the Snake Killer

I haven't told a real "14th Street Story" in awhile, so since that is the premise of this blog, I probably need to play a little catch up.

There was a song back in the 60's called "The Snake".  I found a clip on YouTube in case you're interested.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_ZBqpEUbik  When I was a kid, we had a piano in the living room, and tons of sheet music.  I used to read the lyrics and sometimes try to pick out the tune on the keys.  Being the baby, my parents never made me and my youngest brother take lessons like the oldest four children.  I guess they were tired of making kids practice.  But, I developed a working knowledge of the piano and could pick out a tune if I really wanted to.  This song was like reading a story and I was so interested in what became of that poor woman who had been so nice to the snake.  I never considered any deeper meaning to the lyrics--I was about 10.  It was taken very literally.  Anyway, I finally got the tune and used to sing this to myself at the piano.  I think today is the first time I actually heard this recording of it.  It's much faster than I played it, but then again, I really couldn't play.  But the upbeat recording of it conveys a much different feeling than the sad vibe I always got from it.

But that's not really the story, it just reminded me of something else.  One Sunday, I was home with my mom, my brother and his friend Keith. It wasn't uncommon for us to either go home with a friend after church, or for the friend to come home with us.  Since we also had Sunday evening service, we just went back and made the exchange.  Sitting in the kitchen (I can't remember who noticed it first) we saw a snake!  It was a little garden snake, but still!  We were all terrified.  I was about six, and my brother and his friend were nine or ten.  A snake in the house!  A snake anywhere was terrifying, but in the house?  I don't know if we ever figured out how he got there, but I clearly remember how we got rid of it.  Keith decided that he would catch it, but my mom said no.  You know how that mom thing kicks in and suddenly you can handle situations that you've never found yourself in?  Remember that this was the 60's and we had books in the house...no computers, but actual books.  There were novels, Bibles, encyclopedias and dictionaries.  Really big dictionaries.  We had a big blue one--I'll never forget it.  It had the little index tabs that took you immediately to "abc" or "xyz".  That was the 1960's equivalent of a Google search.

Anyway, my point is that because we had books, we had weapons.  Weapons that could kill snakes, which we found out when my mom left the room briefly and returned with that blue dictionary.  The snake had slithered under the stove, but when it emerged, Mom was waiting.  BAM!  That dictionary hit it's target and that was the end of that snake.  Keith swept it into the dustpan and I honestly don't know if he put it in the garbage, the alley, or what.  I just know that the snake had left the building, and I had a story to share at school for the entire week. What became of the dictionary?  It was returned to the bookshelf.  I never shook the idea that it had snake residue on it.  Never. This is first time I've thought of that in a very long time.

To this day I fear snakes of any kind. Come to think of it, on my next trip to the thrift store, I might seek out a couple of old dictionaries.  Just to give myself a slight sense of security.  I don't think that pepper spray would work on a snake, but a dictionary wielded by a resourceful mom is a proven snake killer.