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Uncle Bill Byerly’s false teeth Growing up on a small family farm in Davie County, we swapped tobacco primings with two other families during the 1940s and 1950s. As a young child, I was designated as a “hander” and worked dozens of days each summer in the shade with the women and children of the other families while the grown men pulled tobacco in the fields. It was here that many of the family’s culture, values, understandings and tribal stories developed. Three or four generations worked together with many of the old grandmas who had lost most of their teeth, and there was much talk about someday getting enough money to buy a set of false teeth. Interestingly, in this era, many of the older men had dental plates, but the women did not. My father’s 85-year-old uncle died around 1950, and I went to his estate sale with two quarters in my pocket hoping to buy a hot dog or barbeque sandwich. The auctioneer put Uncle Bill’s set of false teeth up for sale and no one bid on them. When the auctioneer asked if anyone wanted them for 25 cents, I forgot about the food and could not pass up this bargain, having heard the old women talk about false teeth costing $300 or $400. I could not believe my good fortune and ran the whole half-mile home to bask in my mother’s praise for the prudent, mature and valuable purchase. Her initial response, to my surprise, was to tell my daddy to immediately bury the set of teeth in the orchard. To her dying day, she never explained why she then chastised me for foolishness and wasting money. Sonny Koontz |
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