Kutztown University - Keystonia Yearbook (Kutztown, PA)

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Yessir. It took a little moren a month for Cody Kinkaid to get on big Jack's nerves. They were both powerful loggers. But Cody would keep track of Jack's doings, then top 'im by one. He would split one more log, or top one more tree, or even eat one more plate of stew for dinner. At first Jack didn't take much notice. But right before we'd hit the hay, Cody'd always let him know he'd been topped; just so lack could think about it during the night. By the end of August there weren't two better producin loggers in the whole Northwest. Those boys musta cleared fifty acres that month. And Cody was always one up on Jack. The final straw came on a Saturday night. Monday we was supposed to start the logs down the river to Astoria. That night we was in Mist, drinkin in the back room of the old Paul B. Hotel. Jack was lookin for his gal Annie. They'd been seein each other for awhile. Jack was even talkin about marryin her. But she weren't there that night, and nobody'd seen hide or hair of er. All of a sudden Cody Kinkaid walks in with Annie hang- in on his arm pretty as ya please. Jack sees this and goes wild. He grabs Annie and chucks er half accrost the room. She musta had too much to drink cause she comes chargin back like a she-cat in heat screamin about her right to do anything she damn well pleases. Jack looks at er kinda funny, then knocks er out with a short punch. This throws the place into an uproar. Jack starts movin in on Cody. But Cody raises his hand like he's stoppin a train and says, Wow hold on Jack Rivers! You better use your head. If the two of us starts fightin we'll look like we walked into a bear's cave wearin pork chop suits. And if we's both bashed up we mightn't be able to get them logs up to Astoria on time and lose out on a lotta dough. Now I don't know about you, but I spect you can use the money as much as l can.' That's a plain fact Cody, but you and me can't keep on this way. I aim to settle this ator we float them logs' 'Fair enough,' states Cody, but I say we do it so's we don't get our heads busted open.' 18 'Name yer poison.' lWell bub, how does a fartin contest sound to ya?! tA fartin contest! What the hell's a fartin contest? 'Now listen. We go in the cabin and set down. We get Cookie to whip up a messa beans. We eat the beans and drink home brew till we start fartin. Then the first one who leaves, Ioses.' What it we both stay?! 'Then the boys will judge the loudest fart! 'What does the winner get? 'Well let's say the loser leaves camp and gives up his claim of the timber money to the winner.' 'Agreed Cody Kinkaid.' Shake on it lack Rivers!' The two giants shook hands and sat down for a beer. The rest of the loggers went crazy. Since he was a God fearin man, Preacher Montee was gonna hold the bets. The old Paul B. never saw such shenanigans. The loggers couldn't decide who the hell to bet on. Preacher Montee kept enterin everybody's bets in a big black book and puttin the money in a brown mail sack. Annie woke up after a time and staggered to the bar. She stared at the two men sittin calm as could be in the middle of the hubbub, shook her head, and went upstairs. Jack wanted to go up to her, but he had to keep an eye on Cody. And Cody just sat and drank. tl'll never forget that morning as long as I live. It was one of them clear dawns that turn into a scorcher of a day. Cookie had a fine break- fast of ham and eggs waitin for us. Afterward Preacher Montee said a stirrin sermon on honesty. He knew what he was talkin about, the skunk. Bout eleven Cookie took a big bowl of beans into the cabin. Cody and lack locked themselves in and commenced to eatin. The rest of the log- gers was peerin through the closed windows tryin to see what was hap- penin.

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Going by bus down US. 101 from Portland to San Fransicso is no joy ride. It is a cheap whistle stop way that takes at least twenty hours. Sometimes you can make it faster by thumb, but it's too cold now. An old bum got on in Newburg, I tried to hide behind my copy of Rolling Stone, but he crowded in beside me anyway. He was wearing a gray wool overcoat that heId at least twenty different wine smells; all 99 It a gallon. Wanna drink? he said after we were moving. No man, I don't drink. That's too bad, bub. Just too bad. Yeah, I said, hopefully ending the conversation. About a mile later the bus hit a bump and some wine spilled on my jeans. You old fart! Man, why were you allowed on this bus with that shit? Driver! Driver! But it was no use complaining. The driver wouldn't answer. I wasn't riding the luxury express. Old fart! the old fart said, settling in between me and the aisle. That reminds me of a story. Happened back in July of '29. It seems we was sittin around one hot night, playin cards and drinkin home brew, when the door to the cabin crashes open and in steps the onriest lookin fella we ever set eyes on. I'm Cody Kincaid,' says he, 'I've rode more logs, cut more trees, split more rails, screwed more gals, drank more whiskey, and had more teeth knocked out than the whole damn packa ya! I just hired on in this camp, an I wanna know who fills the biggest cork boots round here? Who's the Ace of Axes?' We just sat and stared at im. The speech he just made wasn't exactly the kind ya make friends with. But when ya took a good look at Cody Kin- caid, with his barrel chest and tree trunk arms, ya decided to stay on his good side. He was probably all he said he was, and more. After a few minutes, Preacher Montee, a book-Iearned bastard of a skunk, says to im, 'Well Mr. Kincaid. I guess you want Jack Rivers. Yep, he's the one. He's the Ace of Axes rou nd here.' 'Where do I find this Rivers?' asks Cody. 'Right there,' says Mac Duncan pointin to the end of the table. Jack was sittin there hoidin a full house. He wanted to start the game again cause there was a lot ridin in the kitty. Jackywas a quiet man, didn't rile too easily. But if you put im in a corner, all hell would break loose. He was one helluva logger. He could hit the knot on a pine tree from fifty yards with an axe. One time, back un '25, he was ridin some logs up the Columbia to Astoria when he got caught in some fast rapids. He went through em slikker'n a greased pig on fair day. Hardly got his boots wet. Now he was watchin like a salmon eyes a bear as the red-headed tornado, Cody Kinkaid, headed towards im. 'You Jack Rivers?' asks Cody. 'That's right. What kin I do fer ya?' 'l'm Cody Kinkaid, and I aim to become the Ace of Axes around here. That is it'n you don't mind.' 'Well,' says Jack, 'if ya kin axe and split and use the pike as loud as ya talk, ya should have no trouble at all becomin the Ace of Axes! We spoke Jack Rivers! Shake!' It Cody had any funny business up his sleeve, it was alI gone when Jack stock up. Cody didn't realize how huge his new opponent was. Jack was like a sequoia with black leaves. He was easily a head taller than Cody though not as wide. He took Cody's hand, shook it heartily, and sat back down to his cards. Cody threw his gear on an empty bunk and sat down next to Jack and said, tDeal me in next hand. I feel lucky.' Here the old man stopped and took a great swig from the brown paper bag. When he turned back to me it was with a great deal of self-esteem.

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A coupla hours later it got stinkin hot. The boys was restin in the shade waitin for the fartin to start. Preacher Montee, who was watchin at the window, gave a yell for everyone to come runnin. Cody Kinkaid had let the first one rip. It was a long low fart that just eased out. Jack Rivers didn't even put down his glass. A coupla minutes later Jack lifts his leg and lets out a short explosion. Cody looks at im like he was a flea on a mountain lion. The farts went back and forth like that for about an hour. The loggers were driftin away agin when a shout from Mac Duncan brings em runnin back. Cody Kinkaid was buildin a big one. His face was skrunched up in a God awful way. He was huffin and putfin like a steam engine. When the tart finally came, it echoed through the forest. BMAMAAAARRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOoooooommmmmm. Jack looked like he was gonna die. Then he cut loose a small one. BEEEEEERRRRup- rup-rup. 'You better do moren that Jack boy.' says Cody. tlt still smells like roses in here.' Then Cody and Jack both screwed up their faces in a fierce try to fart out the grandaddy of them all. They was gruntin and groanin and holdin and moanin. Then Jack relaxed and just sat there like he didn't have a care in the world. Cody looked like a sure winner. He was really workin up a sweat. He was tryin to build a fart that would stink up the moon. It took all his strength to hold that fart back. But finally he was ready to poleax Jack Rivers right between the eyes. tt 'Get ready ya lousy bastard! Here it comes!' Cody gave a bull-bellow and the tart crashed to the floor. It bounced against the sides of the cabin and almost blew out the windows. The woods shook with a roar. It was the loudest damn thing I'd ever heard. BACH-a-RRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMrPOOOOO- OMMMMMM-poooommm-poom. Jack Rivers just sat there. Cody looked at him in disbelief. Their eyes were watering, and Cody was breathing through his mouth while Jack just sat. Jack heaved a little sigh, then smiled. Cody looked at Jack again, shook his head, and started to draw a deep breath for the next try. When he got to the top of the breath his face turned white. His eyes shot back over to Jack who was just sittin and grinnin like a big old pole cat. Cody jumped up and started for the door shouting, 'YOU BASTARD! YOU SNEAKIN FREAKIN BASTARD! I HOPE YOU ROTl' Cody smashed through the door and disappeared into the woods. That was the last I ever saw of im. Heard he died in jail down in Salem back in '55. But ya can't be too sure about these things. Anyway lack comes walkin out grinnin from ear to ear. The loggers was clappin and cheerin tor im; even the ones who bet against im. Someone called for Preacher Montee to get the book and settle the bets. But he was no- wheres to be found. All the stuff was gone. So was the mail pouch. The rat bastard had taken off with all the dough. 'tYessir. Jack Rivers was the Ace of Axes again. He got a new nickname after that day. Up and down the Columbia he was known as Jack Rivers; the Knave of Farts. The bus was stopping at Reedsport. The old man gathered his bottle and started to leave. l'Thanks for the story old man. I really dug it. But Jack Rivers, what- ever happened to him? Welp bub, you figger it out and let me know the next time ya see me. With that the old man shuffled off the bus. As soon as the door closed a odorous gas mixed with, then overcame the warm air of the bus heater. It was rising from the seat next to me. People were wrinkling their noses and looking my way. I sat with a rigid shiteating grin plastered on my face and disappeared behind my Rolling Stone. 19