A TRIBUTE TO JAY WILLIAMS

February 4, 2008 Blog

Southern New Jersey lost one of its outstanding citizens when Stephen J.  Williams Jr.  passed away, Thursday, January 31, 2008

Back in 1951, I started odd-jobbing for local farmers at only 13 years of age. I picked tomatoes, cultivated corn, helped to bale hay and moved irrigation pipe. Our neighbor, Jay Williams, soon engaged me “part time” for $10 a week. I was too inexperienced to ask what “part time” meant and accepted the offer.  After many months of working for Jay, my mother asked how many hours I worked. I kept track for a week and discovered that feeding 50 cows and several calves seven mornings and evenings a week, plus helping with the milking, took at least 30 hours, and I usually worked all day on Saturdays. To be fair, I doubt if Jay knew how many hours I worked, and $10 was more than any of my friends had to spend, so I didn’t really care.

I came to appreciate Jay’s great sense of humor. He was always thinking of a new gag or a practical joke to play on anyone who happened by and I was always eager to cooperate. I probably got my sense of humor from Jay.

While cleaning out an old house on his farm, Jay found a stuffed pheasant that had seen better days. On the first day of hunting season, he told me to place the bird on a fence post within sight of the barn. It wasn't long before a car stopped. The driver grabbed his shotgun and shot the bird, which lost one wing but not its composure. Realizing that he had been tricked, the would-be hunter returned to his car and drove away. Within minutes, another hunter stopped and took a shot at our decoy. This time, it was knocked off the post, so I ran out and placed the pheasant back on the fence post. By this time the bird was looking rather ragged, but the pheasant managed to elicit shotgun blasts from two more hunters before being permanently laid to rest!

When Jay bought a new pair of barn shoes, he put the old pair in the shoe box, tied it and told me to place the box in the center of the road. Cars would stop and we secretly watched as drivers opened the box, only to discard the stinking contents in disgust. We were able to "re-set the trap" several times before someone tossed the unopened box in the back seat and drove away.

WATERWORKS or WATERPLAY?

Once we were putting a new roof on the milk house when a thunder storm came up. Quickly, we covered the unprotected building with a large canvas. It really poured and when the storm was over, the canvas was full of water. Johnny Grice dropped by just as we were ready to dump out the water and resume working. Johnny called, "That was quite a down-pour; did you guys get wet?" Jay replied, "No, we were under this canvas!" He gave me an unnecessary wink and both of us heaved with all our might. Johnny was drenched by a hundred gallons of fresh rain water!

Jay Williams and a neighbor, John Hitchner, shared an irrigation pond and a healthy sense of humor. Once, when I was helping Jay prime his pump to start irrigating, John approached his pump on the opposite side of the pond to do the same. Powered by car motors, the irrigation pumps were capable of pushing a lot of water. Jay gave me one of his ornery grins and said, "Watch this!" He then disconnected the irrigation pipe except for one elbow, which was directed towards his neighbor across the pond. He gave the pump full throttle and moments later, farmer John was thoroughly drenched! He reacted quickly however, and soon, two grown farmers were back in their childhood, enjoying a water battle that has yet to be equaled!

THE "GOVERNOR" OF SOUTH JERSEY

After the State of New Jersey allowed casino gambling in Atlantic City, taxes were supposed to drop and the economy to flourish. Thousands of tourist busses loaded with gamblers converged daily upon this resort city, which until then had been known mainly for its sandy beaches and the annual Miss America Pageant. Money began to roll into the casinos but New Jersey residents saw no benefits whatsoever. They were convinced that the only real winners were the Mafia and crooked politicians. Taxes and insurance rates escalated even faster than before the casinos opened. South Jersey farmers, whose hard work gave the "Garden State" its nickname, complained loudly about high taxation, but their complaints went unheeded by New Jersey law-makers.

Being an educated farmer, Jay asked in a 1974 committee meeting of Upper Pittsgrove Township what the legal procedures for succession would be. The following day, a brief article in the Salem Sunbeam, was titled, "How to Secede from North Jersey". By the end of the week, Jay was entertaining reporters from all over and soon became known as South Jersey's most celebrated resident. He correctly predicted that the proposal of secession would get nearly 100% support from the residents of Southern New Jersey. Jay argued, "We have agriculture, atomic energy, tourist trade and the casinos. We can cut taxes and surely, farmers can do a better job of running a State!" People who knew Jay laughed at his newest practical joke, but lawyers began to earnestly study their law books to see if such a thing was feasible. Word has it, that concerned State politicians were making long distance phone calls to Washington. It never happened of course, but Jay became a celebrity whose reputation as a practical joker was only surpassed by his fame as "Governor of South Jersey".

DYNAMITE

Once, Johnny Grice was helping John Hitchner blast tree stumps in his pasture and I was hired to help clear away the debris. I was fascinated by the destructive force of those little sticks of powder. The explosives were stored in wooden boxes packed with sawdust on the back seat of Johnny's dilapidated Model-A Ford. I kept looking for an opportunity to steal a stick.

Soon enough, the opportunity availed itself. Johnny had to get something from Woodstown and invited me to go along. Since the front passenger seat had been removed, I rode in the back with the explosives. I slipped a stick of dynamite under my belt, a blasting capsule and piece of fuse into my jeans pocket and pulled out my shirt tails to hide the tell-tale bulges.

Johnny decided to take a shortcut down a seldom used dirt road that was full of potholes. He drove as fast as the old car would travel and I looked nervously at the open box of blasting caps, bouncing around just inches from where I was sitting.

I tried to get Johnny to slow down, but he only laughed. I reached down and picked up the box of blasting caps, cradling them carefully in my lap to keep them from banging together. Several times the car jolted and I nearly dropped the box. I thought of the Bible verse which my parents often quoted after one of my many misdemeanors: "Be sure your sins will find you out!" I considered asking God to rescue me from my precarious situation, but it didn't seem fitting to pray with the contraband still on my person.

Fortunately, we reached town with no casualties. Johnny took the regular road back to the farm and I stilled my conscience by determining that the dynamite was reward for my close call with death.

A few days later, my friend Paul came by and we placed the dynamite in an old cast iron stove, inserted the blasting cap and lit the fuse. We then hid behind a corn crib and waited for the detonation. Nothing happened. Knowing that the fuse could still be glowing and re-ignite, we decided to leave for a while and return later with a new fuse.

I got involved in something else and my father discovered our "bomb" first. "Where were you planning to watch the explosion?" he asked. I replied, "Behind the corn crib." His face turned ashen and hands began to tremble. I expected the spanking of a lifetime but that was one time when I escaped the whipping I deserved.

DYNAMITE II

A feed company  was looking for new-born calves to test with a new line of calf feed. Jay Williams thought, "One less mouth to feed!" and offered a calf for six months. The calf was delivered to Avis Mill near Woodstown and remained there for the duration of the testing period. When the animal was returned to Jay, she had become a beautiful heifer that could have won first prize at the County Fair. She never made it to the fair, however.

After being pampered and pestered by customers at the feed mill, we had nothing but trouble from the heifer, which we nicknamed "Dynamite." She certainly lived up to her name, repeatedly breaking out of the barn, pasture, pen or wherever else we tried to keep her. She once got into the silo and ate so much that she couldn't squeeze back through the opening. We had to tie her jaws shut to keep her from eating until she had slimmed down enough to get out. One night Dynamite broke loose and began to terrorize the other cows. Jay awoke to their loud complaints and ran to the rescue. Dynamite effectively avoided capture for nearly an hour. Finally, Jay lost his usual composure and threw a pitchfork at the beast. When I arrived the next morning to help with the milking, Dynamite had already been transformed into beefsteak, goulash and dog bones.

Shortly after that incident, I was trying to start Jay's Farmall A-V tractor to spread manure. It was extremely cold and the battery was dead as usual. I attempted to start it with the crank, but the engine refused to respond. When the engine finally did fire, the crank whipped back and almost broke my arm. Furious, I took the crank and rammed it through the radiator. While antifreeze gushed out of the gaping hole, I contemplated on how I would explain this to the boss. Nervously, I walked back to the barn and confessed my evil deed to Jay. To my surprise, he didn't get upset at all. "Well," he said, "let's tow the tractor to the garage and get her fixed; I better buy a new battery while I'm at it."

A WHOLE LOT OF BULL

While working for Jay, one of my tasks was driving the cows in from the pasture before milking. I learned how to crack a bull whip and whenever a cow lagged behind, I snapped the whip to get her moving. Such shock therapy usually convinced the cows to cooperate, but on June 4th, 1953, the trick backfired. A cow was not cooperating and I snapped the whip just above her head. Jay's prize bull apparently didn't like the way I was treating the object of his devotion. I heard hoof beats behind me and turned to look, but it was too late. The bull caught me in the chest, one horn under each armpit and gave me my first and only raise while working for Jay! I landed on my belly a few yards from a barbed wire fence. With the angry bull hot on my trail, I scrambled on hands and knees for the fence. I am certain that the barbed wire would not have slowed that creature, but fortunately, Jay observed my solo flight from his kitchen window. He grabbed a shotgun and fired both barrels at the charging bull. Fortunately for the bull, the gun was loaded with bird shot and fortunately for me, birdshot was a strong enough deterrent to stop the bull.

I was pretty sore after my encounter with the bull, but seemed otherwise uninjured. I finished my evening chores and helped with the milking before heading for home and going to bed. The following morning my alarm clock rang at 5:00 o'clock as usual, but when I tried to turn it off, I couldn't move my arm. I discovered to my horror that not just my arms, but my entire body was immobilized! Although completely conscious, I couldn't move a finger or even turn my head! Fear gripped me as I helplessly listened to the alarm clock run down. I was totally paralyzed! I began to ponder what it would be like to spend the rest of my life in a wheel chair! For what seemed like an eternity, I lay there fearing the worst, but gradually, movement began to return. First I could wiggle my fingers, then my hands, arms and feet. Within an hour, I was able to get out of bed and get dressed. I didn't see a doctor but years later, a chest x-ray revealed that I had cracked my collar bone.

I could write many more experiences, but this must suffice for now. Jay Williams will never be forgotten and I am indebted to him.