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Friday
March 19, 2010 Since 1922 |
Sausage smell nips romance
By Jim Finley
Contributor Published September 25, 2009 Sometimes when I write one of these dopey things, I get some feedback that leads to … well, another dopey presentation.
So it was with a stirring piece I did a couple of weeks ago on how it used to be when car dealers across America introduced new models. Most of the time that was in September.
Discerning Readers will remember I wrote about what a big event it was to look at the new models, most of which changed in a major way from year to year. It was a special time, even though we’d never heard of a Yugo. Or a Toyota, for that matter.
After that piece hit the Computer Box airways, I got a nice note from longtime friend Danny Sassin, who lives in New Braunfels. I was glad to hear from Danny, but before I had finished his e-mail, I felt sorry for him. Sort of.
It started innocently enough when the West Columbia native said, “Hey, T-Bone [that’s me], enjoyed the article and being reminded how things used to be in the auto industry.”
But it went downhill from there.
I’ll tell you why in a brief moment, but first let me explain why it was hard to immediately feel bad for my friend after hearing his tale of woe. Simple. He used to be a West Columbia Roughneck football player, and my old homeplace didn’t like the Roughnecks at all.
The plain truth is, we Sweeny Bulldogs were certain that the Roughnecks were affiliated with the Communist Party. Didn’t Fidel Castro graduate from West Columbia and “play dirty” as a left tackle for the ‘Necks?
I later overcame the hard feelings when Danny made up for his evil ways by marrying a Sweeny girl, LaVerne Carwile. It was the least he could do. (Besides, “Redemption” is my middle name.)
With that background, listen to what Danny told me:
“The only new car we ever had, my dad bought one Sunday after he had gone over to see Mr. [Dewey] Baugh. Somehow, Mr. Baugh had my dad driving out in a new red and white Pontiac station wagon (SUV today).”
After having survived his mom’s outrage over the car-buying decision, it was pretty much agreed that they really did need the vehicle “to do our sausage delivery routes.”
Danny reminded me that his daddy made Bohemian smoked sausage and Danny and his mom delivered it to grocery stores in the area. But that caused a slight problem.
“It was the only car we had,” he typed, “so a big drawback was when I had a date on Friday night. Getting into a car that had been delivering smoked sausage all day kind of killed the mood to do anything except go eat.”
Noooooo! There are few fates worse than that – particularly in your teen years. Who wants to smooch with the smell of sausage in the air (if you don’t count ALL of my buddies, who would smooch with a Skunk Commune nearby)?
Hearing this sad story made me feel better about Danny. It also caused me to figure that he won LaVerne’s heart in a sausage-free environment.
Danny’s mentioning of Dewey Baugh also brought back memories of Dewey’s twin daughters, Ann and Nan. We started to school together, and I was amazed to learn our birthdays were either the same day or one day apart (I forget which). At that young age, I was convinced that nobody else in the whole wide world was born on Sept. 3.
Both of the twins, Danny said, went on to earn PhDs. I almost did the same thing during my university days at Wharton County Junior College (go, Pioneers!), but ended up in the news biz instead.
With good reason, Danny got out of the sausage business.
Jim Finley is a retired managing editor for The Baytown Sun.
Contributor Published September 25, 2009 Sometimes when I write one of these dopey things, I get some feedback that leads to … well, another dopey presentation.
So it was with a stirring piece I did a couple of weeks ago on how it used to be when car dealers across America introduced new models. Most of the time that was in September.
Discerning Readers will remember I wrote about what a big event it was to look at the new models, most of which changed in a major way from year to year. It was a special time, even though we’d never heard of a Yugo. Or a Toyota, for that matter.
After that piece hit the Computer Box airways, I got a nice note from longtime friend Danny Sassin, who lives in New Braunfels. I was glad to hear from Danny, but before I had finished his e-mail, I felt sorry for him. Sort of.
It started innocently enough when the West Columbia native said, “Hey, T-Bone [that’s me], enjoyed the article and being reminded how things used to be in the auto industry.”
But it went downhill from there.
I’ll tell you why in a brief moment, but first let me explain why it was hard to immediately feel bad for my friend after hearing his tale of woe. Simple. He used to be a West Columbia Roughneck football player, and my old homeplace didn’t like the Roughnecks at all.
The plain truth is, we Sweeny Bulldogs were certain that the Roughnecks were affiliated with the Communist Party. Didn’t Fidel Castro graduate from West Columbia and “play dirty” as a left tackle for the ‘Necks?
I later overcame the hard feelings when Danny made up for his evil ways by marrying a Sweeny girl, LaVerne Carwile. It was the least he could do. (Besides, “Redemption” is my middle name.)
With that background, listen to what Danny told me:
“The only new car we ever had, my dad bought one Sunday after he had gone over to see Mr. [Dewey] Baugh. Somehow, Mr. Baugh had my dad driving out in a new red and white Pontiac station wagon (SUV today).”
After having survived his mom’s outrage over the car-buying decision, it was pretty much agreed that they really did need the vehicle “to do our sausage delivery routes.”
Danny reminded me that his daddy made Bohemian smoked sausage and Danny and his mom delivered it to grocery stores in the area. But that caused a slight problem.
“It was the only car we had,” he typed, “so a big drawback was when I had a date on Friday night. Getting into a car that had been delivering smoked sausage all day kind of killed the mood to do anything except go eat.”
Noooooo! There are few fates worse than that – particularly in your teen years. Who wants to smooch with the smell of sausage in the air (if you don’t count ALL of my buddies, who would smooch with a Skunk Commune nearby)?
Hearing this sad story made me feel better about Danny. It also caused me to figure that he won LaVerne’s heart in a sausage-free environment.
Danny’s mentioning of Dewey Baugh also brought back memories of Dewey’s twin daughters, Ann and Nan. We started to school together, and I was amazed to learn our birthdays were either the same day or one day apart (I forget which). At that young age, I was convinced that nobody else in the whole wide world was born on Sept. 3.
Both of the twins, Danny said, went on to earn PhDs. I almost did the same thing during my university days at Wharton County Junior College (go, Pioneers!), but ended up in the news biz instead.
With good reason, Danny got out of the sausage business.
Jim Finley is a retired managing editor for The Baytown Sun.