy of this book and her other books, “Miss Myrtle Was Paid” and “Born to Fly” but they got away from me… at our house books have always been like suitcase and ice cream freezers, someone always borrows them, then forgets to bring them home. This book was given to me by Mrs. Glenna Keown and her mother, Mrs. Estelle Henderson, who uncovered it as they were packing to move from Fourth Street to Poplar Bluff. They called to see if I would like to have it and in a very short time, there I was at their front door, standing in the rain, trying not to show my excitement over my second chance at ownership of this book which had been written by a woman that I greatly admire… written about a man who made growing up in Corning interesting, just trying to outsmart him, which was not at all easy to do… I can still close my eyes and see ‘Snide’ standing there with the end of his finger about an inch from the tip of my nose, trying to talk mean, “This makes four times… a fifth time and you are going to be grounded, no ifs, ands or buts about it.” Most of our trouble was caused by minor stuff such as me taking shortcuts around the traffic light that was on Hwy 62 at Second Street… about the time I accidentally shot a car that was traveling along Hwy 62 beside our house… about swiping his car and hiding it until it couldn’t be found for hours… about misbehaving in the picture show, etc.

I also remember when ‘Snide’ worked at the cotton gin near our house and it was nothing out of the ordinary to see him pick up a bale (at least 500 pounds) of cotton and carry it from the gin platform to a truck.

Long before he retired, I thoroughly made up my mind that I didn’t like him… definitely, I didn’t like him. Well, they had this retirement party for him and as I sat there looking at him, I began thinking to myself… This is the last time that he will be wearing that uniform… We may not be so lucky in getting someone who will fuss at us continuously but still tolerate our pranks… I found myself all choked up over losing him as police chief and the first thing I know I had him crying. That’s when I realized that we really did like each other, even though we let on like we were arch enemies.

This is Leap Year… Happy birthday this Saturday to all you February 29th people who don’t’ get to celebrate except every four years.

Well, I missed the boat again! For only the second time in my adult life I was called as a possible juror last week, but that’s as far as I got… Just sat there all morning and watched everyone else being selected. From listening to the questions asked each juror, I came to the conclusion that there is no way I will ever get to serve. They ask questions like: “Do you know either of the parties involved?” Of course I do, it would be pretty hard to live in a place the size of Corning and work in the public for more than 50 years and not know just about everyone. Besides that, a big majority of them are my relatives! If that first question didn’t eliminate me, the next two would, “Have you read anything about this case in the newspaper?” “Have you seen any pictures?” Oh well, can’t win ‘em all!

There is some type of project underway on the courtyard. I noticed last week that the square of concrete on the West side of the courthouse was being broken up and hauled away. A lot of folks say they can’t remember why the concrete base was there in the first place. I do. It was the floor for a small building which we referred to as “The Coal Shed” when we were growing up and that’s what was kept in it, coal and kindling for the office stoves. When coal stoves became outdated, the building was used for storage and as a distribution place for commodities. We played all around that building and the pitcher pump which stood between it and the back door of the courthouse.

Speaking of pitcher pumps, I remember one time when Billy Polk cupped his hands around the mouth of that old picture pump in the front yard at the school, without paying attention to what was going on, and got a whole mess of live yellow jackets inside his mouth.

But you really don’t know pain unless you have had a wet hand slip off the handle of pump, letting the handle whack you under the chin.

Hand pumps would most always lose their prime overnight and early each morning… in the days before air conditioning when everyone had their windows open… neighbors could be heard priming their pumps, the noise always made me think of someone who had lost their breath.