The Vault Man

Those who had the pleasure or displeasure of knowing Rob Baker will embrace, one and all, the opinion that Rob was indeed a piece of work. If cleanliness were next to godliness, Rob lived at a great distance—as can be well confirmed by those who came within three yards of old odorous Rob.

A visit to Rob's shanty was an experience of another sort of habitation. The quilt upon his bunk looked like a collection of exotic hides laced together with rawhide. Fox, coon, squirrel—all made a contribution—and it was used fur side down, Eskimo style.

Rob was not one to expend extra effort in cutting wood to the stove's dimensions. He would simply leave the fill door open and, with his foot, push sticks in as they burned short. When asked why not cut to fit, Rob had a ready explanation: "Well, you see, the 'chimley' has a right powerful draft and if’n tailor-made cuts are served in they's sucked up right out of the damn chimley." And this is the way the shanty was warmed, after a fashion.

Rob's occupation was that of vault man, or one who digs out outhouses; the spoon hung on the outside shanty wall, and the "honey" wagon stood away at some distance.

Rob also worked from time to time with the town's road and bridge crew. On hot sweaty summer days those working in close proximity could no longer stand the stench and pitched Rob into the creek. The dunking helped but little, for water failed to penetrate Rob's oil-soaked overalls.

When it came time for Rob to go west, the undertaker gave up after peeling off three sets of skin-tight long johns, after which he went home and failed to eat his supper and entertained notions of packing it in.

Thus passed from the village the great unwashed. Rob may pack a surprise for St. Pete at the pristine pearly gates.