One of my professors told me that when he first moved to West Virginia, he was at a basketball game in Morgantown with some guys, including a recently graduated PhD from our illustrious program. At some point the recent PhD reached down and pulled a cup up to his lips and spit into the cup, at which point my professor noticed it was half full of brown tobacky juice. He said that the sight made him literally gag.
It made me reflect on my upbringing. I never thought that I had been branded very much by growing up in Hancock County, West Virginia, until the last seven or eight years. Now, every once in a while I'm reminded of its influence...like with the dippin'.
I never got into it myself. When I was about four years old and we lived in Wetzel County, I tried a bit of Mr. Edgell's chaw -- stringy tobacco from a pouch. Hated it, of course. I doubt many four year olds take to chewing tobacco, but if any did, it was probably up there on Doolin Ridge Road.
Snuff became hugely popular when I was in junior high in New Cumberland, and I would guess that snuff use there was about four or five times the national average. It developed into its own subculture. As I think back, it seems odd that twelve and thirteen year olds were so heavily using tobacco products, "catching a buzz" in the bus on the way to school, sneaking a dip in the back of class.
Their was also a bit of artistry to dippin'. Guys would get their cans out and tamp them. To do that, they held the cans between their thumb and middle finger and swung the can with their wrist, letting their index finger thump against it. All the snuff would pack against one side of the can. Then they would carefully pinch some out and stick it in their lip. I always thought they looked like assholes with their lower lip sticking out. Every once in a while when a guy hit the big time or when he was on a bender, you would see him with a ridiculously huge dip in, and usually a big grin on his stupid face.
They certainly left their fingerprints all over the school. I remember watching a guy spit on the floor of the bus and then run his foot back and forth over the spot to cleanse it. Or save up their spit until they either spat a huge, stringy bunch of juice onto the ground outside. The best, however, was the carefully crafted notebook-paper pouches secreted away in the inside pocket of their denim jackets. It was like a magic trick where a magician pours a gallon of milk into a newspaper cone. Instead, it was snuff juice into a coat pocket. The worst, however, was a pile of snuff and spit in the water fountain---especially if you absent-mindedly leaned toward the fountain before noticing it.
Then the junior high tried to shut it down. I'll save that tale for next time.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
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3 comments:
Snuff is still relevant in my life, maybe even moreso, as I notice brown globs on my technical drawings in the field my electricians are working on. Most recently, today, during a QA checkout procedure I was working on solo on a piece of equipment, I had to artfully make a tool from 1/4" Stainless tubing to fish a Copenagen lid from a critical piece of moving equipment, that would have otherwise destroyed the machine had I not noticed it. Also, there were actually ISO 9000 signs on trash cans in Brownwood reading, "DO NOT SPIT INTO TRASH"
I've got more to add, but I'll save it for later, or personal discussions over a dip.
Bud
I remember vividly the first time that I was really confronted with chew spit. Oh, sure, I knew what chewing tobacco was and I knew people spit. But I wasn't familiar with the spit. I think the guy's name was Ab Shirtliff, he was some stray who, with the benefit of hindsight, wanted to have sex with my mother and was a helluva a woodworker. He was in our house in New Martinsville doing some woodworking, I was probably six, and I went into the bathroom and was horrified to see in the toilet what I thought was the most foul diarrhea ever encountered and while I stood there, too sick to turn away, Ab came in AND SPIT IN MORE! The man was pooping OUT OF HIS MOUTH! Of course, as a kid, after being nearly transported with disgust, I wondered if this would happen to me. Was this an adult thing? Naturally, I kept this nightmare to myself and figured out later that was not the case.
In Mt. Lebanon, there was a snuff craze in seventh and eighth grade, the same kids who did that thing where you choke yourself and pass out. Man, I did not like it when people did that. Cutting off your air just seems like a bad idea. I wonder if those guys are into auto-erotic asphyxiation.
This might be a bit serious for this topic, but I've also noticed that I have a real "it's their business" feeling about children. I saw kids getting the tar whaled out of them and learned to just look the other way. Who knew what was going on in that family. Now, I don't think I was around anything more than a licking, certainly no abuse, but now I don't know if I would make it my business to find out what was going on if I saw something like that. I wasn't a kid, but I remember in the St. Clairsville mall seeing some kids getting really manhandled and it didn't bother me. It wasn't like they were getting hurt.
I'm always arguing that there are more hillbillies in the immediate vicinity of Pittsburgh than in all of West Virginia. I might be a little full of it, but we had those big dumb kids who chewed during school and I had seen all that stuff you mentioned, even in my big city school.
Did you try chew when you were four without puking? You are super cool, Lou.
Ah, dippin'. This entry made me recall one of my favorite stories and one observation:
During one of the many summers at Atwood lake Mikey was hanging out more than usual. Mikey was the half brother of two of the girls that ran around in a group of people we know. Mikey was about 15 and I was probably 13 or 14. One day, a group of us were riding our bikes to the marina (maybe a 3 or 4 mile bike ride, half through the woods). Once there, Mikey bought some dip at the marina (can't remember his brand). That was probably one of my first face to face meetings with dip. Needless to say, I don't think I actually used any - but don't think: David that is a really lame story. I know. The purpose was to set up the real story.
Fast forward a year or two later. I was hanging out in New Philidelphia, OH. NOTE: New Philly, is the shittiest city on the face of the earth. It has zero redeeming qualities.
Me and my two sisters (I think) were at Mikey's house with his two half sisters and their half brother (who I guess is also Mikey's half brother but in a different set of breeding circumstances). I think Mikey's sister was there also. Anyhow, all the grown ups were out doing something and we were all running about the house. Mikey lived in the basement which as I recall was not even finished. It was just cinder block and bare cememt with some throw rugs. He didn't even get the whole thing, just a corner of it. He was probably 16 or 17 at the time. We went down there and he showed me his prized possesion: A pyramid built out of Skoal cans. It was impressive, maybe 50 cans at least. We spent a moment of silence as we both basked in it's glory.
Damn, Mikey liked dip.
Now my observation: The true hard core dipper's can swallow it if a can or styrofoam cup is not available.
Another observation: My Dad was into Skoal Bandits for a short while.
Yet another observatoin: Two of my friends that I know about still dip: One hails from Boardman, OH and the other from Latrobe, PA.
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