Part two, Basket Socials
During the previous column, Houston County historian Sumner Sheldon described early 1900s basket socials – opportunities (or socially-accepted excuses) for rural folks to socialize as well as raise funds for the host school or church. But one such event was likely the longest lasting and surely the most memorable because it so drastically differed from the usual. Mabel (Mrs. Bud) Eglinton was teaching at the brick school at the foot of the Schauble Hill in Union Township when she announced a basket social on the last Friday of September.
When she invited Irvin Simpson to be the auctioneer, he quickly replied, “Sure, I’ll be there.” As described by former schoolmate Bud Eglinton, Irvin “had grown up alone. Poor little feller didn’t know how to play.” Evidently, on the evening of the basket social, no one had offered Simpson a buggy ride. “Big Irv,” having walked three to four miles over the hills, visited with a few fellows in the schoolyard before going to stand in the school doorway when the sinister spree started.
Among a usual large turnout was a bunch of about nine or 10 “young fellers,” who off to themselves, shared a bottle of booze. Only about half of them were familiar faces from Hokie, (Mound Prairie residents’ nickname for Hokah). The rest were strangers.
Was it pre-reckoned cruelty or merely a spur-of-the-inebriated-moment, misguided mistake? After standing around in a tight circle while enjoying the bottle of booze and meanwhile watching Irvin, the largest of the liquor swiggers, drained the last of the liquid, drove the cork back into the bottle with the heel of his hand and tossed the bottle over the fence before approaching at a run and jumping on Irvin’s back. All but one of the rowdies piled on top of Irvin in a heap on the floor.
The last ruffian to the door turned around and came back with a heavy, sharp shovel. He likely would have connected with someone’s head had not the the shovel hit the top of the door frame and threw him off balance. He was soon separated from the shovel and shoved back outside.
Meanwhile, the commotion continued inside. Babies were crying, youngsters were screaming and all the women cheering for Irvin. Amidst the mayhem, the men assembled just stood and watched, making no effort to come to Irvin’s aid. “Well, everybody knowed Irvin hadn’t never needed no help,” reminded Mabel the school marm.“Even a man good natured as Irvin would get awful mad havin’ a bunch of drunk fools on his back.”
Mabel continued, “Irvin struggled and fought until he was upright sitting flat on the floor. You had to see it to believe one man could do what Irvin did. He leaned forward with all those men hanging all over him, threw himself backward and at the same time swept those long arms out and freed himself in that one move. He rolled and threw those men away in all directions and Irvin was on his feet and his usual good natured self again. He laughed that big, slow, deep-chested laugh of his, cracked his big fists together over his head and exalted, “Now we’ll take ‘em by twos and threes.”
But the hoodlums had had enough and exited the edifice as quickly as possible. “Irvin, under a pile of men was one thing,” noted Mabel. “Irvin, on his feet, was something else.
Bud Eglinton, who had been outside, unable to get inside through the doorway, crowded with onlookers, experienced the melee only by what he could hear – “the yellin’ and bangin’ around inside the school.” But he was relieved when he heard Irvin laugh “that big slow laugh of his. Always started out with a loud “whuh, whuh,” then went downhill like he was running short of breath.”
About then, all the thugs thundered out through the doorway. “Woulda trampled down anybody that got in their way,” observed Bud. About half of them stopped in the schoolyard in a daze. Bud, knowing the best way to be rid of the ruffians, walked over and told them they should have have kept Irvin down. “You know what them big big fists can do. What are you gonna do when he comes out here lookin’ for you?” Not yet having considered that possibility, their mouths dropped open. Those troublemakers were not to be seen again that night.
Back inside, when the women and older girls realized the immensity of the heroic feat they had just witnessed, they converged on Irvin, hugging him and pounding him on the back, telling him how proud of him they were. It was reported that Irvin said that flock of females was a lot harder to get away from than the group of hooligans.
With all the commotion, there was no usual suppertime social. By the time things settled down, it was growing dark before Irvin began auctioning off a large supply of baskets. But there were plenty of eager buyers who were glad to pay top dollar with the hero of the evening being the auctioneer. All ate, laughed and visited until Mabel announced there was enough food left for everybody to help themselves for more. The dining and visiting continued until about 11 p.m.
“It seemed that people were so happy with the turn of events that they wanted to prolong their pleasure as long as possible,” concluded Mabel, who judged it to be the best basket social they ever had.
It was well past midnight by the time Bud arrived back in Hokah to return the borrowed horse and buggy. And then, he had a six-mile walk home to Mound Prairie with corn to husk the next day. “But, I never thought nothin’ of it,” he informed. “It was the common way we done things in them days.”
Sources: “Now and Then” newspaper columns by Sumner Sheldon, published November 6 and 13, 1986, by the Houston Gazette and Country Journal
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