THE 1958 SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS IN DOWNTOWN SHERMAN, TEXAS

     Remembering events and committing them to the written word has been a therapeutic exercise for me.  This little blog has helped me bring memories to the surface and work through, “what in the hell I was thinking” at the time they took place.  It further gives me the opportunity to reconcile to a few mishaps committed years ago, purge my soul of the associated guilt, while basking in the assurance of the statute of limitations.

     One such incident occurred around the spring of 1958, shortly after I had convinced everyone in the neighborhood my little 4 year old brother, Bob, had rabies.  Our scottie dog, Heather Mary, was deeply in love and had a litter of puppies every time it was possible.  She willing gave herself to the love of her life, Nipper…a mixed breed, white and black dog who lived down the street.  Lord, she loved that dog, was always excited to see him (even when she was not in heat) and he did not give her the time of day, unless she was.  For some reason, we waited a long time to get Heather Mary “fixed” and there were Nipper-looking dogs throughout the neighborhood and all over Sherman.  If we had held a family reunion, we could not have purchased enough cheap, dry dog food to accommodate the crowd. 

     Heather had delivered one of her litter of puppies and brother Bob reached in to grab one and hold it.  She protectively “nipped” Bob to get him to go easy with her babies.  He did not think anything about it and continued to pet the little dog, but I knew an opportunity when I saw one.    Other children were present and with all the worldly sophistication a 7 year old could muster, I declared Bob may very well now have rabies.    The story spread like wild fire and soon many of the neighborhood children came to see my little brother, hoping to find him slobbering, while walking around in circles and snapping at anyone nearby.

     I attempted to get Bob to put a concoction of baking soda and vinegar in his mouth, which was a recipe my mother applied to bee

stings.  It foamed up in a marvelous manner, but it turned out to be too overpowering to hold in one’s mouth.   I had to settle with soaping up the exterior of Bob’s mouth, ran a rope through the belt loop of his pants and made a show of keeping him at bay, while leading him around to scare the neighborhood kids.   

     I did seek out a couple of bullies that lived nearby and was overjoyed to see them run in terror when Bob growled and snapped upon my command.  All of this new found power came to a screeching halt when my mother stepped out on the front porch with that what-in-the-world-are-you-doing-now look upon her face.  I untied Bob, cleaned him up, as the bullies figured out it was a ruse and began smacking their fists into the palm of their hands, which was the ancient message, “We will deal with you later, when your mother is not around and beat you to death for making fools out of us.”  I knew I had to get out of there.

     Mother announced she had to go to Dodd’s Hardware store near the square in downtown Sherman.  I asked if Bob and I could go along…we would go to Kreager’s Feed and Seed, a couple of doors down on Houston Street, while she was in the hardware store.  She agreed.  It bought me a bit of a reprieve from those who wanted to destroy me over my rabies scam and Bob enjoyed going to Kreager’s at Easter time.   Mr. Kreager would have a big glass aquarium in the back of the store with baby chickens and ducks.  He had a partition in the middle of the container to keep the 4 dozen or so ducks and chickens separate, along with a light bulb on each side to keep them warm.

     Bob and I went in the store, petted the ancient, snoring dog,  teased Mr. Kreager’s monkey and made our way to the baby birds.  They were crowded up around the two light bulbs.  The container was higher than us and Bob said he wanted to hold a baby duck or chicken.    That seemed reasonable and rather than ask for help, I reached up to the top of the aquarium and pulled myself up thinking I could then reach inside, grab a bird, and hand it to Bob.  Instead, as I “chinned” myself up, the giant container turned over onto it’s side with a loud “bang”, spilling a yellow avalanche of little birds onto the floor.

     Baby chickens and ducks were everywhere.  Mr. Kreager’s old dog came to life, jumped up from his snoozing spot in the middle of the store and started barking, while spinning in circles.    Women, men and children were shouting and screaming, the monkey started

screaming and everyone was chasing the little birds.  Someone yelled, “Don’t open the front door,”  just as a customer came in and was startled to see 50 little yellow birds racing around the shop.  This person bolted, leaving the door open and the little fugitive fowl poured out onto Houston Street.

     Once outside, many of these frightened birds ran into the street, where they were promptly flattened by passing cars, leaving bloody, yellow circles in the middle of the street.  Other birds stayed on the sidewalk and ran in different directions, while many more ran to every possible corner and crevice inside the feed store.  Adults were cursing, chasing birds, attempting to keep their children in tow and make themselves heard over monkeys, dogs and general chaos.  My memory was of a mental, grinding, off-key organ chord…such as in the silent movie version in “The Phantom of the Opera” when the heroine pulls off his mask.  I have no idea why this sound appeared within my brain…it felt like everything went into slow motion as this horrid music loudly played and I knew I was a dead man.  There were about 4 dozen baby chicks and ducks, but when they are all running in different directions, it appeared to be thousands.   

     It seemed birds were being crushed by the bushel basket full, children were crying, Bob held onto me in terror, and I froze where I stood.  Mr. Kreager came through with a big push broom and attempted to corral the birds, once the door was secured.   Many were seen running down Houston Street and towards the court house square, never to be heard from again.  

     I took Bob’s hand, got out of the feed store, and made my way two doors down to Dodd’s hardware.  Everything inside was calm, as news of the baby bird disaster had not made it this far.    We stood by my mother in the shop and I waited for the police to come in and take me away.  I only hoped I could get Bob off for this crime…he had not been a party to my clumsiness.  

     NOTHING HAPPENED!  I was not associated with the tragedy.  Apparently, no one saw me tip the aquarium over!  Bob mentioned to mother the baby ducks got loose, but that was it.  We walked out of the hardware store, in a different direction from the feed store, got in our car and left.    

     We did hear some chuckling stories later about the baby ducks and chicks running out of the store, but it was all quite jocular…even though many birds perished.  It was generally dismissed as a strange, funny incident.

     NOW, ALMOST 60 YEARS LATER, I can confess…it was me!  I have been carrying this burden as the one responsible for the Houston Street Massacre of Baby Chickens and Ducks for over half a century.  If I have not escaped behind the protection of the statute of limitations, then do your worst Fish and Game law enforcement of Sherman, Texas!  I got my just punishment from the neighborhood bullies when I got home for fooling them with my “rabid” brother scam…you can do nothing worse to me now!