Musings about Braidwood Ghosts

“There may be no secrets in small towns, but there are no strangers either.” 

R. A. Mathis

Where did they go?

They lived in our town and we knew all of them, either by nicknames or where they lived. Lower Braidwood, downtown, or the East side. Near the high school or near the church. Where are they now? The people and the places?

They worked at the macaroni factory, the pants factory, the Arsenal, Personal Products, Macaroni Factory, paper mill, the mine, or Clover Farm.  Worshipped at one of the churches, sipped beer at one of the many taverns, and visited the post office daily. Sometimes we knew their real names, but often not.  They had earned, or been assigned, names that had special meanings that only a few of us can recall.

Most have passed on, taking memories with them.  Only engravings on marble markers identify them, mostly without names by which we knew them. Did they like their nicknames? How did they get them? Did it matter?

Can’t get that information now, since they took that with them to the grave or elsewhere.

So, the one-time coal town, a member of the coal valley towns to the east, south, and west, is now silent about a generation of town characters.  Their nicknames may be remembered by the few who would recognize them as real people, not just the characters that were represented. Every small town has its own list of nicknames like those below.

Buddy, Barney, and Bluey;
Cricket, Crabby, and Clue;
Bender and Bodie;
Stumpy and Soapy;
Andy and Joe were there, too.

Tofie, Tootie, and Toots;
Spitty, MJ, and Scoop,
Porky and lil Nancy,
Delores and Jackie;
Gertie, Axel, and Hook.

Jiggy, TJ, and Squeaky;
Petey, Johnny, and Keetsie;
Kako and Muck,
Yummy and Jook;
Swiss, Old Davey, and Lizzie

Guido, History, and Suzi,
Leaves me a little dizzy;
There were Dutch and Allie,
Sonny Boy and Scotty;
Pineapple, Spike, and Chippy.

“Small towns make up for their lack of people by having everyone be more interesting.”  Doris “Granny D” Haddock     

And then again…

Where are the stores where they worked and we bought things?
Where is the old post office with its foot-worn entrance?
Where are the saloons where they played cards and drank? 
The gas stations where they got gas and had coffee?
The restaurants where they ate and talked?
The pants factory during break time where they smoked and chatted on the sidewalk?

Did these places and people vanish like smoke?
Or did they just leave town? Into the foggy memories of the survivors?
Are they all gone? 
And the rumors, legends, gossip, and scandals? 
Which flew like birds in the air,
Droppings of falsehoods and slander.
Where whispers won over truth.
Are they gone too? Like the party lines?

“Their surnames may be written on marble;
Hidden from all but their kin.
No longer they sit at the barstool;
Their nicknames meant something back then.”

“The nice thing about living in a small town is that when you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does.”   Immanuel Kant