Valley Days

Lately my sister and I have been in blog contact with some fellow "Smith Valley-ians", and the chatter has conjured up a ton of memories from the days we lived in Smith Valley. One of the places they mentioned was "Effie's". Effie was a sweet little old lady that lived in the heart of Smith Valley in one of the older houses on Old Smith Valley Road. Out of her house, she ran "Effie's Variety Store". There were two rooms in the store; the first room had a counter full of candy bars. That's what attracted all of the kids from "The Valley". If you had a nickel in your hand, you had to go to Effie's to buy a candy bar.

I think this house is the one that used to be Effie's. If I'm wrong, hopefully a fellow Smith Valley-ian will let me know.

Very close to Effie's...maybe even next door...lived an older woman that had three thumbs. Her right thumb had a smaller, but perfect, thumb attached to it. She kept it perfectly manicured, just like her other two thumbs. Any time one of us kids had a reason to visit her, whether it was Halloween or selling something from the school, we made sure we hit her house so we could see her third thumb. It seems like she always bought whatever we were selling.

You would think she would've had the thing amputated years ago, but I supposed if I had something as cool as a third thumb, I'd have kept it too. I wonder if she had to pay more for a manicure since it involved 11 digits instead of 10. But back then, people weren't so concerned about themselves that they felt the need to spend $50 for a manicure job.

We had friends that lived in the heart of the valley--the Goodwins, the Branhams. Then there were the Watermans--not friends, but not enemies either. One of the Waterman boys was maybe a year or two older than me and always wore cool Dingo boots. When he got on Harry's school bus, he sauntered on and even had a cool way of sitting on the bus. It takes a cool guy to invent a cool way to sit on a school bus. He was a "Fonzie" kind of guy, for sure. The younger Waterman boy was quite a pistol.

Farther "up" the valley was the EUB church. Our neighbor "Ode" went to church there. I was good friends with Vicki, who's father was the minister there during high school. Nice people.


At the end of Old Smith Valley Road where it intersected with Morgantown Road, was the Beehive Restaurant. When we had enough money for a Chocola, we walked to the Beehive. Chocolas were great drinks on a hot summer day, but the best reason for getting a Chocola was to watch the owner, Ron, shake the drink by bouncing it on his biceps. Those were the days of glass bottles--not cans--and you had to shake the drink to mix the chocolate syrup. Ron's mom owned the restaurant as well. I can see her face, but can't quite remember her name. Maybe it'll come to me before I finish this story. Oh, wait. I'm pretty sure her name was Doris.


Coming back home from the Beehive, we usually stopped in at the Community Center to play on the playground equipment. With any luck, we never ran into the "Valley Gang" during one of our valley trips. I'm not sure what they called themselves--it was just a group of valley boys, and I think one of the Watermans was included. The Valley Gang liked to ride around on their bicycles and when they saw a car coming, they would block the road and not let the car through.

The gang tried this once with my mom. Little did they know Mom's old car was equipped with diesel horns that could rip the eardrums right out of your ear canals. So just north of the old iron bridge on Paddock Road, the gang blocked Mom's car. Heck, Mom had four little hoodlums herself. Did they think THAT was going to instill fear into her? Mom slowly brought the car right up to the boys. She got real close, and then blasted them with the diesel horn! Those boys were falling all over themselves trying to get the heck out of the way!

I don't think they messed with her any more.

There was a very interesting man that lived in the Smith Valley area. I never knew his name, but he was always dressed in a black suit and flat, wide-brimmed black hat. He looked like he just stepped out of the old west. We always called him "Bat Masterson". I never heard of him hurting anyone; I think he was a little strange, but harmless.

Then there was the creepy old coot that lived in the house at the corner of Old Smith Valley Road and our road, Paddock. Somehow we always knew we needed to stay away from him. I'm not sure what the rest of the valley called him, but we called him "Old Man Stayton".

One day, my brothers and I were playing hide and seek on a foggy day. Mike and I were hiding, and Mark was looking for us. I'm not sure where Mark was, but it seems like he was up in a tree. Out of the fog, Mike and I could see Old Man Stayton walking towards the bridge next to our land. We did not want to be in the area when Old Man Stayton got to the bridge, so we hid in a ditch. We had a vantage point where we could see the old man, but he couldn't see us.

Mark couldn't see much of anything from his vantage point. He knew Mike and I were hiding and he couldn't find us. He did not know Old Man Stayton was walking our way. Stayton walked to the middle of the bridge, stopped, and watched the creek for a few minutes. Then he turned towards his house and began walking back home. Like I said, Mark didn't know Old Man Stayton was there, but he decided to try to lure us out of our hiding spot. So very loudly Mark said, "Mon Dieu! Come back!" Old Man Stayton turned around and looked to see who was calling to him!

Not seeing anyone, he again turned and headed for home. Again, Mark yelled, "Mon Dieu! Come back!". Again, the old coot turned around. Mike and I were about to split a gut trying to keep from laughing out loud. Every time Stayton turned and started walking away, Mark would bellow out his semi-French "Mon Dieu! Come back!". The timing was impeccable. The old man finally gave up and eventually disappeared back into the fog.

Then there was the very eccentric Mary Sutton who lived up the road from us. When Mary could still drive, she was a frequent visitor to our place. Mary deserves an entire story, so I'll save her for a later time. And all I've got to say about that is...

"Mon Dieu! Come back!"