ENTRY #38: A FAMILY LEGEND

Picture a man older than sin. Now picture that person in overalls with a cigarette hanging out his mouth; mix in a shotgun, a big scary house, and dogs . . . lots of maniacal dogs. Add them together and you get the cruelest, most ruthless villain to ever take part in the history of the Stone family: Andy Anderson.

The name Anderson sends chills up and down the spines of all the Stone family progenitors. He was without doubt the oldest, most callous man alive. No one knew what his secret to longevity was. The word on the street was that he had made a pact with the Devil. We didn’t know, but anyone that mean had to be somehow related to the devil . . . a distant cousin, maybe.
He was ugly enough to make paint peel and more ill tempered than a badger on a bad day. The lips covering his toothless mouth were carved permanently downward, as if gravity were the cause of his eternal frown. Beady, bloodshot eyes darted back and forth in his bony face, and the only thing blacker than the soot on his unwashed hands was the freezing piece of coal in his chest where his heart should have been.

Anderson derived some kind of sadistic pleasure from making other’s lives miserable. He would leave his water on to flood my grandparent’s house, curse and swear at my grandma as she worked in the garden, and hide in the shadows of his porch pointing his shotgun at us while we played outside. Then, he would laugh—an insane, raspy sort of laugh that sounded as if he were choking.

The only person I knew that wasn’t intimidated by Anderson was Jason. Jason was my cousin and best friend; he was also the toughest kid I knew. Reared on a farm in Hooper, Utah, his entire life he had bailed hay, roped cattle, and rode horses. He was a force to be reckoned with, even at such a young age. Nothing and no one could scare Jason.

One hot summer afternoon, the entire family was having a BBQ in my grandparent’s backyard. In the waning sunlight Jason pulled out his new treasure: a real leather football. It smelled wonderful, and immediately we were getting ready to play catch.
It was common knowledge there was an inherent risk to playing catch in that backyard. Countless Frisbees, footballs, soccer balls, and other “throwable” items were lost over the barbed-wire fence separating Anderson’s yard from my grandparent’s. Once over the fence, they were gone forever—dog fodder, as my Dad used to say.

To make matters worse, those who dared to take one step in Anderson’s yard were faced with certain death: either he’d sick his ferocious animals on you or he’d get the shotgun. No one was certain how many children had died trying to retrieve their toys, but we were all sure that the number was in the hundreds. Even with this knowledge, the mere thought of tossing the “ol’ pigskin” around was far too much temptation for two young boys to handle. The game was on.

Oh! Those first few throws felt glorious! The leather was so soft; the spirals so perfect! It felt like throwing a nice, soft—
What? A hail-Mary pass? Are you sure? It’s fourth and eight with only ten seconds on the clock? Maybe you should throw it— You want me to? Me? How ‘bout I run, and you throw— Ok. I’ll throw. Ready? DOWN . . . SET . . . HIKE!

Jason shot into motion and I dropped back a few steps preparing to pass. The invisible defense was coming at us hard; I was almost sacked at the line of scrimmage and Jason was forced to run a new route: instead of turning towards the plum tree, he veered left towards the barbed-wire fence. Just at that moment, the invisible defensive-end hit me hard, causing me to throw off balance. Like a wounded duck, the pass slowly lifted in the air, wobbled a little, then dropped smack dab in the middle of Anderson’s backyard.

We looked on in horror, knowing that any moment a pack of rabid wolf-dogs would come charging out and destroy Jason’s beautiful new ball. Then he did the unthinkable—he jumped the fence. Now, I stood alone looking on in horror, knowing that any moment a pack of rabid wolf-dogs would come charging out and eat my cousin.

Jason was frantically looking through the tall weeds to find the ball. At that very moment, the bloodcurdling bark of an infuriated canine shattered the evening stillness. With no time to lose, Jason grabbed his ball and leapt for the fence.
The barking drew closer.

I frantically looked for the dog, but I couldn’t see. Sweat was in my eyes and my heart was beating too fast. Jason’s face reflected pure and utter terror. He rushed to the fence, threw the ball over, and—

My dad came out from hiding. With tears of laughter streaming from his eyes, he said, “I’ve never seen two boys move so fast!” The rabid dog was my father.

Jason scrambled over the fence, then stood there looking happy to be alive. Even though we didn’t see a clash of the titans between Jason and Anderson, that day will forever be etched in history. That was the day the myths were proven wrong. That was the day the “idea” of Anderson was shattered. Jason may not have stood face-to-face with the meanest man alive, but he did what no other child had ever done. He had entered Anderson’s yard and made it back alive—unscathed, even. From that time forth, Jason became the only child we knew of that had successfully entered the yard of the cruelest, most ruthless villain to ever take part in the history of the Stone family, and lived to tell about it.