Tales from Hogwaller Holler:
Old Doc Clawhammer
© 2023 by Walter Reimer



Hello! Come up here on the porch and get yourself a glass of iced tea. Going to be a warm day, but that’s a good sign for tomorrow, eh?

A question? Well, I suppose.

“What’s the difference between Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day?” That’s a good question, a very good question. I suppose that the lines have gotten pretty blurry over the years. Have a sip of your iced tea first; it’s fresh and it’s got nice fat blackberries in it.

Ahh.

Here’s the answer for you. Memorial Day is the day we remember those who died in war. Veteran’s Day is for the ones who came back. Like I say, the lines’ve gotten blurry.

Memorial Day’s older, though, going all the way back to the War Between the States, when people would go into the cemeteries and tend to the graves. You take the graveyard here in Hogwaller Holler, now; there are furs there going pretty near all the way back to the Revolution, and all the way up to the last one.

That puts me in mind of a story, a story about Old Doc Clawhammer.

No, I’m not talking about the current Old Doc Clawhammer, or the Old Doc Clawhammer before him. I’m talking about the Old Doc Clawhammer who was practicing here in the Holler back in the Forties. His right name was Hayden Thornton, but in keeping with tradition folks in the Holler just called him Old Doc Clawhammer. Saved some effort trying to remember a new name, you know?

Anyway, Old Doc Clawhammer was still practicing in the Holler during the war, that’d be World War Two you understand, when he gets called up. Now, I’ve said before that no one in the Holler waited around to get drafted, no sir; they’d come down out of the mountains as soon as they heard the call, spoiling for a scrap. But some of the men had to stay, you know what I mean? Meaning no knock on them, but they had to work here to keep ‘em fighting over there.

So, Old Doc Clawhammer gets made a Navy reservist, and he went back to his family and his practice until he was needed. I think it was, oh, about forty-four when he got the telegram. The donkey made sure that the older docs in the county would look after his patients, kissed his wife and kids goodbye, and off he went.

Let me refill my glass.

I’m told that he was serving in a field hospital in forty-five, at some place called Iwo Jima, when a shell zeroed in on the shell crater they were using. The red cross on the tent didn’t mean anything.

All they were able to find was his ID tags.

Pardon me a moment. Got a little dusty, but I’m thankful for the breeze.

The Holler turned out for the funeral, and the Ladies’ Auxiliary made sure that neither Widow Thornton nor her kids wanted for food or comfort. They’d had some practice doing that, over the years, and bless ‘em for it.

Old Doc Clawhammer’s son Henry, well, he took it hard, he being only twelve and all at the time. It took a lot of effort by the Wise Woman and a bunch of others to help steer him away from some of the things he did as he grew up. I might have said something about Luke Watt, Jessie Mae’s uncle, burning down the Town Hall when he was young, so folks in the Holler know how to help a young colt who’s hurting way down deep inside.

His sister Agnes, well, she was ten, but she seemed to be all right. Stayed with her mother a lot, and when she married Roger O’Dell, she had the Widow stay with them. At least, until the Widow Thornton married a nice stallion in one of the towns on the other side of the mountain.

Now, I said that Old Doc Clawhammer’s tags came back, but not a hair else of the poor jack. Still, there’s a plot in the cemetery, with a marker on it for him, same as every other fur who died for the country. A Mass was said over him, as he was a good Catholic, even though he wasn’t there.

The Wise Woman spoke his name – his right name – to the Old Man, which is right and proper.

So, tomorrow will come, and the furs in the Holler will come down to the cemetery, and they’ll trim the grass, and scrub the headstones clean, and put a little flag in the ground in front of each stone. That’ll be starting about, oh, eight or so. Parade’s scheduled for near lunchtime, and of course there’ll be food. It’s the start of summer, you know.

If you stir around the graveyard tomorrow morning, you might see Caleb, Jessie Mae’s boyfriend, there with his folks, paying respects to his great-grandfather - even if his mortal remains ain’t there.

Folks are like that, in Hogwaller Holler.

Huh. It rained last night, but it’s still pretty dusty. Excuse me while I blow my nose.



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