CHAPTER EIGHT—A POSSUM STORY

 

Old trapper holding traps used in Continental Village.

Double-spring traps on picnic table.

     After dashing through my homework on a school night, I would turn on the family AM/FM/shortwave radio. The radio was United States Navy post WW2 surplus, navy grey in color. It was our primary connection with the outside world. Our family did not have a newspaper subscription before 1950. On the radio I used to listen to the Lone Ranger show, Jack Benny show, Fibber McGee and Molly show, and the Great Gildersleeve show. On Sunday I listened to Let's Pretend on the Cream of Wheat show.

     My family did not own a TV until the early 1950's. My step-father bought a small black and white TV set, put up a makeshift aerial, dialed up networks that were broadcast from NYC, and presto, we had an up-to-date view of the outside world. Our trusty navy surplus radio became a less useful item.

     I recall that Al Zeliph and his family were the first to have a black and white TV in Continental Village. During the winter of 1947-48 he often invited his nephew Cliff Holmes and me to his house to watch his favorite program, professional wrestling. Cliff and I enjoyed the rough and tumble wrestling matches immensely, never thinking they were staged. The wrestlers were bigger than life to us. Blond-haired Gorgeous George, Antonino Rocca, and Killer Kowalski were a few of the big names in the golden age of professional wrestling. Al Zeliph used to get feisty during these wrestling bouts, shouting at the TV screen, and waving his arms from the edge of his seat. It was as if he was in the wrestling ring himself. More than once he waved his hands over his head as he shouted at the characters on the TV screen: "Kick him. Pin him!"

     The illustrious Mr. Zelith was about 58 years old when I first met him. Everyone living in Continental Village knew Al Zeliph, Sr. He was a complete source of practical information, respected and trusted. My brother John and I called him "old man Zeliph" because of his age, but never to his face. "Old" meant over 30 years old. 

   During his lifetime, Al Zeliph, Sr., was a farmer, carpenter, plumber, dude ranch hired hand, bricklayer, well-digger and a custodian of the Clubhouse and Water Works for the developers of Continental Village. In short, he was a jack-of-all-trades. As I remember him, he was about 5’8” in height, lean and strong, and a man who had a complete country lexicon of words. He had a great sense of humor and a surprise temper if things didn't go right. He liked children, sometimes teased them, but he was usually generous and hospitable to them.

     Mr. Zeliph was the father of eleven children and many grandchildren. Several of his children and their families lived in nearby houses: his son, Alfred, his daughters Gert and Sis. At least two daughters were still living at his house on Putnam Road in 1948, Barbara and Winifred. Winifred was his youngest child. Winifred was Cliff Holmes' aunt, and they were the same age.

     After talking to our parents in person and receiving permission, Al Zeliph, Sr., taught Cliff and I how to handle and shoot a .22 cal. single-shot rifle. We were about 12 years old at the time. He also took us on our first raccoon hunt at night with his hunting dog Spot.

     I can remember those early hunting trips and one in particular. 

     Mr. Zeliph loaded the dog and two excited boys in his old "woodie" station wagon on a cold night in November, and drove north on Sprout Brook Road toward the Cimarron Dude Ranch. Sprout Brook Road became a dirt and gravel road when crossing into Putnam County from Westchester County. I sat in the back seat on the right side, and Cliff sat up front next to his grandfather. The dog was in the tailgate behind the back seat. The vehicle headlights were on high beam to help us see any animals on the road. I don't remember seeing any road traffic. After two or three miles, we saw the blur of an animal about the size of a raccoon run across the road into the trees on our left. Mr. Zeliph stopped the station wagon abruptly. He got out with his gun, the dog jumped over the back seat and then jumped over the front seat and through the open front door, while we boys climbed out asking questions. 

     "What was that? Was that a raccoon?"

     "Maybe," Mr. Zeliph answered.

     We saw the dog run into the woods. Spot was a silent tracker. He barked only when he had treed a raccoon, not while he was following the scent. Flashlight in his hand, Mr. Zeliph urged us to follow him into the woods and we did. The woods were very dark. The sky was cloudy, not much of a moon could be seen overhead. We followed behind Mr. Zeliph and stumbled against brush and stones. Mr. Zeliph stopped when he saw the dog, and something else that looked like a big ball of fur pressed against a rock wall. Whatever it was, it didn't move. We approached slowly, kicking the thick autumn leaves aside. Mr. Zeliph grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled him back. We could see the color and shape of the animal now. It was a ball of gray fur, and it appeared dead.

     "It's a possum," Mr. Zeliph announced. "Looks like the dog killed it. We'll take it home and grandma will cook it up for the dogs to eat tomorrow." He grabbed the possum by its long hairless tail, and dragged it through the leaves over the ground as we walked back to the station wagon.

     Cliff and I were excited but also disappointed. This would be the end of the night’s hunt, and we had not fired the rifle. Sensing our disappointment Mr. Zeliph said, "If your parents don't mind, we can hunt again tomorrow night to get a raccoon." He threw the possum on the floor of the vehicle in the backseat area and put the dog in the tailgate area. We got into the station wagon assuming the same seating arrangement as before. The dog was nervously pacing back and forth in the tailgate area. The "dead" possum was on the floor of the backseat on the left side. I made sure my feet would not touch it. Except for the dimly lit interior dashboard, the station wagon was dark inside.

     A few minutes after Mr. Zeliph had turned the station wagon around and started driving home, I thought I felt something brush against my legs. I looked down and realized it was the possum moving. I screamed, "It’s alive!" I climbed up to the top of the seat-back, putting my feet on the seat. "It’s alive," I repeated. "The possum is moving!" Mr. Zeliph looked in the rear view mirror. Cliff turned his head to look into the backseat area.

     The station wagon came to a sudden stop and Mr. Zeliph started to laugh. He laughed and continued to laugh. I thought he would never stop. I was still perched above the seat-back with my head brushing against the cushioned roof of the station wagon.

     Was I overreacting? Put yourself in my place.

     I calmed down after Mr. Zeliph stopped laughing and told me the possum would not bite, that "it is about as scared as you are."  He calmly explained his practical joke and also a few facts about possums. He was surprised that I had never heard the term "playing possum." He was even more surprised when his grandson admitted that he had not heard of it either. I don't think Mr. Zeliph mentioned the size of the possum's teeth during that short discourse. 

     We drove back to the Mr. Zeliph's house without much further discussion. I remained seated above the seat-back. Every now and then I thought I heard a few muffled laughs coming from the person in the driver's seat.

     Getting out of the station wagon at the Zeliph's house, Cliff and I  thanked  Mr. Zeliph for the hunting trip. He placed the possum in a cage near the barn. Cliff and I walked home in the dark.