Page 62

By Jack Joseph Smith

walked off the field. There were the Lincoln bums saying, say hey, Big Duke, and Turtle and Hambone and others laughing and giving acknowledgement to the Cat Man, the eagle of the Lincoln wall. After I left Kindergarten the world went one into a moment of excitement. There was Thanksgiving with my fathers parents on the farm and watching the pigs being slaughtered and the chickens heads being cut off on the stump. The pigs became nothing but blood falling the deep red of the dead. They had no motion and only hung there as I watched in amazement standing next to my grandfather who had insisted that I witness this part of man's earth work. But the chickens nervous system was alive for many moments after the axe cut through their trembling necks. I watched them go jumping without heads and felt that they were really talking to those with wide eyes around them. I would walk alone along the creek watching the frost leaving the bent weeds touching the slow water in the morning. The breakfasts were hot and big and the milk was thick and sweet and everything around me was busy and interchangeable. My grandmother Frost played the acordian in the evening while we all sat around eating sweets without my father smoking because of their Methodist beliefs. Christmas with my mothers parents was loud with Irish whiskey instead of cozy with German hot chocolate and my father would pass out expensive cigars in his new found family freedom. I finally went sleigh riding on Hickeys' hill and watched my cousins play hockey on lake ice with their new skates before I would go away from them with my streek painted slay to feel the wind cutting across my face as I sped down Hickeys' hill alone in the crystal day. My Grandfather Faolain was dying the next time we went to Hobart and I

Original Scan

Page 62

AI Interpretation

GPT

The narrator recalls farm slaughter, Methodist family evenings and an Irish Christmas, followed by a solitary ride down Hickeys' hill and Grandfather Faolain's approaching death.

His grandfather makes him witness animal slaughter. He pairs that memory with thick milk and his grandmother's accordion and describes his father's freedom to hand out cigars among his mother's family. He rides down the hill in solitude through a crystal day and begins the next memory with Grandfather Faolain dying in Hobart.

Claude

The Lincoln bums hail Cat Man, 'the eagle of the Lincoln wall', and then the narrator recalls a Thanksgiving on his fathers parents' farm, where his grandfather made him witness pigs slaughtered and headless chickens jumping, followed by creek mornings, grandmother Frost's acordian, a loud Irish Christmas with his mothers parents, and a solitary ride down Hickeys hill 'alone in the crystal day'.

The page sets farm killing, hearty food, and winter play side by side without comment, so blood and pleasure become equal parts of a child's education in 'man's earth work'. Contrasting Methodist restraint with Irish whiskey sketches a family divided by custom, and the closing mention of Grandfather Faolain dying 'the next time we went to Hobart' lands abruptly after the bright ride down the hill.