The Gambler And The Chicken written by Charles Fletcher
Since the time of Adam and Eve, it seems that the nature of man is to want something for nothing. There are many ways of trying to get something for nothing, but the one that is most popular is gambling. That is to say, “I’ll beat the odds.” Or, “I know I can win.” It has always been this way, and will most likely continue to be in the future.
Recently while visiting my brother TJ in North Carolina we were discussing how the price of mountain land had increased over the past fifty years. “You know,” he said. “I could have bought the old Aunt Hass Clark home and the mountain for $6,000 a few years back. Do you know that people are now paying thousands of dollars for a small spot to build a summer home on.”
“Why didn’t you buy it from Aunt Hass?” I said. “As I remember you were always a gambler. Even when we were in grade school you tried to win everyone’s marbles.” TJ said “That all changed several years ago. Let me tell you a story about my gambling. As you said, I always thougt I could beat anyone at his ‘game of chance’, and I always thought It was easier to do that than having to work for something.”
Back when me and Alveta was first married, I was too busy to think much about gambling until I began working in the paper mill in Canton. It seems that gambling shows up places you would never think it would.
Newly married, I needed to earn and save all the money that I could. We wanted to build a new home on some land I had bought. Alveta and I saved as well as we could, but there was the buying of food and clothing. Alveta said, “Why don’t we get a few chickens? We wouldn’t have to buy eggs, and maybe we’d have enough to sell.” “Good idea,” I said.
I began to shop around for a few hens and a rooster. One of our neighbors had more chickens than he needed, so he offered to sell me a few. “How much for the hens?” I said. “Well, seeing that you are just getting started in life, I’ll let you have twelve hens for six dollars, and I’ll throw in a rooster for free.” It’s a deal,” I said.
He caught the hens and put them in a wooden box. This was the easy part. He then went after the rooster, but that big red bird wasn’t going to go nowhere. He ruffled his feathers and made a dive toward his master. When he was close, the boss made a quick grab and had him by the legs. Into the box with the hens he went. I gave him the six dollars and headed home.
We were now the proud owners of a chicken farm, and we were on our way to getting rich selling eggs. They would bring fifteen to twenty cents a dozen. All went well for a while except that rooster had it in for me. Every time I went to gather the eggs, he would try flogging me. I would give him a kick and he would back off.
We soon experienced a shortage in eggs. We didn’t know where they were going until one day Alveta saw a dog coming out of the hen house with an egg in his mouth. It seemed that he knew exactly when each hen had laid an egg.
We threw rocks to run him away, but he would slip back when we were not watching. I was buying eggs at the store for thirty cents a dozen and chicken feed at a dollar a bag. This was a loosing deal.
Got to think of something to get my six dollars that I paid for those chickens back.
There was a fellow at the paper mill where I worked who had a gambling thing going. He would have ‘tip boards’ that he sold chances from for money and anything else he wanted to make a profit on.
“‘That’s the answer,” I said. “I’ll run them chickens off on a tip board.’”
One evening after I finished my shift at the mill, I headed to Smokey Mountain Wholesale to purchase tip boards. I was about to get back in the gambling business.
The boards were a quarter each. There were fifty chances on each board. At ten cents a chance, that would earn five dollars. This would get me four dollars and seventy-five cents for each chicken. What a good profit, I thought.
The first chicken to be sold on the tip board was a big black hen. She was fat and would make a big pan of southern fried chicken or a big pot of chicken and dumplings. What a deal. I would tell all the prospective gamblers.
All went well until I tried to catch that old black hen. She must have known something fishy was going on, and she didn’t want any part of it. I sold forty of the fifty tickets, and the ones that had bought wanted me to open the seal to she who the winner was before going home.
“‘OK,” I said. “What if the winning number is still on the board?’”
“Then you win your hen.’”
Off came the seal, and (you guessed it) I was the winner of my old black hen.
Alveta gave me a hard time about the gambling, so I agreed to take the chickens to the Farmer’s Federation. This was a farm supply store that bought and sold chickens. They would pay me fifty cents each for the chickens.
After they went in the chicken house to roost on a Friday night, I caught them, tied their legs together, and put them in a big box. On Saturday morning I was on my way to the store to sell the chickens that we were going to get rich off of from selling eggs.
Again, that old black hen gave me a rough time. She somehow got her legs untied, and when I opened the box out she jumped and out the door of the store she ran. I gave the others to the clerk and said that I would catch the one that got loose. I went outside and saw that black hen sitting under the store. Under I went, crawling on my knees, bumping my head, and never noticing that the store had piled their coal for their heater under the store.
The farther I crawled, the farther that chicken went. I happened to notice that I was black with coal dust and spider webs.
“‘What am I doing?’ I said. “I’ve ruined a good pair of pants that cost a dollar and my best shirt that cost fifty cents.” What for? I thought. All this for a fifty-cent hen. I crawled out from under the store, went inside, got my six dollars, and headed home.
As soon as Alveta saw me, the world began to come apart. “Where have you been? What happened to you?” These were only a few of her remarks before I had a chance to explain.
I told her what happened, and then she began again. “It serves you right, your trying to gamble them chickens away, when you know good and well that gambling is a sin. I hope you have learned a lesson. Just look at you. Them good clothes will never wash clean again.’”
Soon everything was quiet. I had learned my lesson. That old black hen had taught me that gambling and chickens don’t go together.
Charles Fletcher was a long time reader of Blind Pig and The Acorn and became a dear family friend over the years. He wrote many guest posts for me during that time. I found this one about gambling and chickens when I was looking for something else. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I do.
Charles died in 2018. You can read more about him here.
To read more from Charles follow the links below.
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Just raising chickens is a gamble, the way I figure it. Its either feast or famine with my egg production AND my egg customers. Seems like the only time any one stops & wants eggs is when they are molting, or its winter. Come spring when I am flooded with eggs, you can’t GIVE them away! I had always been happy if I could sell enough to cover the cost of the feed, but now with feed so expensive…..I was forced to raise the price of them & even though they are cheaper than the store, people don’t want to pay the price. The way I’ve figured it, by the time I’m done buying feeding, oyster shells, feeders, etc….I am buying my own eggs, with interest! But I do love a fresh egg & my chicks give me plenty of enjoyment. I have a very calm rooster, so he’s hung around for quite a few years now.
I enjoyed this story today so much! When I was a child, I was always afraid of roosters. It didn’t take but one time to be chased and that was it for me. As far as gambling, some folks are lucky at it, others not so much. I also grew up in a home where my dad wouldn’t allow playing cards in the house. I do remember him buying a raffle ticket one time when I was in the 4th grade. It was Christmas time and a store owner was raffling off about six dolls and oh, they were so beautiful. Every time we stopped by there, I would look at them and want one so bad. Well, daddy bought a ticket. We went back Christmas eve before they closed the store and my dad actually was one of the winners. It was a beautiful doll with blond hair and a blue dress. It reminds me of the story on the Waltons when Elizabeth kept admiring a doll she saw at Ike’s store. That was one Christmas I will never forget. Thanks for sharing the story Tipper!! Have a great day everyone!!
That was a great lesson story from Charles Fletcher. It’s sad he has pasted, but thankful you keep his legacy alive through sharing his stories. Thank you Tipper for sharing so many wonderful people with us and their life memories.
I too was taught gambling was wrong. I have enjoyed Mr. Fletcher’s posts over the years and laughed out loud with his story of trying to dig a well under their house after I saw they all lived through it. His memories of The Way Wash Day Used to be are just like the ones my Father told me. I still marvel over how much wisdom my Grandmothers had back in those days without any modern conveniences.
My parents raised chickens for hatching eggs. The eggs had to be fertile or they wouldn’t hatch so we had to have one rooster for every ten hens. Roosters like to fight and will kill each other if they have spurs. The roosters in every flock had to be despurred. They used a hot wire, like a bag sealer, to burn off their spurs. that was one of the worst smells I have ever smelled in my life.
We got used to flogging hens and fighting roosters. The younger kids couldn’t go inside the chicken houses because the rogues in the flock would knock them down. If a particular bird , male or female, persisted in its antisocial behavior it got a special invitation to dinner. Broody hens, even if they were placid, weren’t allowed to remain with the flock. The eggs had to be gathered several times a day. Eggs that were sat on too long would start to develop which meant that they would rot before they could be hatched. We had to gather the eggs at those intervals even if a hen was on the nest actively laying an egg. We would gently slide a hand upinunder her and grab the eggs. Those hens were expected to peck at you and even flog you so they were spared the chopping block. We wore long sleeves and pants any time we were in the chicken house.Once in a while you would get a bruise on your hand or arm but it was all part of the job.
I have had a few go rounds with broody hens, so I bought myself an incubator with my Christmas $ this year. Worked great, but ended up with a fair share of roosters that now need to be butchered. The worst roosters are the little banty ones. Man are they mean – they’ll jump right off the roost into your face. Had one that my husband liked to instigate. He would jump up on top of the picnic table & crow (my hubby, not the rooster) & chase that rooster all around. It learned the sight of him & his truck. As long as my husband was home he would crow all day. If he heard the truck pull into the driveway, he would crow continuously. My husband could not understand how I could ‘listen to that all day’. I told him I didn’t have to, because as soon as his truck left for work, the rooster knocked it off. The rooster would never go after him – he’d just skirt, skirt at him & then run. My hubby named him after his small, mean spirited father and then he sent him to the big coop in the sky. I have been flogged in the head by a full grown turkey that was getting loaded up to go to butcher. I felt (& looked) like I’d had a round in the ring with Mike Tyson. Don’t ever let a turkey flog ya!
After moving in-town, I found the chickens were the thing I missed most. The eggs were more expensive since I had to pen them to keep dogs from killing them and then snakes got into the pen and ate the eggs. But I loved to listen to them, see how they raised their chicks and loved to hear them announce when they laid an egg. Sometimes the money shouldn’t be valued higher than happiness is what I learned. This story was funny and helped my coffee begin the day right!
Haha! Loved this story. my grandmother had chickens, and the darned old rooster chased me a few times as a child! lol
I love to read anything Charles wrote. He wrote a guest post here on the Blind Pig blog many years ago and I bought his first book shortly after Tipper introduced him. He wrote five or six books after that and I bought them all. His stories were all similar to The Gambler And The Chicken, just simple stories we can all relate to. I miss Charles and the humor he shared with us in his writings.
My dad always told about when he was 9-10 years old and his mom had a mean Rhode Island Red rooster that always wanted to flog him and his brothers. He and his his next older brother, Jim, got the idea to steal some of his daddy’s corn liquor (probably made by my mom’s dad), soak corn in it and feed the corn to the mean rooster. He said grandma was worried about here prize rooster getting sick and couldn’t figured out what was wrong with it, it was acting like it it was drunk. Grandma eventually figured out they were involved and switched a confession out of them. The rooster became a teetotaler and the boys couldn’t sit down for a spell. Grandma got it right by naming them James and John, because they were definitely “sons of thunder”, as they were always kicking up a storm of one kind or another.
Yes, we humans get a thrill out of low risk but big return. Makes us feel powerful and good about ourselves. That’s what makes it seductive. We crave the feeling and the actual reward is kinda extra. Maybe that’s how shopping works to but I wouldn’t know. Does not affect me that way.
I’m like Randy. I can’t gamble because I was taught it was a sin. We never had playing cards in the house even. To this day I don’t buy raffle tickets as a fund raiser. I’d rather just give money and not get any tickets for a “chance”. But I know that our conscience gets trained and can even be trained wrong to believe something to be true when it is not. However, that does not change the fact that it pricks us anyway.
Just a tip for those with – or thinking of getting – a rooster; storyteller Mountain Man Bob says to never name a rooster Aloecious because if you do it will make him forevermore mean.
Ron, there were never any playing cards in my home when growing up and they are not any in my home now. I never knew how to play even the innocent card games such as Old Maid. I have bought a few raffle tickets but always felt guilty. My conscience will bother me.
I was taught not to gamble too. I don’t even like to buy a raffle ticket even if it is for a worthy cause. I will instead offer a contribution.
A lady at work was selling raffle tickets for a love seat to raise for a child with cancer. She hit me up and I came back with the standard “I don’t gamble but I will donate the cost of a ticket.” She said she couldn’t do that and insisted I buy a ticket. I finally capitulated. I told her that I didn’t need a love seat and didn’t know anyone that did, and if I won they could just raffle it off again. Well, guess what! I won. “I told you to raffle it off again.” “They won’t do that.” Well I’m not taking it, I’m not coming to get it and they can’t bring it because you don’t know where I live.” “I can get your address and have them bring it to you!” “My address is the Post Office and they won’t take it either without you pay them a lot of money and I can still refuse it” She walked off in a huff but it wasn’t more than a day or two she was talking to me again.
I have read the other three stories by Charles. I can not wait to tell Jackie’s story about the Yankees and the crows being killed in the road. We have a member from up north that we dearly love. We tease him about the north and he will tease us about the south all in fun.. I also remember wash day and grandmother washing the clothes in two cast iron wash pots that were also used at hog killing time. She would sometimes rinse the clothes out in the creek. My parents and grandparents went together and bought a Maytag wringer washing machine. Clothes would also be hung in the house to dry.
I worked with a man that would gamble on anything. He could not see that he lost more than he would win. I never had enough money to take a chance on gambling. I did work at a place one time where some of us would bet a dime and win a dollar on whose Coke Cola bottle had the name of the farthest city o it. Remember when the glass Coke bottles had the name of a city on the bottom? I did not do this many times because I had been taught gambling was a sin and would feel guilty. We also had a rooster that would flog me as soon as I stepped outside when I was a young boy. Before long he was in a pot of chicken and dumplings. I enjoyed this story and plan to read the other ones.
I enjoyed Mr. Fletcher’s story on gambling very much! I signed up to this blog because I loved the story about OLD JIM THE PET CROW that much!!! I heard tell of a chicken fight in Bergoo the state police were sent in to bust up. Of course, the offenders took off running in every direction. A trooper (in desperation in the dark) hollered out “Stop or I’ll shoot!” An old feller hollered back “If you’re gonna shoot me over a chicken- go ahead!” He kept running and the trooper holstered his weapon with a smile.
He sure had a flair for storytelling. I remember him. My Dad knew him from them both working in the offices at the paper mill in Canton. My dad always spoke highly of him.
This wonderful post has a smile on my face and remembering it will do that in the future. I am considering getting some baby chicks in the spring, but gotta get my son-in-law to build the coop. I have been spurred, or whatever you call it, by a nasty rooster not that many years ago. The dermatologist asked me ‘what happened there’…she gave me a funny look when I told her a rooster had done it. I think it took her a few minutes to really believe me. Hope all your family and/or friends faired well with Ian. Take care, stay well, and God Bless….ps I think Nick might be a keeper???
I always enjoy reading what Mr. Charles Fletcher wrote. This was a very funny story! Something that I just thought of – whenever I get a whole chicken ready for roasting, or however I am cooking it, I never even think of what color it’s feathers used to be. I will forever now wonder if it was a big old black feathered ornery hen. I never could get into gambling – I have always been afraid of losing. I do say “I bet” way more than I should, though. Thanks for a great post to start my day with!
Donna. : )
This story started my day with a “big old smile” Thanks Mr. Fletcher and Tipper ♥︎