By Dean Jones, Carthage, TX
In memory of Stubby “Bobo” Jones, 07/11/95 – 02/10/10
When I was about 10 years old, I learned what a “dumb bull” was. This learning experience was courtesy of my grandfather. When one hears the words “dumb bull” all kinds of images pass through one’s mind. Images of a crazy cow or a brainless runaway bull passed through mine when I first heard the term.
Actually, a “dumb bull” is not a living creature at all. It is a simple device that works without electricity or electronics. It is a crude “sound effects” generator. The sound a dumb bull creates is almost guaranteed to stampede cattle, cure constipation in youngsters,
increase sales of ammunition in rural areas, as well as cause the switchboard of your local 911 operator to light up on a boring night in a small town! In short, a dumb bull is a practical joker device that will scare the living daylights out of anything that hears it. Dumb bulls were popular in the “good old days” of our grandparents in rural areas. Dumb bulls are also mentioned in The Foxfire Books.
By Suzan VanSandt Schnitzius
I wasn’t raised in the country but I was raised by two people who were. So, I guess I qualify for telling a tale here. This isn’t so much a tale about country life as it is my observance of the differences in country folks and city slickers.
I was a hairdresser for thirty years. I worked in Dallas, for twenty of those years and the other ten were spent doing hair in Carthage, Texas – the small country town where I was born, but had only lived for six months.
This post was submitted by Suzan VanSandt Schnitzius.
It must be hard on your morale when you think your radio program is reaching thousands of listeners over a several hundred mile area, and then to only get the same caller for every contest.
Just as Austin claims to be the *Live* Music “Capital of the World”, Carthage prides itself on being the “Natural Gas Capital of the World”. Appropriately, their radio station’s letters were (and still are) KGAS.
KGAS has always been a great station that served the area well, but one day, back in 1963, they became so frustrated by a little boy … er, uh, that is, me, that they finally had to beg me to let someone else call in to win some contests for a change.
This post was submitted by Mike Strong.