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Warnie Webb
Then there was Warnie Webb. Webb was 60 years old when I worked for him at the age of 17. I did farm work – tractor driving since I knew how to do that. Warnie’s two greatest loves in life were Allis Chalmers tractors and drinking whiskey with the men at the grain elevator office. He loved to brag about his tractors.
I first met him at the age of about 10. I would ride into town with dad and, when I could slip away from him, hang out at the grain elevator office. I was fascinated by the men in the office and the things they talked about. The office smelled wonderful. There were bags of sweet feed stacked inside the door which gave the room an aroma of molasses that mixed with the smells of horse liniment, bag balm, and tobacco. Yes, wow, the tobacco. On winter days Warnie would fire up the pot bellied stove and start pouring cheap whisky into little glasses. The guys would gather round and the stove and talk, sip whiskey, chew tobacco, and spit on the stove.
Warnie had a voice like a foghorn and it carried a mile. He would stuff wood in that little Warm Morning stove until it fairly danced, occasionally spitting tobacco juice on it to see how hot it was. He would fire a jet of juice at the stove and if it vaporized on contact, he’d bellow, “She’s a haawt now boys!! Then slap his knee and knock back a whisky. I didn’t sip whiskey or chew tobacco but I listened to the talk. That’s where I learn that girls have periods and a lot of other truths and myths about sex – at the age of 10, in the office of a feed store.
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