I don't know whether it's me or if times have changed but I remember growing up we had several "Characters" in our community. These were nice people and most of them were certainly memorable. We use the term "Characters," not to offend but to distinguish them from everyday people. Some were characters because of a disability and there weren't many government handouts in those days so they had to support themselves on the streets. Others were people who just "marched to the beat of a different drum," as the old saying goes.
Some that come to mind are Cash Miller (a street preacher), Walter Creager (a victim of Cerebral Palsy who sold pencils everyday), Rabbit Franklin, Wilbur Wheeldon, James Howerton (who counted cars on Broad Street), Randy the Candy Man (who sold candy from a three wheeled Cushman scooter), Friday McDowell, Sam Gish, Virgil Byers and many, many others.
Walter Creager was my favorite. Most of you remember Walter selling pencils from a wagon on Broad Street in downtown Central City for years. Later, as he aged and First National Bank moved to their present location, Walter got promoted and sat in his wagon just inside the front door. He was loved by everyone (except Cash Miller, who felt Walter "took his prime spot" at the corner of First and Broad Streets).
Walter lived in Cleaton with his mother. Every day, pretty much regardless of weather, Walter would get up early, load up in his wagon (which weighed about 70 lbs.), push himself out to the road and hitch a ride (usually with Rev. Carl Pendley) to town. There he would spend the day selling pencils, greeting people (young children just loved him and he loved them). Walter was an astute political pundit in his day and was a Democrat and was quick to let you know it (most of his closest friends were Republicans).
I was a teller at First National Bank in those days and got to be pretty good friends with Walter. I was flattered because he trusted me enough to "cash in" his coins and smaller bills for larger ones and put them in his billfold in the bib of his famous overalls. Walter enjoyed gambling by betting a "Coke" on whose Coke bottle came from the farthest distance. The loser had to pay for the winner's Coke (big stakes, huh?). The bank had a coke machine in the break room that had the bottles "stacked" vertically in a row. They all looked alike with only the tops showing. There were probably about ten Cokes in this row. Walter would let you pick out the first one. Then he would signal "Yes" or "No" as you pointed to various bottles for the one he wished to select.
One day, I picked out my bottle and it was from Springfield, Missouri. I knew he'd have a hard time beating that one. What I didn't know was that the previous day when the Custodian, Harry Austin (father of George Austin who many of you know as a photographer for the Leader-News) filled the machine, he found a bottle from British Columbia. He went out front to tell Walter about it (he knew we'd be betting the next day) and Walter told him to place it in the bottom slot. He must have had a lot of confidence that I'd not pick a bottle from that slot (which I didn't).
Anyhow, when I started down the row, he kept shaking his head "No" until I got to the bottom. I slid the bottle out, popped the top off it, removed his plastic drinking straw from his bib overalls, inserted it in the bottle and handed it to him. He was grinning from ear to ear. I should have been suspicious because the bottle just didn't look right. Coke bottles had a "greenish" glaze to them but this one didn't....it was crystal clear. "Well, ol' Buddy," I told him, "You're in trouble.
My bottle is from Springfield, Missouri." "Check mine," he managed to mumble while grinning even larger. When he saw the look on my face as I checked the bottom of his bottle, he nearly tipped his wagon over, he was laughing so hard. "Pay up!" he laughed. He never told me he had Harry "loaded up" the machine in advance the previous day.
I miss those days and I miss Walter. He knew everyone and most everyone knew him. My Daddy told me years ago that the measurement of a man's success in this life isn't made by the number of people at his funeral but rather by who these people actually are. In other words, if a person died and mourners were Princes and Paupers alike, then you had to know this was a successful person who touched many lives. This was the case with Walter. At his funeral wake, hundreds of mourners paid their respects, everyone from bank presidents and community leaders to the less fortunate. He was buried in his signature bib overalls and his plastic drinking straw was in place. No person I have personally known influenced any more lives than him. I don't really know what ever happened to his last wagon (he wore out a couple of them) but if Central City ever builds a museum I hope someone finds it and puts it on display for all to see.
Nope, we just don't have "characters" like that around anymore!
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