More Scab.....

by RayLee, Tuesday, April 21, 2026, 22:41 (9 hours, 46 minutes ago) @ RayLee

My old buddy Euell ______, otherwise known as Pill had many good qualities but he had many flaws as well. He was lacking in good looks, what with his jutting-jawed prominent chin and beetling brow and squinty eyes. Then again he smoked white labeled, generic coffin nails like there is no tomorrow even long after public smoking had begun to be tabooed. But his greatest fault was the bad habit of laying the radio mic. on the seat of the sewer dept.'s truck #9. Inevitability the transmit paddle would be depressed by someone's thigh or butt and scores of sensative ears of those with a receiver or scanner would hear the scuttlebutt being discussed. Never mind that there was a purposeful bracket on the truck's dash and corresponding stud on the back of the mic. Pill liked the transmitter close to hand and he had short arms.

So whenever sleepy jackson and james dudley of truck #12 were done reading meters for the month's billing period on their beat on the east side of town they would often assist the sewer dept. and one or the other would ride along with Pill. Sleepy was about as lewdly potty mouthed as a youngish fellow could be but Dudley had more experience at it.....experience at being potty mouthed, I mean. They both could tell a respectable dirty joke if you'll forgive the irony there but no one will ever come close to Pill for spinning a mesmerizing tall tale and making you to laugh raucously in the process.

Now Pill was forever and again mentioning and citing and quoting his cousin Cecil. Cecil this...... Cecil that.....if you know what I mean. The subject of cousin Cecil soon got old and worn but we were, for the most part, respectful of Pill due to his value as entertainment. He made us laugh when he told a story and laughter is medicine as folk say. So we endured the theme and subject of Cecil hoping the often tortuous and convulated tale would end with on a humorous note.

We heard so much of Cecil and most of it less than credible that we began thinking he was just a figment of Pill's imagination. You know, an imaginary childhood friend that Pill had not quite grown out of. Kind of like a mythical legend like santa or sasquatch. But to Pill's credibility, many years hence I met folk from his childhood who also knew Cecil.

Now keep in mind Pill's penchant for the radio mic. lying on the truck seat and you will understand and pardon if I didn't completely get this tale down verbatim. I wasn't there in truck #9. I heard it second-hand with other radio traffic breaking-in and interrupting. I think I got the gist of it anyway. Enter Pill, stage left.....
(Pill laughs in reaction to something Dudley had said).....

(Sleepy Jackson gibbers something indecipherable)

(Pill speaking with the preliminary, throat clearing "ahem")

You know my cousin Cecil and his bad luck job history. His millwright billet at the yards in pascagoula had petered-out and he never quite got used to the month-on/month-off rotation on the mobile bay natural gas platform. So he drifted back in a northeastern pattern to home. Most of his experience had been in textiles so he found a "fixer" billet at a mill in Norwood. The forty-five minute commute from the family farm proved too onerous over time so he rented a home on Charles ave. out in the Skyline community. Charles to Bryant to 40th st. to Railroad ave. to Blue Mountain to Walnut to McAurthur dr.....just a hop and skip as they say.

What Cecil knew about the mill was that it was a WWII era manufactury of roll webbing that had survived and endured to the present....even prospered, there being much demand for webbing. A long time fixer name of Bowen was nearing social security/medicare age and Cecil was hired to train to fill his shoes.

What Cecil didn't know was that the mill was smack in the middle of a heated, contentious labor campaign/union ballot situation. He had just got into the groove of things re. his new duties.....a couple or three months on the job when the union vote came. Cecil had not even been on the payroll long enough to qualify as a voter. Management lost, labor won. A fortnight later they were in/on strike.

Now Cecil wasn't exactly what you'd call a social animal. He had not yet bonded with any of his fellow workers except the geezer he was replacing. He and Mister Bowen got along alright however Cecil was curt and just business like, just barely civil with everybody else. No chit chat or gabbing. So he didn't have a feel of the pulse or vibe of either the workforce or management. Cecil had had more negative experiences than positive as a union member over his career(s). He had spent many hours on picket lines but had never been much of a firebrand or zealot. He had adamant philosophical objections to the marxist leanings of the unions he had been a member of. There were a few times when he "rode for the brand" in the old west sense and turned scab. This seemed to be the way he was leaning this time and when management took volunteers from each department to cross the pickets to take advantage of the machinery down-time to clean-up a bit, Cecil acquiesced.

Another thing Cecil was ignorant of was that of the eleven domiciles on Charles ave. on his block between 44th and 45th streets there were three other beside he that were on strike from the mill including his next door neighbor. And this neighbor was not just a dedicated firebrand but a downright fire-eating radical union agitator who could not abide any scabbery and was said to have resorted to violence in the past. Not knowing of the dangers that lurked at his very door, Cecil crossed the lines and went into work.

First thing in a string of misfortunes, slim, his faithful mutt died.....giving all appearances of being poisoned. Then ominous, cryptic, occultic looking symbology was found chalked on the concrete driveway with, a few days later, more strange signs were found on his pickup in soap stone and grease pencil. The shadowy silhouette of a cowled or hooded miscreant appeared at the master bathroom window while Mrs. Cecil was shaving her legs. The kids were bullied on the school bus with references made using labor movement language that school kids seldom if ever employ. Finally, his ancient pickup was firebombed via molotov bottle one moonless night.

Now Cecil is a sound sleeper and a loud snorer to boot. So nobody heard a thing but Cecil sawing logs. Just before dawn he went out the side door to the carport to crank and warm his pickup. First thing he noticed was the overhead lightbulb was out. Next thing was the acrid odours of charred wood and burnt paint. In the beam of a flashlight he discovered and examined the damage and it took no holmesian powers of deduction to detect the broken bottle and accelerant dispersal. The truck bed was toast as was rear cab window....shattered from the heat. Some of the burning accelerant had weeped through the bed's drain holes onto the rear-passenger side tire and had burst it. The damage to the carport ceiling was confined to scorched paint and charred plywood sheathing and the aforementioned overhead light. A quick peek into the loft space above showed no evidence of flame spread or any glowing embers.

The bulk of the shattered glass was swept aside and the faithful old pickup cranked without issue. The spare tire was found to be mostly inflated and soon took the burst one's place. Cecil wolfed down a hasty breakfast and advised the kinder to stay home from school that day and the wife to be wary of strangers and keep the fowling piece at hand.

In twelve minutes Cecil drove right through the picketers with a speedy determination that made them part and make way. The crowd followed him, quite illegally, into the parking lot and accosted him. Cecil recognized the ring leader at once as his next door neighbor and instantly kenned the what and who of what had transpired last night. When the man hiked his shirt sleeves and assumed a pugalistic posture, Cecil kung-fu kicked him right between his groin and beer-belly overlap. As the guy involuntarily doubled over, Cecil's combination lunch pail and vacuum bottle crashed down on the nape of his neck. When the crowd loomed nearer to assist their comrade and avenge his injuries, Cecil deftly drew a can of penetrating lubricant spray from his tool kit and sprayed a sweeping arc at about eye level. Say this for them, they were dedicated to their fallen comrade as it took another squirt or two to disperse them. Cecil had his wicked sharp hawkbill blade already in hand and was ready to carve on any oncomers. They went instead of coming-on and a scabbish security guard both administered first aid and detained the fallen man for the police.

The strike soon fizzled when the feds. invalidated the union vote due to threats and corruption by union folk from up north. 3/4 s or better of the workforce trickled back into work. Cecil was promoted to maintenance super. Cecil's neighbor, the agitator never completely recovered from his injuries and had to retire on disability, religiously wearing a neck-brace and leaning on a cane until the feds. and state finally approved his benefits. Out of the back-payment lump-sum from the govt., the neighbor financed glass replacement and an economy paint job on the damaged truck to avoid arson charges and civil suit. The two swore no hard feelings and were thought to be good neighbors henceforth.....(exit Pill)

As truck #9 swung into the city barn enclosure Woodrow Scroggins the utility superintendent purposely approached its driver's side and reached through the open window before Pill had a chance to open the door and exit. Woodrow unscrewed the coupling nut that secured the radios's mic. cord to the reciever/transmitter and took it away with him saying.....

"you'll get that back when I am sufficiently convinced that you can use it properly you ugly little tale-telling essobee ! Didn't you know a governor's delegation from montgomery what was to grant us federal monies has been up to city-hall and has been listening to you prattle-on like a gossiping biddy ?"