Old Joe's Self-Confirmation
No matter who you think you are, according to Old Joe Grady, you need occasional outside confirmation. Unfortunately, genuine confirmation can be hard to come by. Flattery, not honesty, is the currency of daily discourse. Teachers, co-workers, friends--all either like us or don't, and therefore none can be trusted. In fact, in his whole life, Old Joe can remember only one unencumbered example of confirmation, totally authentic.
Here's how it came about. Being from the Smoky Mountains, Old Joe accumulated a lot of bear stories. In fact, Old Joe was to become one of the most famous bear raconteurs of the region. But it almost didn't happen. You see, telling bear stories is a curious art. For no matter how much exaggeration might be added each time the story is told, there has to be some basis in fact. A story about somebody's grandpaw or hound dog can be made up from start to finish, and still be a good story. It's not the same with a bear story. If you're telling a story about a real bear, and by that I mean a Smoky Mountain black bear, then it's got to have that little bit of truth to it, or it falls apart .
One of Old Joe Grady's favorite bear stories was about the time he had walked deep into the Smokies with Bill Longnecker and some boy scouts from Florida. He knew the bears liked to congregate around campsites where they could get a free meal. He also knew they had taken from time to time a few fingers or a hand in addition to the snack. So he carried along some firecrackers just in case he couldn't scare them away by yelling or banging pots together. And sure enough, no sooner had the hikers settled into a trail shelter and started cooking dinner than a big black bear appeared in the clearing. Shouting, stomping, pot banging--nothing would scare him away. So Old Joe tossed a firecracker at the bear's feet. The second it exploded, the bear took off full speed crashing through the underbrush down the side of the mountain. Old Joe listened until the noise faded into the normal twilight symphony of wind and insects, then leaned a shoulder against the trail shelter. There was a swagger in the way he twirled the remaining firecrackers, like a gunfighter cooling off his six-shooter.
When the scouts finished cooking dinner, one of them turned from the campfire to hand Joe a plate. A look of horror gripped the boy's face. As the others looked up at Joe, the same ghastly look came over each face, as though it had been rehearsed Joe thought. They pointed at Joe and told him to look around, but Old Joe wasn't going to fall for that trick. He felt a hand on his right shoulder. One of them must have sneaked around behind him.
But then he saw a black hairy paw reach around toward the firecrackers as if to say, 'hand them over, bud. Old Joe tried to think, but everything he knew was crammed into his throat too tight to move. He dropped the firecrackers and found himself suddenly on top of the trail shelter. How he got there he wasn't sure. But the bear Old Joe thought he had scared all the way to Cataloochee looked at him a few seconds and then lumbered off as though it had forgotten why it came.
Through the years, Old Joe told this story many times and practically no one believed it. Finally even Joe began to doubt that it had really happened. A mind can play tricks over a long period of time. All of his bear stories began to lose their edge, and his reputation as a story teller was in grave jeopardy. One day Old Joe and some friends had stopped at a filling station in Brevard when Joe saw a strangely familiar face pull up in a Toyota. That's Bill Longnecker, Old Joe thought. The driver got out and approached where Joe and his friends were standing. Joe wondered if Bill would recognize him after so many years. Suddenly, Longnecker stopped, cocked his head, and let out a yell.
I'll be damn. Old Joe Grady. Remember the time that bear slapped you on the back and made you cough up those firecrackers.