Pecking Order

My First Painting for 2012

Pecking Order
By Ronnie Powell
I learned early in life as most people do there is a system by which we are supposed to adhere to and it is the pecking order. Not only humans are affected by this, but animals as well. It is apparently an important trait within all societies or groups, both human and nonhuman and perhaps an inherent aspect in many life ways. It is in my opinion in some humans it may reflect insecurities, selfishness, down right meanness or an inflated ego. In humans it is a class issue that for the most part is accepted and even admired, or at least outwardly. The primitive and literal art of pecking can be observed quite easily in a flock of chickens, a bit more sophisticated in hogs and more graceful in horses but often still are very cruel acts.
There are many instances of which I will for the most part relate to in this writing. Some are sad events; others are humorous and so on. I remember a particular day when a man driving a very expensive car came into my shop where I do my woodcarvings and paintings. He stood for a moment or two in a very elegant looking suit and asked the price of one or two carvings. I politely informed him of what I sold them for. He picked up the one he favored and observed it more closely and set it down and asked me to come down a on the price.
I said no and explained to him the amount of time involved in the piece. I good naturedly said that I was charging only for the time I spent creating the carving and it, (the carving was free).
The man scowled and appeared to swell a bit. “I tell you what,” he replied sarcastically and reached for his wallet and laid a few bills on the counter. “I have here some real money, I doubt if that happens much around here. It is yours for the carving.”
I looked at that man of whom was pecking at me and shook my head in disgust and said to him quite calmly. “Over the years I have sold many carvings and painting to folks and gave away a few to folks who couldn’t afford them. I like sharing what I do with everyone and if possible I see to it that they leave with something of mine. I say to you Mister, pick up your real money and leave as quickly as you can.”
The man stared at me in disbelief, grunted something and then turned and rather noisily left the building.
There was another time while working for the Missouri Department of Conservation, I observed a young man who appeared to be crippled very badly and could not speak clearly. (I later learned the fellow had Cerebral-palsy. He was standing in the middle of a bridge that spanned Bennett Spring Stream and people were laughing at him darting around him as he stumbled along trying to get to the stream. He was babbling or so it sounded. No one made an attempt to help or to try and understand what he was to say say.
I quickly went to where he was standing and could see he was very distressed. I ask if I could help him and he pointed to a fishing rod lying at his feet. I picked it up and he grasped it tightly in his hand and stumbled away. I called out and he stopped and I asked again if I could help and he smiled the best he could and nodded. I listened closely, very closely to what he was saying and was surprised at what I understood. He had been advised by his mother to wait until she could help him to the stream, (they were camped in the park), but being an independent fellow, he said he could take care of himself.) “I think I made a mistake. People are making fun of me.”
I suggested he follow me back across the bridge to a place below the hatchery where he could fish without much difficulty. I left him there having the time of his life. He came with his mother several times after that and upon seeing me; he would run as fast as he could to shake my hand. The next season came and he did not return again and after a time I assumed I had seen the last of him.
While attending a school near the farm where I grew up, (a one room school house), there were nearly all of us that attended the school, poor people, however two of the girls were from well to do families. Their pecking order was not of their own accord and none hostile. It was simple, they carried lunches in fancy pails and on several occasion I was able to see what they were eating. I could only determine the bread was store-bought, but the contents of the sandwiches remained a mystery. Each girl usually had a large orange or a huge shiny red apple, where as in my lunch pail it contained a smaller home grown apple from our orchard and a couple of biscuits containing fried eggs and a huge piece of molasses cake. On the other hand the girls had a store bought cake wrapped in plastic. They were beautiful looking cakes, like big snowballs. I could only imagine what those cakes and dainty sandwiches tasted like.
One day while following the two girls around the building, one of them stopped and waited for me to catch up. “Ronnie,” she asked timidly. “Would you like to eat your lunch with us today?” I blushed I am certain as red as beet and nodded and then followed the girl to a spot under a big hickory tree. I was rather self conscious as I removed the oil paper from my fried egg sandwich.
The girl who had invited me to dine with them said to me, “Mother always sends too much for me to eat, would you take one of my sandwiches?”
At last, I thought I would find out what those sandwiches contained. “Oh I suppose,” I replied.
I slowly removed the dainty wrapping, fascinated by the crust less bread and not wanting to look greedy, I bit off a small bite. “This is delicious, what cut of beef is the meat?” I asked innocently.
Both girls giggled and looked at me in disbelief. “Oh Ronnie your kidding,” the girl answered, It’s just bologna. You don’t have to eat it.”
But too late, for I had poked the rest of the sandwich into my mouth and later informed my brother and a friend of the tasty tidbit and said to them it was the finest cut of beef I had ever eaten. Adios