Bunker Hill

George Acuncius sold Chevys at the dealership in B.H. I think he had been doing that for a long time when I came to know him. I had bummed (an excellent term) around with his younger son Ted and later when his older son (Gary) come back from the Marines, him too. Both had gone to school in Gillespie so B.H folks from those days may not remember them. I recall a lot of stories about that bunch most of the funny ones would include George because stories about the boys probably wouldn’t be funny- interesting maybe but not funny. To this day I’m not sure any of them had a sense of humor (in my opinion). They were all characters and testosterone was in abundance. George didn’t always intend to be funny but he was a character and usually what I remember as funny actually was the outcome of in-family hostility or embarrassment. It was difficult for me to keep a straight face sometimes but due to their lack of humor I had to. They had a small ranch’ett East of B.H. on the North side of the Woodburn road. They all thought of themselves as cowboys and they were all more so than I. It takes a lot of background for me to tell a story, right? They had a champion quality cutting horse called “Big Red.” He was a little beyond prime but still very good. It was part of the routine to give Big Red a workout on Sunday afternoons just to keep him in shape. On one of those occasions Ted was on Big Red in the corral with a bunch goats. Goats being fine critters to use with a cutting horse because it seems they uniformly want to do just the opposite of what you want or you’d expect. Ted was not performing well in George’s opinion and George was not bashful about expressing his displeasure. Garry, George & I were sitting on a corral rail watching when George yelled at Ted “Let him (Big Red) take the lead he’s smarter than you are. This didn’t not sit well with Ted and some strong conversation extended across the corral concluding with George commanding him to bring that horse over to him and he’d show Ted how to do it. A good cutting horse, a good rider and a bunch of critters to herd can look like a choreographed performance of grace and coordination. George climbed in the saddle and gave just such a performance. George was not a young man but I don’t think he believed that yet. He rode that horse like it was a rodeo, leaning in the saddle without raining the horse or anything else. After a while he rode over the fence where we were sitting and threw the truck keys to Gary and told them both to get in that truck, go to the house and bring a case of beer. They obeyed, without the usual complaining etc. I’m sure it was the case of beer that influenced them. After they had crested the rise and were a ways away George said to me “come over and help me off this damn horse my hemorrhoids are killing me and I can’t get off it.” Now I surely couldn’t laugh at that moment but I have made up for that by laughing about it all these many years since, every time I think about it. I’ve told that story a lot and always end laughing myself - to a still audience. I can’t hear you laughing? I guess I did it again but thanks for listening cause I like telling it.

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