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When I was fourteen I worked in a firework warehouse with a kid named Terry Hewitt. Once we taped some skyrockets, roman candles and shells together to make a giant super-rocket. It rose about ten feet, leveled off then traveled three hundred yards before exploding and starting a grass fire in the pasture of an adjoining farm. It was the only time I ever saw Terry Hewitt scared. Not about the fire, or our boss, but about what his old man would do if he ever found out. (36" x 48" Oil, Acrylic on board) |
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
POW!
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I remember Boyd had a mean ol' grandma in Porter (the Disputed Peach Capital of Oklahoma), who liked to throw Black Cat firecrackers at stray dogs who had the misfortune of wandering into her yard. She'd light the firecracker in the house, then open the screen door and launch them, thereby fully taking advantage of the element of surprise. The surprise was on her the time she forgot to unlatch the screen door first.
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