RRN Online Volume 24

November 22 '96

Volume 24

Phonetic Phrances Mama Was Hooked On Phonics

It began as ordinary as any day might have begun in the mid-Seventies. Our family records do not indicate whether any famous person died, or if there was an event of historic proportions, such as the assassination of John Kennedy or the Challenger explosion, to permanently imbed the events of the day into our minds. But for a single phone call, this particular day would have been entirely insignificant in the Annals of Carter History.

The telephone rang during the morning hours, and my mother, the late Frances Jewel Crausby Carter, lifted the receiver and greeted the caller with, "Hello." I do not remember if the caller was male or female. Male is probably correct, because Mom would have had much more to say about the call had there been a female voice that asked, "May I speak to Henry Carter?" As I recall, Mom explained that Dad was working. But, perhaps it was a day during one of the periods in which Dad spent an inordinate amount of his retirement time playing Dominoes at the pool hall on Court Square. Mom offered to be of assistance, but the caller simply wished to speak to Dad. The caller gave only the phone number where he might be reached, asking if Mr. Carter might please return the call.

Mom, the worrier, whose best worring took place when there was reason to worry was also known to worry if she did not have something to worry about, could not get the phone call off her mind. "Why would someone be calling Henry, and why wouldn’t he leave his name? I’m Henry’s wife. What’s so important that he would not even tell me what he wanted," wondered Mom. Curiosity is said to have killed the cat, but in Mom’s case it simply got the best of her. Armed only with a phone directory and a local phone number, Mom sat at the kitchen table and began a systematic search of the listings. "If this number is not an unlisted number, I can find it," reasoned Mom. And find it, she did. It should be noted that the phone directories of the Seventies did not have a numerical cross reference to simplify the process of linking a number to a name.

"Mmh, Mmh, Mmh! Who in the world is Reynolds Konaugus," Mom asked herself. Her diligence did not pay the dividend she expected, for having found the name of the individual, she was yet as far from having any clue to the "business" the caller had with Dad, as when she had only a phone number.

You must understand that in the Seventies, the population of Pontotoc was around 5,000. In a small town, it is not hard for a person to know everyone else in the community, and with a name like Konaugus, who, having once heard the odd name would ever forget it. "Why, with a name like that, he is some foreigner," Mom must surely have thought.

Until that day, Mom never had to deal with a local’s name more complex than that of newcomer, Carol Koutroulis. Pontotoc’s phone listings were filled with hundreds of English sounding names like Johnson, Brown, Bailey, Williams, Smith, Dillard, Davis, Hill, and Patterson. There was only one Konaugus.

Barbara and I both worked in Pontotoc and often ate at Mom’s house for lunch, only then we called lunch, dinner. We did not do this to confuse anyone. We just were taught during our formative years that our meals were served at breakfast, dinner, and supper and were each separated, in time, by approximately 6 hours. When we arrived for lunch, Mom was in, what she would have described as, a dither.

"Henry...., Reynolds Konaugus called you," Mom said as she began putting dinner (lunch) on the table. Puzzled, Dad stated that he did not know anyone by that name. Sarah Sue and James were also at lunch, and along with Dad we mutually agreed on having never heard the Konaugus name. Sarah left the room and returned with the phone directory. To our amazement, Mom turned to the alphabetized listing of names beginning with the letter C. She pointed to the name while she assumed an "I told you so" air. It only took us a moment to see Mom’s mistake. In her furor, she had completely misinterpreted the listing. The listing appeared somewhat like the following:

Conlee Slay Hugh Hurricane Spur.............489-1237
Conogas Reynolds ...................................489-4781
Cook B C Thaxton......................................489-1584

Mom had mistaken the name of a business for a surname. She never associated the combining of Conoco and gas to form a corporate name for the propane distributor, Conogas. Instead, she completely mispronounced the name by breaking and pronouncing it phonetically along the lines of Kon× naw"× gus. Compounding the error, she mistook the name of a city street for the person’s given name. To understand how great the mistake really was, please consider that Mom had passed the business on Reynolds street every time she made a trip with someone into town. It was not like she had never seen the name before, and since she never learned to drive a car, she had ample opportunity to view her surroundings from a passenger’s perspective. Yet, she never made the connection with the business site until we were doubled over, rolling on the floor with laughter.

Since A merry heart doeth good like a medicine (Prov. 17:22, KJV, authorized), there is little reason for anyone in my family to ever be sick. I would note that some of the funniest of our family remembrances are usually borne at the expense of another family member. In the case of my daughter, there may be a disproportionate number of humorous incidents. These deserve special attention at another time.

Certainly, Mom could laugh at herself. Each of us can claim the ability to laugh at ourself, and most of us can recall a really embarrassing moment that we wish everyone would forget. In my Mom’s case, this moment is probably the most oft remembered one for our family. The sheer simplicity of this remarkable event transcends the Mom-snake-and-pea-vines incident (Dad’s personal favorite), or the Mom-trying-to-drive incident. Mom, however, would gather up what the sport’s world calls a game face, whenever one of us brought up the Konaugus story. Her nose would suddenly appear skinny and the lips of her mouth would tighten into thin, fine lines. Her countenance was intimidating enough to suppress boisterous laughter, but a small wave of chuckles would always erupt when the events of that day were recounted.

Thanks Mom, for the memory that joyfully fills our hearts even to this day.

Thanksgiving '96

Thanksgiving ‘96, Carter-style, will be celebrated at 135 East Oxford Street, Pontotoc, MS, the residence of Sarah Brown. Any or all of the recipients of Ridge Rider News are more than welcome to attend the historic event. This will be the first ever Thanksgiving our families have attended at the home of my sister.

Sarah is more than a little excited about the happening. My children and grandchild are expected, along with Barbara’s mother. Normally Aunt Jo would be joining us, but the daughter of my deer-hunting brother has invited her to join their celebration. This is a departure from the usual, since James normally hunts, and his wife and children go to Okolona to be with Peggy’s family.

Food will be ample, but table chairs are scarce; plan accordingly.

Now, I have to get on my soapbox for a minute or two.

If either the Democrats or the Republicans want to get serious about family values, then they should consider instructing those agencies responsible for regulating the days set aside for various hunting seasons, to permit absolutely no hunting on Thanksgiving Day or Christmas Day.

It is an abomination to family values that our Country nationally celebrates two days that so strongly represent the best of family life in America, and simultaneously encourages the would-be hunter/ conservationists to sacrifice family time to one of several blood-sport gods. Please don’t tell me that the family that hunts together, stays together or that hunters would just spend their day off, away from their families anyway. The former addresses darn few citizens, and the latter is a feeble attempt to excuse a national sin.

Personally, I have spent only one of my 54 Thanksgivings in a National Forest, and felt so badly about breaking family tradition that I never did it again. If a man or woman has a family and cannot fit enough hunting time into his schedule during the rest of the hunting season, I can only conclude that it is time for the person to rethink which of the two is the greater good.

Disclaimer: The preceeding is the personal opinion of the editor and is not intended as a personal attack on any single individual, or group representing any national origin ¾ neither does it reflect the views of the NRA.

The encouragement and support shown the editor by the readership is certainly appreciated. The publication will continue to be sent at no cost to the reader until one of the following occurs:

A request is received to delete a reader’s subscription.
Financial resources do not permit continuance.
Writer’s block strikes the editor.
Editor meets an untimely demise.
Unforeseen possibility.

The editor will be on vacation both the week of Thanksgiving and the week of Christmas.

Share this article with a friend.

Home