In the good old days before television -- or even radio, if you can imagine that -- folks hereabouts amused themselves in their idle moments with whoppers.
These were improbable stories that were sometimes true, partly true, or figments of imagination. It didn't matter so long as they were extraordinary.
The acknowledged champion storyteller was Morgan Bonaparte Mizell. He was ramrod for Ziba King, the cattle baron of Fort Ogden back when Charlotte and DeSoto counties were still part of Manatee County.
To Mizell's friends, and they were legion, the consummate Florida cowboy was better known as Bone.
As he became a legend in his own time, Bone dropped his given, middle name and adopted that of Napoleon. He felt it added more class.
Bone spoke with a decided lisp that enhanced both his story-telling prowess --and sometimes his appeal as the subject of whoppers.
Meaning of Moomph
For example, a thief stole some of Bone's hogs one time , and Bone tracked the animals to a pen three miles away. Bone's ear notch -- registered with the county clerk -- had been freshly altered.
Nevertheless, Bone drove the hogs back to his spread. The hog thief boldly swore out a warrant for Bone's arrest.
Bone got off on the wrong foot with the judge when he walked into the courtroom with his hat on. The judge demanded that Bone remove his hat. Bone refused.
This here is a $10 Stetson; and there's a lot of thieves in here, not all of them accused. The judge relented and let Bone keep on his sombrero.
When called to the witness stand, Bone was asked how long the hogs' ear-notches had been changed. About a moomph, he replied in his drawling lisp.
What's a moomph? the prosecuting attorney demanded with a sneer.
Why a moomph is firty days, said an astonished Bone. I thought everybody knew what a moomph was.
No Knife Needed
In those days, cattle and hogs were marked with the owners' d istinctive notches cut into ears, and with brand marks on left flanks.
On one round up, an ornery cow defied all attempts to brand her and ran off into a dense thicket. Buck King, foreman of the drive, announced in disgust, Anyone who can catch her, and put his mark on her, can have her.
Only Bone was brave enough to take up the chase into the thorny tangle of vines and palmettos. The other cow hunters gathered to see how Bone would make out.
There was a lot of crashing around, cursing and bellowing. Bye and bye,Bone staggered out alone -- his clothes in tatters from the thorns and his hands and face not much better.
What's the matter, Bone? the cowmen taunted. That old cow get the best of you?
Not at all, said Bone. I done put my notch in her ears.
How's that? the men hooted. You don't have a knife.
Marked her wif my teeth just as good as wif a knife,declared Bone.
In disbelief, the Cowboys circled the thicket and drove out the recalcitrant cow. Sure enough, Bone had bitten out a piece of each ear in the shape of his own notch.
Snarling Bob Cats
On another drive, Bone signed up to help Willie Williams get a herd to market at Fort Pierce.
That night the drive put up in a cow pen, and the men began to cook supper. Bone volunteered to get waterfor coffee from a nearby pond.
Bone was gone, and gone, and gone. The other men started eating and were grouchy because they hadn't any coffee.
Finally Bone appeared, carrying a couple of lard cans of water. Whatinell kept you? his comrades demanded.
Said Bone in earnest tone: Boy's, I just saw the damndest cat fight anybody ever saw. On the edge of that pond, two old bobcats was fighting and growling at one another. All at once, they stood up on their hi nd legs, clinched, and began to climb each other. I stoodthere and watched them until they clumb clear out of sight.
The boys weren't amused, being more interested at the moment in coffee than in whoppers.
After the cattle were delivered to Fort Pierce, the Cowboys started home. Again they camped at the same pen where the celebrated cat fight had supposedly occurred.
Also again, Bone volunteered to go for coffee water. OK, but don't be so durn long this time, they said.
Bone came back promptly. One of his buddies inquired with a smirk, See anything of those bobcats?
No, boys, said Bone. but I guess they're still a'fightin, cause the fur is still afallin.
Dueling Storytellers
A whopper duel was hard to beat.
One day Bone and Cy McClellan were riding along on the 90-Mile Prairie east of Arcadia. Cy stopped his horse, stared intently at the horizon and pretended to see a ship.
Why, there's the Lily White, he said. I think she's a mite off course. The Lily was a schooner that carried necessities to Fort Ogden, navigable headwater of the Peace River.
Bone stopped also and shaded his eyes. Yes, I see it; and there's a big horsefly on her mast.
By gosh, you're right! said Cy. I just saw it blink an eye.
Outran Deer
Another great spinner of whoppers was the Rev. George W. Gatewood -- Methodist circuit rider for the southwest Florida settlements.
As a minister, Rev. Gatewood respected the ninth commandment. However, as arenowned exhorter, he could not resist embellishing a good yarn. Hisaccount of a hunting trip near his homestead in Bermont is an example.
One day I was hunting in the eastern end of the county where the almettos were thick. A deer jumped up and took flight. I went to shooting, not seeing any other human being near.
Guilford Lewis, though, was about 150 yards from where I was. He could see me but did not see the deer.
D.H. Huckeby, a Cleveland sawmill operator, also was about the same distance in another direction and could see all of us -- me, Lewis and the deer.
Lewis heard my bullets whistle through the air near him, and he thought I was shooting at him. Huckeby said Lewis outdistanced the deer, keeping ahead of it until he got out of breath.
Fortunately, I did not hit either Lewis or the deer.
Deathless Turtle
In a first-rate whopper, Rev. Gatewood let exhortation get the best of him.
J.W. Thomas, a blacksmith at Bermont, had a spring near his house. One afternoon, he went to get a pail of water and found the spring rather muddy. Investigating, he found a large soft-shell turtletaking a bath.
As turtles of that kind make a choice dish, Tom took that one to a block and beheaded it. Then, he hung it up to bleed until the next day, since it takes a turtle a long time to die. In the morning, upon touching the turtle's flesh, it would jerk.
When his neighbor, Pat Murphy, came over, Tom told him that a turtle had more lives than a cat.
Pat said, No. The turtle is dead but not conscious of it.'
That afternoon the old man began to prepare the turtle for the pot. Still, it jerked every time the knife touched it. By taking a pair of pliers in one hand, and a butcher knife in the other, Tom finally got it cut up for cooking. Then, in the pot, the pieces got to jerking and kicking the water into a foam.
Tom said he just couldn't stand it any longer. He jerked the pot off the stove and dumped its contents into the hog pen. The last he saw of that turtle, he said, it was running around the pen in sections the hogs chasing after.
Buried Alive
At that time, A.C. Freeman owned and operated a hardware store at Punta Gorda and had a stock of coffins in the back room. Later he was mayor of the town, and then sheriff of DeSoto County before Charlotte County was split away.
Rev. Gatewood's favorite whopper involved one of Freeman's customers.
A certain neighbor of mine, whom I will call Cox, used to go on periodical sprees with John Barleycorn.
While on one of these toots, he wandered into Freeman's store and into the undertaking department unnoticed. Cox climbed into an open coffin that looked comfortable with its velvet lining.
Unfortunately, he lay down with his head to the narrow foot of the casket and got wedged in. He couldn't get clear in, or pull himself out.
Freeman's wife, who helped in the store, went to the back room for something and discovered a man's foot sticking out of the coffin. Horrified, she yelled for help.
Freeman came a-running. He had to call for help to extricate the inebriated intruder. Cox became agitated, thinking they were trying to bury him.
He kicke d over every coffin in the place before they could calm him down.
Lindsey Williams is a Sun columnist who can be contacted at:
LinWms@earthlink.net
LinWms@lindseywilliams.org
Website: http://www.lindseywilliams.org
Author:: Lindsey Williams
Keywords:: old timers, Storytellers, Americana, Cowboys, Florida history
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