by David Norris
The farthest back that I can remember Old Charley is from when I’d go to town on Saturdays with Pop. Most times, we’d walk the mile and a half around the ridge road to catch the bus, which ran once an hour. Sometimes, we’d go down over the hill past the apples trees and the concord grapes and make our way to the railroad bed. We’d walk the tracks to town. It was a good, long walk, about 5 miles.
When we got to town, I’d head off to the Strand Theater to see the matinee. It cost 15 cents to get in, and a nickel for a candy bar and 6 cents for a coke. My best friend, Little Flash, and I always sat on the second row so we could duck down behind the seats and peak through the slots between the chairs at the scary movies. I still get a shiver when I think of the one that had that giant black spider in it. Some images remain forever.
After the movie let out, I’d walk down Main Street to meet Pop. He would be sitting on the portico of the bank, talking with the other old men. Pop was in his 70s, and Charley was in his 50s at the time.
We kids used to call Charley the “Watch Man.” One time he rolled up the sleeve of his coat, and he was wearing 5 or 6 watches on his arm! I was a little boy then, and he scared me with his laugh and his dirty clothes and his strange walk.
When he carried his crippled body down the street, he swayed from side to side, his shoulders tipping far to each side, so far it looked like he was going to fall down. He had strong broad shoulders, but that is part of what made him so scary to me. The top half of his body was normal size, but the bottom half was that of a much smaller man.
When I went up to his little tar-paper shack that he had built all by himself on the side of a mountain, he had not seen me in nearly 20 years. I introduced myself as Mr. Sutphin’s little grandson. He remembered me, after all those years. At least, he claimed that he did. Charley liked to stretch the truth a bit when it would embellish a good story.
This is one of my favorites. It’s about watches.
I Make Good on Them Watches Sometimes, and Sometimes I Lose on Them Watches
I bought a pocket knife from an old boy over in town; I give him five dollars for the knife; brought the knife up here. Mr. Pete Does, I showed it to him.
He said, “What do you want for it?”
I says, “$25!”
He said, “I’ll give you $15.”
I said, “It’s your pocket knife.”
I sold it to him for $15. I made a $10 profit, you see.
Well, you take other things now, like watches. I get them watches, and I’ll start them watches off at $20 or $25. Then when they says, “I’ll give you $10 or $15,” why I just let it go, you see, and you done made a profit. I don’t have over $5 in ‘em to start with.
I just pick ‘em up here and there. People give me a lot of watches; they just come along and give me these watches, and I’ll bring ‘em up here and fix ‘’em and get ‘em to running and take ‘em to sell ‘em.
One feller came along down there one day, and he’d found a watch case out on the street. A car had run over it and mashed the movement all up in it.
He said, “Here’s an old watch case you can have.”
And I said, “Why, thank you,” and I put it in my pocket.
I took it down there and went in at Child’s Jewelry, and after I went in there, I said, “Mr. Childs, What’s this old case worth?”
He said, “It’s gold.”
And then he weighed it.
He said, “It’s worth $3.”
He give me $3 for it.
See how you make money with that stuff? There’s a lot of wasted money that people never make, where they could’ve made it easy if they would’ve just used judgment and went on and tried to make it.
Well, I got this watch for $5. A feller give it to me on the street. I brought it home; it wouldn’t run; it wouldn’t hit a lick. I brought it home, and I got it to going. I took it over to town and traded it for another one, and I wound up with $30 and another watch by the end of the day.
In one day!
But you don’t do that ever time, you see. Just luck come my way, and that’s the way that I went.
Yes sir, just luck.
WRITER’S BIO: David Norris has lived in Asia since 1985. He currently resides in Seoul, Korea, where he lectures in writing and literature for the University of Maryland University College Asia. His work has appeared in The Chariton Review, Taproot Literary Review, Poetry San Francisco, and The Dan River Anthology. David was born in the small town of Covington, Virginia, way up in the Alleghany Mountains. He left when he was 20 and has been traveling ever since.
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