Snow-plow stories

This isn't really a snow-plow story.

It's a Charlie Hill story. Charlie Hill with a snow-plow.

That was a side deal for Charlie. His main business was well-drilling.

Charlie had that gig down pat. Could do the well-witching trick as good as anybody.

My buddy Lippert maintained that if you dug a hole deep enough you could pretty much strike water anywhere. I think he was right.

My folks moved around a bit in my youth, but three or four times at least Charlie got to drill the well at the new place. That was quite the operation back in the day. They'd set up the rig, and then Charlie or one of his men would be tending the drilling process 24/7 for days and days till they struck water.

Then they'd hoist anchor and head to the next job.

With the wisdom of hindsight, I now realize Charlie probably struck water in his first 24 hours on the property. After that, he just kept the drill rig busy till he was scheduled to start the next well.

Charlie was a business icon for me in my formative years. It was widely known he only had a grade four education.

But he was one savvy chain-smoking smooth-talking wheeler-dealer.

So one winter in my late teens the folks left me in charge of house-sitting while they whisked off to Jamaica or somewhere.

Sure enough, the storm of the century hits. I call up Charlie, because after having drilled three wells he's pretty much a friend of the family, and besides, he's got that six foot blade on the front of his Bronco.

So Charlie comes out, and long story short, he gets his Bronco stuck about twenty feet into the driveway.

The driveway is a half mile long.

I spend an hour with a shovel, shoveling this wet heavy snow that gums up snow-blowers and gets snow-plows stuck.

When Charlie and me finally get his Bronco back to the road, I apologize to him and give him twenty bucks for not plowing out the driveway.

That's how smooth he was!