lipby (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lipbylipby) wrote,@ 2009-07-07 14:42:00 |
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The Marywana Shootout
The following is one of my Dad's bizarre stories from growing up, the one I am making him write for Meigs County Stories. It is the story about a mysterious herb, "Wackey Tabackey," and a weird old lady who went off the deep end.
* * *
In the summer of 1953, Syracuse, Ohio was a small rural river town with a population of about 650 people and a slew of mangy dogs.
Just two years earlier it had reached a milestone in its march into the modern world, its dirt and gravel streets had been “chipped and sealed.” Not much ever happened there. The most exciting event in years was when Mayor Harvey “Longbelly” Tunner caught his foreskin in his fly when taking a leak out behind the Baptist’s annual tent meeting.
Mary Himen was born there, and had not been more than fifty miles away in all of her thirty eight years. As a child, she was shy and introverted, but by adulthood had acquired a reputation as an individualist with a wackey tilt. Following the death of her parents, she became—to use the vernacular of one old timer—“as kooky as a left handed crank shaft.”
By late summer of 1953, Mary had taken to closing herself into her parents house and not emerging for days on end. No one knew what went on in there, however, after the “incident” was over it took several pickup truck loads to haul away the empty tin cans, wine bottles and her leftover stash of “Wackey Tabacky.” Marijuana made her horny as hell.
Marijuana was not well known in that part of Ohio in 1953. However, in looking back I realize it not only grew there, it was extremely prolific. We simply did not recognize it. We call it “pigweed” because it flourished in the wet muddy areas around pig sties. As a young kid who worked summers on the farm, I hated the stuff. It was a hot, dirty, never ending job to keep it cut down and burned. The smoke had a very distinct smell, years later, this forgotten smell would trigger a flood of memories rushing back into my consciousness. I was a young fireman in a drug recognition class. The instructor burned some marijuana acquaint us with the smell and I instantly recognized the smell of “pigweed.”
It was a hot lazy summer day in early August. Roy “Rabbit” Swift (the nickname resulting from his sexual tendencies) had returned a few days earlier from a two year hitch in the army. Early that morning while looking for something to occupy himself, he chanced upon Mary and they promptly settled into her house for the day. They spent the morning “smoking and jokin” and passing the bottle, and by noontime Mary was hotter than a Mexican taco. The action became hot and heavy, but just two steps out of the starting blocks, Rabbit went down in flames. Mary flipped. Grabbing her father’s shotgun and quickly loading it, she directed a few blasts in Rabbit’s direction as he beat a hasty retreat out the back door. The shots did very little damage, however, they did prompt a call to the county sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Henry “Stubby” Miles and his Chief Deputy Matthew “Misery” Ducker were in the cell area playing poker with a couple of the prisoners. They immediately sprang into action. Grabbing the radio mike, Stubby dispatched his two Deputies, Bill “Bug Dust” Barellie and Dexter “Crackerbelly” Betz to the scene.
By the time they arrived, Mary had climbed about halfway up the hillside behind the house to a deserted chicken coop and had barricaded herself inside.
Syracuse is fondly described by the local residents as being “four miles long and just as far back as you can see.” which was two blocks. The town is perched snugly between the river bank and the steep slope of a high hill. It just two short blocks from the riverbank to State Route 124 which is carved into the hillside along the northern edge, and in the area of the Mary’s house a concrete wall about five feet high had been constructed hold back the hill. Her house is located on a sloping lot which begins at the top of the wall and extends back to about halfway up the side of the hill. The chicken coop is located at the back edge of the lot at an elevation of about three hundred feet above the highway.
When the deputies drove up, Mary blasted a round in their general direction. They dove out of the cruiser and took shelter behind the wall. Bug Dust, who had grown up with Mary decided to talk her down.
He stuck his head up over the top of the wall and appealed to her as a childhood friend to lay down her gun. Her reply was both immediate and to the point. The buckshot tore up the sod about six feet in front of Bug Dust’s face covering it with dirt and chewed up pieces of grass. With that, they decided that a call for reinforcements would be both proper and prudent.
Stubby and Misery arrived about twenty minutes later and joined the two deputies behind the wall. Stubby wasted no time, and after quickly accessing the situation, took decisive action. He called out the local Syracuse Volunteer Fire Department whose station was located a block away. Being the middle of the day, the alarm was answered by two retired farmers, the local minister and four housewives. They decided to remain in the station house and see what developed.
What developed was nothing much. Every now and then one of the deputies would peek up over the wall and this would immediately elicit a shotgun blast from Mary. It appeared to be a standoff. The sun was climbing higher in the sky and what little shade there was had since disappeared. The four law officers were sweating and cursing; the volunteer fire department was getting bored, a small crowd of onlookers were gathering and then the two prisoners showed up. Stubby and Misery had left in such a hurry they forgot to lock the cell door. The two prisoners, curious about what was happening, had decided to hitchhike the seven miles to the scene where they promptly joined the deputies behind the wall. At this point, Stubby once again sprang into action—he called for assistance from the two neighboring counties.
By the time additional help arrived, the local Ladies Aid Society, assisted by members of the Garden Club, were preparing sandwiches and cold drinks and had the two prisoners running them up to the wall. The situation was becoming desperate. Finally, a plan of action was agreed upon.
Heavy brush and rocks located just below and to the right of the chicken coop would provide good cover. Misery would crawl from behind the wall using a drainage ditch and make his way up and around an adjacent house. After going around the house he would then sneak into the heavy cover and creep undetected up to the front of the chicken coop. This was accomplished without incident, however, Misery then discovered that the coop was raised about two feet off the ground and that he could only see Mary’s legs. He couldn’t continue without being detected and retreat was out of the question as a hundred pair of eyes were focused upon him and with each passing minute he could feel the pressure mounting. He was sweating profusely, and struggling to control the panic welling up within him. He had to do something. Finally, frustration prevailed. He drew his service revolver, took aim and shot Mary in the left knee cap.
With this development, the local fire department sprang into action. They rolled both pumpers and their ambulance. What followed was a rescue operation of epic proportion. When it was over, Misery was a local hero, the fire department had generated a run report for the year and Mary had been safely deposited in the State Mental Hospital.
Misery went on to become to become a well known county sheriff’s deputy and Mary became a local legend forever after known as “Marywana Himes.”
The following is one of my Dad's bizarre stories from growing up, the one I am making him write for Meigs County Stories. It is the story about a mysterious herb, "Wackey Tabackey," and a weird old lady who went off the deep end.
In the summer of 1953, Syracuse, Ohio was a small rural river town with a population of about 650 people and a slew of mangy dogs.
Just two years earlier it had reached a milestone in its march into the modern world, its dirt and gravel streets had been “chipped and sealed.” Not much ever happened there. The most exciting event in years was when Mayor Harvey “Longbelly” Tunner caught his foreskin in his fly when taking a leak out behind the Baptist’s annual tent meeting.
Mary Himen was born there, and had not been more than fifty miles away in all of her thirty eight years. As a child, she was shy and introverted, but by adulthood had acquired a reputation as an individualist with a wackey tilt. Following the death of her parents, she became—to use the vernacular of one old timer—“as kooky as a left handed crank shaft.”
By late summer of 1953, Mary had taken to closing herself into her parents house and not emerging for days on end. No one knew what went on in there, however, after the “incident” was over it took several pickup truck loads to haul away the empty tin cans, wine bottles and her leftover stash of “Wackey Tabacky.” Marijuana made her horny as hell.
Marijuana was not well known in that part of Ohio in 1953. However, in looking back I realize it not only grew there, it was extremely prolific. We simply did not recognize it. We call it “pigweed” because it flourished in the wet muddy areas around pig sties. As a young kid who worked summers on the farm, I hated the stuff. It was a hot, dirty, never ending job to keep it cut down and burned. The smoke had a very distinct smell, years later, this forgotten smell would trigger a flood of memories rushing back into my consciousness. I was a young fireman in a drug recognition class. The instructor burned some marijuana acquaint us with the smell and I instantly recognized the smell of “pigweed.”
It was a hot lazy summer day in early August. Roy “Rabbit” Swift (the nickname resulting from his sexual tendencies) had returned a few days earlier from a two year hitch in the army. Early that morning while looking for something to occupy himself, he chanced upon Mary and they promptly settled into her house for the day. They spent the morning “smoking and jokin” and passing the bottle, and by noontime Mary was hotter than a Mexican taco. The action became hot and heavy, but just two steps out of the starting blocks, Rabbit went down in flames. Mary flipped. Grabbing her father’s shotgun and quickly loading it, she directed a few blasts in Rabbit’s direction as he beat a hasty retreat out the back door. The shots did very little damage, however, they did prompt a call to the county sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Henry “Stubby” Miles and his Chief Deputy Matthew “Misery” Ducker were in the cell area playing poker with a couple of the prisoners. They immediately sprang into action. Grabbing the radio mike, Stubby dispatched his two Deputies, Bill “Bug Dust” Barellie and Dexter “Crackerbelly” Betz to the scene.
By the time they arrived, Mary had climbed about halfway up the hillside behind the house to a deserted chicken coop and had barricaded herself inside.
Syracuse is fondly described by the local residents as being “four miles long and just as far back as you can see.” which was two blocks. The town is perched snugly between the river bank and the steep slope of a high hill. It just two short blocks from the riverbank to State Route 124 which is carved into the hillside along the northern edge, and in the area of the Mary’s house a concrete wall about five feet high had been constructed hold back the hill. Her house is located on a sloping lot which begins at the top of the wall and extends back to about halfway up the side of the hill. The chicken coop is located at the back edge of the lot at an elevation of about three hundred feet above the highway.
When the deputies drove up, Mary blasted a round in their general direction. They dove out of the cruiser and took shelter behind the wall. Bug Dust, who had grown up with Mary decided to talk her down.
He stuck his head up over the top of the wall and appealed to her as a childhood friend to lay down her gun. Her reply was both immediate and to the point. The buckshot tore up the sod about six feet in front of Bug Dust’s face covering it with dirt and chewed up pieces of grass. With that, they decided that a call for reinforcements would be both proper and prudent.
Stubby and Misery arrived about twenty minutes later and joined the two deputies behind the wall. Stubby wasted no time, and after quickly accessing the situation, took decisive action. He called out the local Syracuse Volunteer Fire Department whose station was located a block away. Being the middle of the day, the alarm was answered by two retired farmers, the local minister and four housewives. They decided to remain in the station house and see what developed.
What developed was nothing much. Every now and then one of the deputies would peek up over the wall and this would immediately elicit a shotgun blast from Mary. It appeared to be a standoff. The sun was climbing higher in the sky and what little shade there was had since disappeared. The four law officers were sweating and cursing; the volunteer fire department was getting bored, a small crowd of onlookers were gathering and then the two prisoners showed up. Stubby and Misery had left in such a hurry they forgot to lock the cell door. The two prisoners, curious about what was happening, had decided to hitchhike the seven miles to the scene where they promptly joined the deputies behind the wall. At this point, Stubby once again sprang into action—he called for assistance from the two neighboring counties.
By the time additional help arrived, the local Ladies Aid Society, assisted by members of the Garden Club, were preparing sandwiches and cold drinks and had the two prisoners running them up to the wall. The situation was becoming desperate. Finally, a plan of action was agreed upon.
Heavy brush and rocks located just below and to the right of the chicken coop would provide good cover. Misery would crawl from behind the wall using a drainage ditch and make his way up and around an adjacent house. After going around the house he would then sneak into the heavy cover and creep undetected up to the front of the chicken coop. This was accomplished without incident, however, Misery then discovered that the coop was raised about two feet off the ground and that he could only see Mary’s legs. He couldn’t continue without being detected and retreat was out of the question as a hundred pair of eyes were focused upon him and with each passing minute he could feel the pressure mounting. He was sweating profusely, and struggling to control the panic welling up within him. He had to do something. Finally, frustration prevailed. He drew his service revolver, took aim and shot Mary in the left knee cap.
With this development, the local fire department sprang into action. They rolled both pumpers and their ambulance. What followed was a rescue operation of epic proportion. When it was over, Misery was a local hero, the fire department had generated a run report for the year and Mary had been safely deposited in the State Mental Hospital.
Misery went on to become to become a well known county sheriff’s deputy and Mary became a local legend forever after known as “Marywana Himes.”
