The Hog Killin' (1947) and Pass the Chicken, Zero
Two connected pieces, both starring James "Zero" Ott and George "Big Kentucky" Hatfield, introduced the previous chapter as two of the Amethyst Mine's stope miners. "The Hog Killin' (1947)" is Hatfield's own shaggy-dog story, spun out underground to keep John from climbing back up the stope too soon: a disastrous double date Ott and his Uncle Bud made to a brothel in Alamosa, derailed by a carload of liquor and a farmer's hogs on the road home. "Pass the Chicken, Zero" picks up not long after — Ott and Hatfield's steady two-week run on contract gives way to a bender that costs them their jobs, but not before John pays them one last visit at their cabin.
The Hog Killin' (1947)
I worked with Zero Ott and George "Big Kentucky" Hatfield in the Amethyst Mine on a narrow, high grade, silver vein that had been developed for stoping. We were on contract, the returns were slim but it was a learning experience for me and we got along well if I didn't get too gung-ho while they were on lunch break. I liked to keep the drills running and to keep me from heading back up ladders of the stope one or the other would start a long winded story to delay me and give them time to enjoy their sandwich and coffee.
"Zero ever tell you 'bout the time we took Uncle Bud to the whorehouse in Moosie?" George began one day. I hadn't heard the story so George continued, "Well, you remember that black 37 Ford Zero was so proud of?" I remembered he had one but it wasn't around town long. "Come payday, old Uncle Bud collared Zero and asked him if he wanted to show off his new car and take him to Celia's in Alamosa. Zero asked him who the hell Celia was an' Uncle Bud says she has a whorehouse with a couple of purty good lookin' Mexican girls and he'd like to check the riflin's in his barrel." The Big Kentuckian never lost the backwoods twang of his old home and I liked to listen to his stories. I sensed this one would be a long one but since Uncle Bud was one of the characters, it was bound to be worth listening to. Zero asks him if he isn't afraid of getting the clap an' Bud laughs and shakes his head, "Nup, Celia makes yuh pull it out and skin it back afore she lets you see the gals," then he says "I think she just likes to see a feller's peter but ain't nobody got the clap there that I know of."
"So Zero picks me up an' we buy a couple of quarts of drinkin' liquor before we pick up Uncle Bud an' put him in the back seat 'long with the liquor. That was our first mistake 'cause he's doublin' up on us gettin' a drink every time he passes it to us then another on the way back. Well, that Ford could really hightail it an' Zero was clippin' right along but before we got to South Fork, Uncle Bud was loaded an' we weren't far behind. Uncle Bud's tellin' us that farmhouse just ahead is where Howard gets his spuds fer a dollar a sack an' just then two big hogs run out on the road. Zero slammed on the brakes but he was goin' sixty mile an hour an' we scattered lard both ways, one hog slid across the road an' we ran right over the top of the other one. That'un sent us into the bar ditch, through a barbwire fence and into a tater patch. Zero jumps out, jerks the back door open an' here's old Uncle Bud, on his back between the seats, tryin' to get the cap off a bottle. Zero takes the bottle out of his hands and flings it out among the tater vines, then he finds the empty one and throws it away, old Uncle Bud is cryin' like a baby cause he needs a drink bad.
"D'rectly the feller what owns the hogs comes across the road to see if any of us are hurt an' look at what's left of his hogs. He said his wife had called the sheriff an' he'd be right there. Well, there ain't much left of the hogs an' there ain't much left of the front end of Zero's pride an' joy. The radiator's curled around the fan and water pump an' the whole shebang is drippin' fat.
"We hear a siren an' yonder comes a Courtesy Patrolman goin' faster than Zero was when he hit the hogs. He's got a Ford V8, too. I'm helpin' the farmer get the hog off the road that Zero run over an' the cop's lookin' at Zero's driver's license when he sees Uncle Bud rootin' around in the tater patch. 'Oh my God,' he yells, 'that 'ere feller's hurt, is he with you?' 'bout that time, Uncle Bud let out a war whoop an' says, 'I found 'er boys' then he comes staggerin' back with the bottle of whiskey all proud of hisself. Ol' Zero's white as a ghost an' shakin' like a hound dog shittin' razor blades; he never figgered Uncle Bud would find that bottle as fer as he flung it. Well, it didn't matter much, anyhow, that patrolman knew we were drunk. The sheriff drives up 'bout this time an' takes the whiskey from Uncle Bud then he piles us all in his car and drives us to the jailhouse in Del Norte with Uncle Bud cryin' all the way 'cause he lost his whiskey an' ain't gonna get to check the riflin's in his barrel at Celia's."
Pass the Chicken, Zero
Working with George and Zero may not have been profitable in figures on a pay check, but it was rich in experience, both in and out of the hole.
We had a two week run in the stope during which both remained sober and drilled steadily as I timbered and pulled ore from the chutes to be hoisted to tunnel level. It appeared we would double company pay, which was $6.80 per shift at the time (1947) and that was a creditable showing on any contract.
Unfortunately, it wasn't to last. They developed a thirst for 90 proof by the end of the second week, drew a hundred dollars apiece in advance of payday, and headed for the bars. I worked four days of the next week alone and on the fifth day Superintendent I. D. Crawford came by the stope on his rounds and told me if I couldn't get them back on the job the following Monday, he would have to fire them. On reaching town at the end of shift I detoured by the "Boars Den," as they called their cabin, to find George curled up on a cot, Zero trying to cut up a chicken that had a few feathers still attached, and another George sitting by the stove with a cup of coffee in one hand. I was only slightly acquainted with the second George.
I relayed I. D.'s message and Zero said he was sorry for missing so much time but they were going to sober up and would damned sure be out by Monday. He went back to splitting up the chicken with a dull butcher's knife and barked, "George, did you crap your britches?" The big Kentuckian rolled over in the cot and asked, "Zeke, which George are you talking to?" "Old Hibler, here, he smells like he shit all over hisself." Hibler retorted, "It's just his breath blowing back in his face," and laughed. Zero wasn't pleased, "Get the hell out of the kitchen, you're smellin' up the food." Kentucky was facing Zero by this time and asked him what he was cooking. "Chicken with biscuits and gravy, how does that sound?" "Gimme some of that chicken." "I ain't cooked it yet." "I don't give a damn, I'm hungry." Zero handed the pan to him and he took a leg. "Jeezuscrist, Zeke, you didn't salt it!" Zero handed him the salt shaker and he sprinkled it very liberally. "Okay, that tastes better," he offered as he gnawed at the raw meat. That was a little more than my stomach was ready to handle after Hibler walked by and I got a whiff of his misfortune. Like Zero, I thought he had a full load in his underwear. As I started out, Kentucky hollered, "Hey Jackson, will you get us a bottle of drinkin' liquor?" They emptied their pockets and came up with over four dollars which was enough for a quart of Old Sunnybrook.
Monday morning, they were no-shows and I. D., true to his word, fired them.