Out of the Frying Pan

There's Codes in the Hills

Yep, there’s codes. This little story is about my Uncle Clayt. He was actually my Great Uncle, but we just called him Uncle Clayt (short for Clayton). He was raised in the old ways and lived them to the letter. He was the nicest man you could ever meet and one of the deadliest you could ever cross. By the end of this story, you’ll understand why we left the “Great” off of “Great Uncle.”

Over twenty years before I was even born, Uncle Clayt's daughter fell in love with a young man. This young man was city folk, not country, and not smart on the codes of the hills. It seems he and Uncle Clayt’s daughter went out on a date and the boyfriend didn’t bring her home until the next morning. Uncle Clayt was sitting on the front porch, waiting when they drove up in his big fancy car.

And this is what I was told by my uncle.

Uncle Clayt walked off the porch and before his daughter could say anything, he unloaded a forty-four into her boyfriend, killing him and splattering his blood all over her. Then he turned the gun on her and squeezed the trigger, but it was empty. She jumped out of the car and tried to run in hysterics but he caught up to her and pistol-whipped her. He broke her tailbone and left her for dead on the front lawn.

Uncle Clayt went back into the house and put his gun up. While his wife cowered in a corner with his other three kids, he turned around and went back out to the front porch and sat down. His wife told the oldest son to go out the back door and run and get some help. She looked out the window at the grisly scene, wanting to go and see if she could help her daughter, but was afraid to cross her husband’s path.

After a while, the sheriff showed up and took Uncle Clayt. They took his daughter to the hospital where she recovered, at least from her physical wounds. Uncle Clayt was sent to a prison farm in Georgia, which was ironic considering that all he ever did or wanted to do his whole life was work on a farm.

His wife died while he was there, so they released him to go home. His daughter caught wind of his impending homecoming and left never to return. As for Uncle Clayt, he considered his daughter as dead, as of that very day when he killed her boyfriend, and continued to think of her that way until the day he died.

Understandably, I watched my step carefully when I was around Uncle Clayt.