I lost at chess to Roy again.
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Will Croon and I visited his uncle Leman, the moonshiner and father of Buddy Lee and Ralston, after Thanksgiving when we were in the ninth grade. We’d been shooting rifles at tin cans at Will’s grandfather’s farm when the old man ran out of whiskey.
“Get over to Leman’s and bring me back sump’n to drink.”
That, of course, meant moonshine. He gave us two dollars and said, “Go find Leman and bring back two gallons.”
“Gramps, I ain’t sure if I can find my way back there,” Will said standing on the porch.
“It ain’t even nighttime. Git your a*s up there and if you get lost dur’n the day, don’t come back,” the old man told us.
“I’ve only been there once before,” Will complained.
“Once ain’t as good as twice, but it’s a heap better than never. I don’t susp
