That was good.  Think we all have an Uncle Herold in our families?
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Phil Scovell" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, November 16, 2006 8:54 PM
Subject: Uncle Harold


> This is an oldie but a goodie.
>
> Phil.
>
>     Uncle Harold was one of my more unusual relatives.  He was
> married to one of my dad's sisters and was quite a character in
> more ways than one.
>
>     First of all, you never wanted to get into a car with Uncle
> Harold when he was the driver.  The man was right down dangerous.
> Fortunately, he did most of his driving in Wichita, Kansas where
> he lived.  I well remember, however, the few times he came to
> Iowa on vacations to visit.
>
>     After church one Sunday, I wanted to ride with my cousins
> back to the house.  We had taken two cars because there just
> wasn't enough room for all to ride in one car.  Since my cousins
> would be in Uncle Harold's car, I had to ride with him.  There
> was not a single time riding with Uncle Harold that something
> didn't happen and this time would be no different.  Most of the
> way home from church was on a new four lane road divided by a
> hump back concrete medium.  The medium was not made to drive over
> but it was possible to do so.  Driving over it, however, could
> easily do undercarriage damage to the car and you risk the
> possibility of getting high centered as well.
>
>     Sitting at the intersection, I knew what was about to
> happen.  Back in those days, however, children were taught to be
> quiet and never to advise an adult about anything.  So I watched,
> without any surprise, as Uncle Harold pulled out and began
> driving down the wrong side of the highway.  The car exploded
> with shouting and yelling and everything, but cursing, from
> everybody including the kids.  Uncle Harold was doing his share
> of yelling when he realized all the yelling was directed toward
> him and his driving.  "Get over on to the other side," his wife,
> Aunt Elsie yelled, who wasn't one bit better at driving than her
> husband.  Uncle Harold was yelling something about what a
> terrible way of building a highway and how stupid it was to
> construct the road in such a ridiculous manner.  Everyone, by
> this time, was yelling for him to get over to the other side
> before we got killed.  So he did.  Yep, he jerked the wheel to the
> right and drove right over the concrete medium.  There was a lot
> of bumping and grinding and scraping and screeching as metal and
> concrete ground together and the car tilted precariously as Uncle
> Harold was determined to manhandle the car over the obstacle come
> hell or high water.  As the car slid over, everyone slid to one
> side of the car and then back again as the wheels bounced down on
> the other side of the medium.  It was a miracle he hadn't ripped
> the oil pan right off.  Finally the yelling subsided and nothing
> could be heard but the children snickering in the back seat and
> Aunt Elsie and Uncle Harold arguing in the front seat.  Uncle
> Harold was still convinced they had constructed the highway
> incorrectly and he was saying so in a very loud manner.
>
>     Another time I recall riding with Uncle Harold was in
> Wichita.  It was raining so hard, you could hardly see the end of
> the car.  Uncle Harold was driving incredibly slow but it was
> probably because he couldn't see where he was going in the first
> place.  Hearing a car splashing its way through the street behind
> us, which was now almost a lake, I glanced over to see him pass
> us on the outside lane.  He wasn't speeding but was minding his
> own business.  All of the sudden, Uncle Harold began yelling and
> honking his horn and flashing his lights at the passing car.
> Aunt Elsie asked him what in the world was wrong?  Uncle Harold
> said, "Why, because he is passing me on the wrong side of the
> road, that's what's wrong."  Of course, no one bothered to tell
> Uncle Harold that the man couldn't have passed him on the other
> side of the street and the reason no one told him?  Because Uncle
> Harold was never wrong.
>
>     Another mode of transportation you were crazy to use when
> Uncle Harold was around was a boat.  Unfortunately, Uncle Harold
> loved to fish but fishing with this man in the same boat was
> absolutely nothing short of life threatening.  The first story I
> heard about Uncle Harold and a boat occurred before I was born.
>
>     My dad and mom when with Uncle Harold and Aunt Elsie to
> Canada.  My oldest sister was probably about 8 years old and
> remembers it quite well.  She said they were fishing in a huge
> lake.  My sister couldn't swim, by the way, so she was already a
> little apprehensive about being in the boat.
>
>     Suddenly, Uncle Harold had a strike.  He was reeling for all
> he was worth but the Canadian fish was smarter than Uncle Harold
> judge him to be.  Reversing his underwater course, he swam right
> under the boat.  Uncle Harold was furious when he saw his line
> pass under the boat.  Leaping to his feet, Uncle Harold began
> yelling at the fish and leaning far out over the edge of the boat
> to try and see where the fish had gone.  My sister grabbed and
> held on as my Uncle Fred, normally the meekness man you would
> ever meet, was yelling at the top of his lungs at Harold to get
> back in his seat because he was going to capsize the boat.    My
> sister said she watch the water coming up the side of the boat
> she was on until it was only an inch from the edge before Uncle
> Harold, snorting and bellowing, sat back down.  The fish was lost
> but the occupants of the boat were saved.
>
>     One day, my Uncle Fred, Uncle Harold, and I pulled the
> fishing boat out to the lake and launched it.  We motored out to
> our favorite spot, bated up and settled in for a comfortable
> afternoon of fishing.  Not with Uncle Harold it wouldn't be.
>
>     Uncle Harold had an unusual way of fishing.  His casting was
> always wild and if you didn't keep your eye on him ever second,
> you were likely to get hooked in the back of the head, knocked
> overboard by a wildly swinging oar, have a foot crushed by the
> anchor he was trying to toss over the side, or have your favorite
> fishing cap whisked off your head by a swinging fishing rod.  Oh,
> yes.  You best know how to swim real well, too, if you plan on
> being in a boat with Uncle Harold.
>
>     Uncle Harold would reel in and cast out more than I did even
> as a 10 year old kid.  In the earlier days, with the open string
> reels, he was forever getting backlashes and spending more of his
> time untangling his line in the reel than he did fishing.  Once
> they came out with newer reels, he was in hog heaven with all that
> casting and reeling.
>
>     One of his favorite things to do was to eyeball his bobber
> as if it were a living thing.  If there was the slightest of
> movement by the bobber, Uncle Harold would jerk backward on his
> rod, while he frantically began reeling, as if he had a 200 pound
> ocean leaping sailfish hooked on the other end.  As I said, this
> was a common practice by Uncle Harold.  Thus it is, I used to love
> watching Uncle Harold bobber instead of my own.
>
>     As we were fishing this particular day, I saw his bobber
> bounce once ever so slightly.  Uncle Harold gave a mighty jerk on
> his pole in hopes of snagging what he thought might have been a
> fish nibbling at his line.  He jerked the pole so hard, however,
> it loosened his reel and the second he began frantically reeling,
> the reel fell off the rod and began rolling around in the bottom
> of the boat along with all the rest of our fishing and boat gear;
> nylon string unraveling all along the way.  Uncle Harold
> immediately dove head first for his reel.  He was yelling and
> thrashing around in the bottom of the boat trying to locate his
> reel because he knew he had a whale on the other end of his line.
> A good fifteen minutes passed before he was able to reassemble his
> gear and reel in his line.  He had jerked his pole so hard, there
> wasn't even so much as a worm left on his hook.  Of course, Uncle
> Harold believed a wily fish had suck his worm right off and it had
> nothing to do with the way he always jerked his pole.
>
>     This same day of fishing with Uncle Harold is one I will
> never forget.  When Uncle Fred and I fished together in his boat,
> we always took it easy and if we didn't catch anything with an
> hour or so, we'd motor in to shore and go out to eat lunch or we
> would just buy a bottle of pop in order to get out of the hot sun
> for awhile.  Uncle Harold, on the other hand, took fishing much
> more seriously than that.  The way to fish, as far as he was
> concerned, was to get in the boat and stay in the boat until it
> was time to leave.  That was generally when you were so sunburned
> you could not be recognized as a member of the human race, when
> every square inch of skin itched from hundreds of mosquito bites,
> and when it was so dark, you couldn't see your hand in front of
> your face.  There was an exception to his rules of fishing,
> however, and that was when Uncle Harold had to use the bathroom
> and then we had to go right in to shore.
>
>     Uncle Fred and I got to taking a big three gallon bucket
> with us when we fished.  We would fill it with lake water and all
> the fish we caught, we put into the bucket.  The lake had lots of
> snapping turtles so we had learned the hard way by threading our
> fish on a stringer and hanging them over the side of the boat.
> There is nothing more disappointing to a fisherman than pulling
> up your string at the end of a good day of fishing, only to
> discover the turtles have eaten all but the heads of your fish.
>
>     We caught several fish this particular day and the bucket
> was full and situated in the middle of the bottom of the boat.
> Uncle Harold was seated in the middle of the boat, I was at the
> front, and Uncle Fred was back by the motor.  Catching a
> bluegill, I unhooked it and not wanting to risk striking Uncle
> Harold with my fish by tossing it passed him and trying to hit the
> bucket, I held out my fish to him and very politely said, "Uncle
> Harold, would you mind putting my fish in the bucket for me,
> please?"  He took one look at me and one look at the slimy fish
> and turned around and glanced down at the bucket which was
> immediately behind him.  Without laying down his pole, he reached
> back for the bucket of fish.  There must have been a good twenty
> fish in the bucket of water.  Water is supposed to weigh
> something like eight pounds per gallon so just the weight of the
> water alone, not including the weight of the bucket itself and
> the fish, was at least 24 pounds.  Did I mention Uncle Harold
> wasn't a very large or tall man?  He was actually quite scrawny.
> Fear gripped me when I realized what my crazy uncle was about to
> do.  Seizing the metal handle of the bucket, Uncle Harold began
> to lift.  Yes, indeed.  He was going to lift that heavy bucket of
> fish situated behind him and swing it over the seat upon which he
> sat in order to get the bucket out in front of him.  I knew it
> was never meant to be.  I let my eyes drop to Uncle Harold's feet
> as I heard him straining to get the bucket off the bottom of the
> boat.  Jerking his pole, as you recall, was his way of snagging
> nibbling fish and this was the same technique he employed in
> order to get the heavy bucket of water and fish free from the
> bottom of the boat.  He gave a mighty tugged, at first, and I saw
> his feet rise from the bottom of the boat about an inch.  I
> wanted to say something to him but as I said, in those days, we
> were taught never to give advice to our elders.  So I watched in
> helpless fascination as my poor Uncle Harold jerked and tugged at
> the heavy bucket of water.  His feet rose higher and higher.  I
> prayed silently it wouldn't happen but it did.  Since the bucket
> of water was not rising faster than Uncle Harold's feet, you can
> guess the rest.  I should, in retrospect, have reached out and
> grabbed Uncle Harold's feet as they rose faster and faster from
> the bottom of the boat but I found it impossible to believe
> anybody, in their right mind, would have attempted such an
> amazing feat of strength.  When Uncle Harold's feet got about as
> high as my head, he went over backwards into the bucket of fish,
> rolled over sideways, and began thrashing around violently in the
> bottom of the boat; trying to gain his balance.  The boat rocked
> and reeled dangerously from the desperate acrobatics of the
> desperate man.  I tried, I really did, my best not even to smile
> but it was simply impossible.  I laughed so hard at what I had
> just witnessed, I nearly fell out of the boat.  I watched my
> uncle regain his composure to the point he was able to climb back
> on to his seat.  No words passed between us as, this time, he
> took the fish from my trembling hand and tossed it into the
> bucket.  The show was far from over and I knew it was retribution
> time for me.  There would be a big price to pay for my
> disrespectful burst of childhood laughter.  It wasn't long in
> coming either.
>
>     I watched Uncle Harold straighten his hat upon his head,
> silently bate his hook, adjust his sinker and bobber, and cast
> out.  Soon he had a nice bluegill on the line and,
> uncharacteristically for him, he quietly reeled in his catch.
> Holding the fish high above the water at the end of his line, he
> began to swing his pole in my direction.  I knew it was coming
> but couldn't do much to avoid the inevitable.  When the wet
> wriggling fish smacked me up side the head, Uncle Harold calmly
> said, "Why, Phil.  Would you mind removing the fish from the hook
> for me."  I did as he requested and handed him the fish.  Nothing
> was said and finally the day was over and no one had been killed
> or drown.  A small blessing of the Lord.
>
>     Many years later, after I was married and had children of my
> own, my mom asked me to go with her to a family reunion.  We
> drove from Denver to Kingman, Kansas and my youngest sister came
> along.  It was fun seeing all of our cousins and aunts and uncles
> we hadn't seen for all those years.  Before leaving town,
> however, mom felt it important that we stop by and visit our
> dad's relatives before leaving the areas so we drove over to
> Wichita and made the rounds.
>
>     On the way to Uncle Harold and Aunt Elsie's home, I told my
> sister and mom the story I have just told.  I explained to them
> that Uncle Harold would, in fact, bring up this memorable event
> and I told them exactly how he would say it, too.
>
>     "Why, Phil.  Do you recollect that time you and me and your
> Uncle Freddy went a-fishin his boat and I fell backwards into the
> bottom of the boat?"
>
>     "Yes, Uncle Harold," I would reply, "I remember."
>
>     "And," he would continue as if he hadn't heard me,  "do you
> remember how I got back at you by smacking you upside the head
> with my fish at the end of my line?"
>
>     "Yes, Uncle Harold, I remember," I would reply.
>
>     He would then laugh and slap his knee and say, "Boy, that
> was a good one, wasn't it Phil?"
>
>     "Yes, Uncle Harold," I would reply, "it was a good one."
> Until my Uncle Harold died, this story was always told by him and
> how he got back at me.  He brought it up every single time I saw
> him.
>
>     My Uncle Fred sold his home on the edge of Wichita when he
> was 82 years old and moved to Denver to live with my family.
> Sandy and I had three children at the time and for nine years,
> Uncle Fred was like a father and a grandfather to us all.  Once,
> during those nine years and to my amazement, Aunt Elsie and Uncle
> Harold flew on an airplane to Denver and spent a week with us in
> Denver.  They were in their late seventies and had never been on
> an airplane in their life.  It was sort of funny because Uncle
> Harold worked for Bowing all his life in Wichita.  Anyhow, that
> week Uncle Harold and Aunt Elsie stayed with us in our home was
> the most unusual week of probably my entire life because I came
> to know my Uncle Harold in a way I never dreamed possible.  So
> let me tell you about that week.
>
>     By this time, my Uncle Fred no longer drove, which, in and
> of itself was a good thing, but Uncle Fred wanted his sister and
> brother-in-law to see some of the Colorado sights.  My oldest
> sister drove them to a car rental place and they rented a nice
> car.  Later, my oldest sister told me how Uncle Harold talked to
> anybody and everybody he saw as if they were neighbors and before
> his conversation had hardly begun, Uncle Harold would be quoting
> Bible verses to them.  This was a character trait I had noticed
> about Uncle Harold when I was very young.  He was always saying,
> "It's just like the Bible says," and then he would quote
> Scripture.  He didn't do this just occasionally, he did it all
> the time.  It didn't matter whom he was speaking with or where
> they were at the time, nor did it make any difference what the
> discussion was about; Uncle Harold always had a Bible verse for
> every situation no matter what.
>
>     As a child, I well remember Uncle Harold, and other
> relatives, seated in the living room and discussing the Bible
> with my father.  Often, as I would drop to my belly and edge up
> behind the bookshelves in order to hear better, the discussions
> became quiet heated but Uncle Harold would always slap his knee
> and laugh and say, "Why, Willie, I just cannot agree with you
> there.  Why, I have never heard anybody say that's what the Bible
> meant by that."
>
>     Uncle Harold could sing and play the accordion.  Not well,
> but he could sing and play.  During his visits to our home in
> Iowa, I often would catch him in the backyard, seated on our
> picnic table, playing the accordion he had borrowed from my
> sisters, and singing hymns to himself.  I would stand high above
> him, looking down from my bedroom window, and listen to him
> without his knowledge of my presence.  Somehow, I appreciated
> what I saw and heard in Uncle Harold when he was alone singing
> and playing for his own enjoyment.  In my heart, I know he really
> loved the Lord with all his heart and that he was really singing
> and playing to the Lord.
>
>     During the week he and his wife stayed with us in our home,
> Uncle Harold would come upstairs to sit and visit with me.  Since
> my father had passed away when I was eleven, I had not heard
> Uncle Harold debating the bible with anyone.  I never told him
> but I secretly wished, when I grew up, we could continue those
> Biblical discussions that he and my dad used to have and so it
> was.  In my freshman year of Bible college, I had an occasion to
> visit Uncle Harold.  Knowing I was a Bible college student, he
> immediately struck up a conversation about the Bible with me that
> day.  I know now he was just testing my Biblical knowledge but
> back then, being the Biblical scholar that I was, I was proud to
> debate him.  That old man likely knew more of the Bible than I
> will ever know because he had learn how to live what he believed.
> That is true Christianity.
>
>     One afternoon, Uncle Harold came upstairs during his vacation
> to visit with me in the living room once again.  He began to tell
> me stories about when he was a boy and I discovered he came from a
> very poor family.  For the most part, Uncle Harold had done quite
> well for himself and his family as he grew older.  He told me
> about the time he became a born again Christian.  My favorite
> story was about the elephant.
>
>     Uncle Harold went to the zoo and stood and watched people
> feeding the elephants.  They would put nickels into a peanut
> machine and gather a handful of peanuts, he said, and feed them
> to the big animals through the fence.  Uncle Harold said he
> waited until the crowd moved away before he walked over to the
> fence.  He waited till no one was around because I knew Uncle
> Harold wouldn't have paid five cents for peanuts to feed an
> elephant and he wouldn't have wanted others to see his penny
> pinching behavior.  He told me that one of the elephants began
> pawing at the ground and making noises as if he perhaps wanted
> more peanuts.  Uncle Harold then announced that he wouldn't have
> paid any five cents to feed an elephant so he just kept watching
> them.  suddenly, Uncle Harold said, the large animal dropped his
> trunk to the ground, sucked up a trunk full of dry dust, and flew
> it through the fence all over Uncle Harold; covering him head to
> toe with dust and elephant spit.  I can hear Uncle Harold laughing
> about it now and saying, "Why, Phil, can you believe an elephant
> would do such a thing?  Why, in all my born days, I never would
> have dreamed an elephant could do such a thing.  Can you?"  And so
> it went for the afternoon.  Story after story and after each one,
> he would say, "It's just like the Bible says," and he would quote
> Scripture.
>
>     Uncle Harold has been dead for many years. His wife died
> first.  My cousin, Uncle Harold's oldest son, called and told me
> when she passed away and told me what Aunt Elsie said to her
> husband on her death bed.  She was blessed to have her entire
> family nearby when she began to die and so they all came to the
> hospital.  They stood around her bed and she spoke to each one of
> them.  Aunt Elsie was one of the finest Christian women I ever
> knew and I loved going to see her because she loved children.
> When she finally spoke to each of her children and grandchildren,
> she came to her husband.  She said, "Well, Harold.  Are you going
> to behave yourself when I'm gone?"
>
>     When Uncle Harold passed away, his son called and told me.
> I told him how much his dad really meant to me and that I was
> actually proud to have known him.  Johnny knew the nature of his
> dad and we laughed together as we swapped stories.  We both
> agreed, however, Uncle Harold truly loved the Lord more than
> anything in his life.
>
>     I honestly miss Uncle Harold after all these years but I
> thank God for his testimony and his love for God and the Bible
> which he quoted so often.  He was a greater example of a man who
> lived what he believed and practiced what he preached than most
> Christians I know today.  Uncle Harold is in Heaven now with
> Uncle Fred, Aunt Elsie, my dad, and now my mom.  Knowing Uncle
> Harold as I do, he is probably trying to change the Lord's mind
> on something he doesn't quite agree on, too.  Lord, make me like
> Uncle Harold but you best keep him away from cars and boats and
> fishing rods there in Heaven.
>
>
> It Sounds Like God To Me.
> www.SafePlaceFellowship.com
>
>
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