Already Gone - Paw Paw Whitlow

Paw Paw Whitlow

He would call me 'DrunkyMan' but when he walked down the road he walked more like a drunk man than I ever did. I guess I looked drunk when i walked down the railroad tracks. He was Dad's best friend though old enough to be his dad. His Sunday best was a bright yellow, silky, waist length jacket that he wore with a brightly colored, chest spread necktie.
From the earliest days of my knowing him he'd come home every day from his day shift as a West Virginia coal miner, dinner bucket with a honey bun or candy left for his grand kids or me, whomever could get to him first. My dad, too, was as miner but worked the hoot owl shift and came home near midnight. His leftover treats were always there in the morning.
Whitlow, as dad would call him, loved to hunt with my dad in the fall of the year. Mostly rabbits, no deer, though I'm sure there were plenty around. When November rolled around each year Dad, Whitlow and two or three others in Skelton, W.Va. would get together to slaughter the one or two hogs they had raised all year. One day was spent at our house and all the men would meet there, starting early in the morning, before sunrise. We had a big fifty gallon barrel dad would build a fire under the barrel for dipping the slaughtered hogs in to scald off the hair. Whitlow would bring his huge butcher's knife to the occasion and after dad would hog tie the feet, he would straddle the back of the hog, reaching under the neck and pulled the blade across. The hog would then be hoisted with a block and tackle up onto an old swing set to be bled and gutted.
The next day the men would meet at the other's place and begin again the process with other's hogs.
Whitlow and Dad were the best of friends and remained so for the remainder of their days; sitting on their front or back porches and telling stories about and to each other of their exploits.
Whitlow was like a 3rd grandpa to me, though not related to me by blood, certainly by spirit.

I was 17 years old when my Dad passed away. My brohter and I visited him at the hospital on the night of January 27, 1971. He was unable to respond to us because was dying. After a while we left and went home. Mom received a call early the next morning perhaps 4am and he was gone
On a business trip near Beulah, North Dakota, I had arrived back at my motel room when I called my wife. She told me that Paw Paw Whitlow had passed away that day. this was in 1993. I cried that night like baby.

I have many stories concerning him and my Dad as I will remember them both all the days of life.  Sometimes, I look around for them, but they are already gone.