In 1916:
In 1916:
Genealogy thread, anyone?
I had assumed that "single-tree" was some sort of old-timey euphemism for a stick, but I looked into it, and it's one of these things:
I wonder how big the gator was...
JamesMcD said:I had assumed that "single-tree" was some sort of old-timey euphemism for a stick, but I looked into it, and it's one of these things:
Yep, used for hitching mules etc to plows and such. I've used them in my youth before Grandpa got a tractor.
My grandfather owned a livery, turned into a car dealer when cars came along. By the time I was born grandpa had already passed, my uncle owned it and was a Chevy dealership.
Gators are tough critters, surprised he could beat it to death.
I’m somehow descended from Johann Strauss, the great composer of waltzes such as the Blue Danube. That’s all I got. Best I can tell the rest of them were poor hard working people that came here in the early 20th century for one reason or another - some fled russia during the revolution, the rest were lower working class Irish and polish probably seeking the “American dream” or at least some opportunity to get paid for work. In the last hundred years some of us have even worked our way into the lower middle class, enough that we can afford things like $350 q45’s that fall into our laps that would have been unattainable for our grandparents
we got nothing on beating a gator to death with a stick
Didn’t Jerry Reed write a song about him?
Spoolpigeon said:Didn’t Jerry Reed write a song about him?
Maybe, could he eat up his weight in groceries?
Spoolpigeon said:Didn’t Jerry Reed write a song about him?
no no, that was Amos. And he didn't use a stick, he just hit them in the head with a "thomp".
2019: Doc Edwards gets Frank McDonald arrested for harassment of an Amphibian-American. PETA sues him for gator-cruelty. The ARADL (American Reptile Anti-Defamation League) makes national news pleading for "compassion towards our scaly brothers".
My great, great,.... grandpa was in the Civil War, but his brother served on the USS Monitor. The brother went AWOL...
RossD said:My great, great,.... grandpa was in the Civil War, but his brother served on the USS Monitor. The brother went AWOL...
Frank's uncle (my great-great-great uncle) was coming back home from the Civil War, drank too much during his riverboat ride, fell off, and drowned.
One of my ancestors was william wallace (bravehart) mom.
The crawford side of the family came to America to escape prison as an indentured servant. Tarasi side to escape utal after ww1
Drunken Irish Here! G-Grand Father was the First Mayor Of Miami Fla. 1896, They Once Settled a City dispute With a Ball Game.
On my Dads Dad side of the family we are related to Robert the Bruce. There is a sculpture from a relative on my Dads Moms side in the Cleveland Museum of Art.
Two years ago my mother (a smallish woman in her middle 60’s) choked a pit bull to death because it was trying to kill her cat.
We’re descended from a ridiculously long line of tough old birds. One of my great-great forebears was a survivor of the whaleship Essex. 1500 miles in a lifeboat and cannibalism.
If you ever build a Delorean capable of hitting 88mph, therefore capable of time travel, and happen to travel back to 1916. Do not in any way meddle in the killing of that alligator. If not killed at that precice time in that precice manner the future will be altered in unthinkable ways. For instance mathematical models show the future you would return to will be nothing like the one you left. President Camacho would be the President, AMC would be the dominant manufacturer in Formula One, Lada and Seat at the top of the heap in sports car endurance racing, and Checker the company to beat in Nascar and Touring car racing. Lemons grids would be filled with Porsche, BMW's and Kiara's. So be careful!!
My cousin sent me a diary/letter a few weeks ago that my great grandfather wrote to his siblings back in England, in 1882. It involves a steamship, several days of illness for everyone except my great Aunt Florrie, tea in steerage that was abominable, but the bread and meat were fine, many Christian meetings on deck, striking an iceberg off Newfoundland and losing the propellor, drifting about for three weeks, and finally getting a tow to Montreal.
Sounded like fun...
Smokey Yunick's version of the story:
When I first built the garage in 1947, alligators frequented the area all around us. Matter of fact, where the Park Inn Cleaners is, across the street from my shop, we killed ?bout five to seven foot long before they start filling the swamp in. A gator ?bout three feet long hung out beside back door at garage. At high tide the water at back door used to be two foot from the building. (At low tide it was fifty feet out). Well, we started feeding our ?friend? and named him ?Albert.? Albert got his name from a daily cartoon character. When I added the first addition and built a parts department, Albert started sleeping under the parts counter.
Albert is growing, and he is ?bout four foot now. About here Albert is getting to be a pain in the ass. Nope, it?s not his fault, every son-of-a-bitch has seen a gator farm where they see performers tap gators on the snoot to get it open then put their arms through his jaws only to move it quickly when he snaps them shut. They then grab his snoot with two fingers and hold it shut. The other trick, is get him on his back, rub his belly and put him to sleep. All good E36 M3 in a gator farm, but if you?re drunk, or goof up, alligators? teeth are like sharp nails, and it?s mouth don?t open unless you help him with a crow bar.
I had a friend, John Morgan, a hard working brick and block mason. Every weekend he got E36 M3-faced drunk. He?d come to the garage Saturday afternoon, grab Albert by the tail, drag him or her out from under the counter and around the shop. (Note: I never did figure out how to know the sex of an alligator ? I spent my time around them watching what the mouth was doing, and where it was in reference to my body parts). Albert (or Alberta, I guess) was not particularly fond of this.
Wee, one Saturday was John Morgan and Albert?s training session, but only cause John said so. What John didn?t understand is alleygators figure they have a God given right to eat any block mason or brick layer slap up. One day John Morgan, ?the alligator trainer? found his self in a position where two of his fingers were causing Albert?s jaw to lack an inch in closing. I?m trying to calm down the famous drunk reptile tamer, and with a tire iron, trying to get Albert to remove his teeth from John?s fingers. This gets to be a real problem ?cause Albert has learned somewhere, after you clamp down, then you start spinning. John panicked and used Albert?s two teeth to slice both fingers their last inch. You?d think ?that?s end of story.? Nope.
John kicked Albert. Now Albert?s got him by the foot. For those of you reading this who really know alligators must be amused reading this, but I?m really getting pissed now ?cause in trying to help solve the problem, Albert lets go of John and gets me. Well, no problem, I?ve got steel tipped boots on, ?cause one boot comes off so I?m inches short on one leg. Albert apparently figured he had a foot to eat and hauls ass out the door into the river; yup, boot and all. How fast can a gator run? One inch a minute slower any average human when going wide open, but plenty faster than a human with one leg suddenly two inches shorter than the other.
OK, before all this started, I?m putting a trailer hitch on. The customer is there waiting. First I throw John?s bloody ass out. The customer is concerned how we mistreat Albert. How ?bout me? How do I get my boot back? I get back to the hitch to get him gone. Without my boot, sparks from stick welder burns my foot. The day is not important with age. I got a friend who stops in with two quarts of beer. I clean up the blood. (I mean, old John must have bled pint of blood.) ?Bout an hour later, or a quart and a half of beer later, here comes Mr. Drunken Block Mason in John?s pick up with a friend of the family, a new lawyer?with a camera. He wants crime scene pictures, especially the bloody parts, and of photos of Albert.
By the way, my friend with the beer is a Daytona policeman who?s had trouble with John in regard to ?nasty drunk.? We are both feeling extra frisky, so I say, ?You can start with your picture of Albert, he is somewhere close by in the river trying to eat my boot.? We then heave ?Mr. Legal Eagle? into the river to find Albert. His camera falls off, so I throw it to him. If it wasn?t waterproof there would have been a problem. I hadn?t started to hate lawyers yet, but the idea of a law suit about the deal was the last straw.
We still got the wife of the drunken defective alligator trainer to deal with. I say ?Mrs. Morgan, you?re a fine lady, too bad you?re married to that shiny happy person John.? (And she really was a nice lady) ?But I?ve had all the Morgan E36 M3 I can handle today, so get into the pickup and go home and heal the defective gator wizard, ?cause I bet he won?t be able to lay any stuff for quite awhile.? The lawyer reappears in the street and seems very annoyed, he?s very wet and yelling about law suits.
At that particular time I was wired in with the crooks who ran the county so good. I could have murdered the son-of-a-bitch and got away with it. (Nope, never did.)
Well it?s plain Albert has to be deported. I had another, real problem with him. His spot under the parts counter was such he could bite you if he wanted to. Your toes were inches from his mouth either side of the parts counter. If you happen to bump his snout with toes of your shoes, Albert would emit a very loud ?hissssssssssssss.? Needless to say, when a customer discovered the source of the hissing, he was very reluctant to stand at that counter. No, Albert never bit anyone but John, but he sorta was bad for business.
Next day here come ol? Albert, looking for some food. I drug him to the river by the tail and flung him into it ?bout four or five days until finally Albert gave me kinda a sneerey look and swam off.
If I ever say Albert again I never knew it. To me you seen one gator you seen ?em all. If Albert?s still alleygatoring he would be ?bout 52 to 54 years old, and ?bout 15 feet long.
The moral to this story is ?don?t #### with wild anythings?don?t try and feed them or domesticate them.? Course no alligators come around anymore. The goddamned river is so polluted by the politicians and ignorant greedy business types that fish, snakes and gators can?t stand it.?
Somewhere in my family, there was an adopted illegimate child of President Martin Van Buren.
I have somehow cousin'd into being related to Jesse "The Body" ventura. When he was governor of Minnesota (before it was cool to be a wrestler in politics) we had the family xmas deal at the mansion. Got to play pool on the governors pool table. Did not get to play ps2 on the Governors television. Food was good. Jesse likes stogies. He also came to my grandmothers funeral. Nice guy. Shockingly intelligent in person.
Genealogy is fascinating!
My last name (Morse) was brought here in the 1750s from Ireland. The ship that brought them here wrecked and sank off an island in Maine, originally called Gay Island.
They settled there and later had a son, who married into the Gay family. They renamed the island Morse Island, and the name stands to this day.
Fast forward to the Revolutionary War, the original settler (Jonathan) and his son (John) both joined the fight against the British. Their regiment was captured, and they were put on a British ship for transport. The prisoners staged a mutiny and temporarily took control of the ship. After the Brits retook control, they told the Americans they could keep their lives if they promised not to do it again.
Shortly thereafter they mutinied again, this time taking control of the ship on which they escaped.
*I obviously don’t have primary documentation to back this all up, it came from research done by The Morse Society
On my Mom's side I am descended from Coronet George Joyce. He was a catholic and a crony of Oliver Cromwell. His participation in the beheading of King Charles I (50/50 chance he swung the axe) earned him a sentence of transportation upon the restoration of the Crown. This landed him in the colony of Massachusets. His grandson Richard rode with Paul Revere. So I am descended from a long line of trouble makers!
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