Mr. Write's Page

My grandfather, the first Walter Smith, was a successful Savannah cotton broker, a proper and respected gentleman, and a pillar of the community. He also was known around town as a friendly, twinkly-eyed fellow with a droll sense of humor, which he employed at every opportunity. A trickster and a comedian lurked beneath that three-piece suit.

Knowing of my grandfather’s reputation back in the day, I wasn’t surprised recently when I came across an old letter he wrote — an elaborate, fictitious letter of complaint addressed to “Mr. Owing Fulmer, Mayor, Savanner, Georgy.”

No, Savannah never had a mayor named Owing Fulmer.

The letter I discovered is a typed, carbon-paper duplicate on onionskin. I found it in a file of newspaper clippings, photos, and family papers at the Smith family home in Savannah. Most likely, it was filed away years ago by my Aunt Betty, who was the family documentarian and packrat.

What prompted him to write the letter, and what use he made of it, I have no idea. But I know that only a dedicated jokester would go to this length for a laugh.

Here’s the letter.

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Gum Log, Georgy
July 18, 1949

Mr. Owing Fulmer
Mayor, Savanner, Georgy

Dear Mr. Owing:

You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I’m gonna tell you sumthin that is a’goin on in your citty, and ort to be stopped.

A few weeks ago, I went to Savanner for the first time in 30 year. I was a’seein the sights uptown when I met a feller who told me I ort to go out to the ball field that night.

So I went out there on a bus that was packed like sardines. A gate opened, and I started through it like the rest of the crowd. A feller at the gate grabbed me and said, “Where is your pasteboard, sonny?”

I told him it was between my hatband and my hat, cause the hat was too big for me.

He must of misunderstood, cause he said, “See that line? Get in it and buy a ticket!”

I did, and he let me in, but he kept my ticket.

I follered the crowd and went up to where they was a lot of people a’settin on hard concrete, eatin peanuts, and jabberin to each other. I ain’t never seed so many people in all my life. And it was the first time I ever seen a field lighted up at night.

About that time, I heard a man say, “Here come the Indians!”

I looked for Indians, but didn’t see none. All I seen was a crowd of men dressed alike, runnin out from under the house.

Then another feller said, “Look at the Tigers over there!” I looked, but twern’t no tigers nowhere. All I saw was some men peepin out from under the other side of the house.

One come out with a big stick in his hands. Another had a little mattress tied in front of him and a piece of wire fence over his face.

Then a feller dressed in a blue suit walked out and put on his little mattress and piece of wire fence. These 3 men stood close together, while all the others was scattered ’round the field.

Out in front of them 3 men was another feller. He must of been mad, cause he throwed a ball at them 3 men just as hard as he could. That man in blue hollered somethin. I guess he was scared.

The man with the big stick hit at the ball, and the other feller squatted behind him. I didn’t know nothin about what was a’goin on, except all the people was a’hollerin and a’yellin their heads off like they was crazy.

Some jumped up and down, some chewed peanuts a little faster, some scratched their heads, some was drinkin strawberry sody water, and some just looked wild. They reminded me of the Holey Rollers back home in Gum Log.

That man with the ball throwed it at them 3 men and hit one in the head, nockin him down on the ground.

They poured water on him and rubbed him, and that feller in the blue suit nelt down like he was a’prayin for him.

I ast a feller settin next to me if that man in blue was a preacher. He looked at me sort of funny and said, “Hell no! He’s a robber, a thief, a gangster, half blind and –”

Now Mr. Owing, I can’t tell you all the things he said that man in blue was guilty of, but if he is that bad, he ort to be jailed. An’ me a’thinkin he was a preacher!

I looked at the men all dressed alike, and ever time one would hit the ball, he would run, and all them in the field would run, and everbody around me would scream and holler somethin terrible.

One feller said, “Watch him steal second!” I looked and saw nothin but a feller a’runnin for dear life, like he stole somethin and was tryin to git away.

I kept hearin a voice comin from up near the roof of the house, and when I looked up there, I saw a feller in a cage. “It’s a high fly!” the feller said. I looked around for a big fly, but I seen none. No flies bit me that night, neither.

I ast a man settin by me who the feller in the cage was, and he said, “He’s the micro phone man, broadcastin.” That didn’t mean nothin to me.

Then the phone man said, “It’s a high hopper goin out in the grass!” I thought it was some kind of new grass hopper, and I tore out after it.

When I got out there, one of them fellers looked at me and said, “Git back in the stands, Reuben!” He looked kind of mad, so I went back and set down.

Then the phone man said, “It’s a sinker!” Well, I didn’t see no sinker, and I looked around for a man fishin, but there twern’t no water to fish in.

Then he said an Indian was warmin up in the bull pen. Mr. Owing, there wern’t no Indians and no bull pens and no fire to warm by. That phone man was tellin fibs!

The biggest fib he told was when he said one man died on first, and another man died on second. There weren’t no dead men anywhere!

He also said, “It’s a fowl, and the catcher is goin after it!” I looked around, and there warn’t a chicken, duck, turkey or goose in sight. It was just another fib.

And he kept mumblin crazy things, like “3 and 2,” “0 for 3” and “1 and 2,” like he was runnin a numbers racket.

Then he said, “The pitcher is on the hill.” Well, I was thirsty for some water or lemonade, but I couldn’t find a pitcher of anything. Mr. Owing, nobody can understand such talk as that phone man put out.

Well about that time, one of them 3 men standin together hit a ball slam bang over the fence. A lot of them run after the ball, but could not git it. The people in the seats where I was a’settin all hollered and jumped up and down. The feller who hit that ball, he run around part of the field and come back to where he started from.

After that, another feller picked up the stick, and the phone man said, “He’s in the box, diggin in!” Well, twern’t nobody doin no diggin down there. That phone man was just talkin to his self.

Another disappointment to me was when the phone man said, “There must be 4,000 fans here tonight!” I was hot and wanted to buy one of them fans, but they was none to be found. Just another case of that feller tellin a untruth.

That phone man kept on rattlin away, though. He said, “They are all tied up in the 8th!” and “The runner spiked a man on second!”

I asked the feller next to me if that runner had spikes in his shoes, and he said, “Sure, all the players do!”

I can’t for the life of me figure how they can run so fast with spikes in their shoes. Looks like they would all have corns and bunyuns.

Mr. Owing, by then it was 9:30, and I was gettin tired and sleepy, so I went to my cousin’s house to spend the night.

If you have an extry policeman, I hope you will get hold of him and go out to that ball field and git them crazy people straight, and keep em quiet so people in Savanner can sleep.

Yours for a saner citty,

W. A. Smith

Gum Log, Georgy

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Savannah’s baseball stadium was built in 1925 and ever since has been the home of the city’s minor league team — first the Savannah Indians, then the Savannah Braves, then the Savannah Cardinals, and today the Savannah Sand Gnats. In my grandfather’s day, he was a devoted Indians fan.

The first Walter Smith, downtown Savannah, mid-1940s.

The Savannah Indians in the 1950s, soon after the team became integrated. Seating in the stands remained segregated for another decade.

Grayson Stadium, home of the Savannah Sand Gnats. The stadium is named for General William Grayson, a local feller who fought in the Spanish-American War.