Pat Fox and the Magic Dragon
by Jack Ward Skinner
If you were a kid, back in the 1940s and early 50s, you, probably, remember Patrick Fox. I was not a personal acquaintance of his, yet he seemed like family, and he was to hundreds of kids around Fredericktown and Madison County.
You see, back then, one of the major attractions each year was the 4th of July and Labor Day picnics in Memorial Park. There were food stands, games of chance, games of skill, the town band led by Frank Deguire, and a Merry-Go-Round. As one would travel up the street, past the Swimming Pool, and reach the top of the hill, on the left was a metal building. There was a grand old Merry-Go-Round stored in there all year, until it was time for these picnics. Then it was brought out and set up outside the metal building. There were horses that moved up and down, and some that stayed, stationary as the Merry-Go-Round went around.
And what was it that powered this kid-favorite contraption? Well, it was a coal-fired, steam engine. You could see the black smoke, pouring out of the smoke stack as a jolly, good-natured giant shoveled in more coal, twisted this valve, or tapped on that gauge. This, always smiling man, was always dressed in bib-overalls and an engineer’s cap on his head. And he loved to laugh and enjoyed kids. Because, his steam engine, with a big, wide belt that ran underneath the Merry-Go-Round, kept it running. And that was Pat Fox.
But that job was only 2 days out of the year. So, what else did Pat do? Well, he lived on a farm, just off of the “J” road. Farming was his primary lively hood I think.
Now Pat Fox was one of those kinds of guys that loved to fix things, to tear into something to see what made it work. He liked mechanical things. And so, he bought this big old magic dragon. No, it was not a real dragon. But it certainly was big. It was one of those old-time thrashing machines.
Now, today, wheat is harvested, and the grain separated, all with one motorized machine. But, back in the 1940s, it was a several-step process. And the thrashing machine was the last step in harvesting wheat. And, it certainly compared to a dragon. It was bigger than an elephant, and had a stack, like a large smoke stack, that would swing around to different positions. And it had belts, and chains, and knobs, and valves. It was mostly medal, a “humongous” contraption. And it was as scary to an 8-year old as a real, live dragon would have been.
So, what did it do? Well, let’s begin with the harvesting process first.
When the wheat was ripe and ready, Grandpa hooked a team of horses to a reaper/binder machine. This was a machine that cut the wheat with a sickle-bar. The wheat was pulled into the sickle-bar by rotating paddles, looking something like the paddle wheel on a river boat. As the wheat was cut, it fell onto a big, wide belt. This belt carried the wheat into the binding machine where it was rolled up in a bundle and tied with binder twine. Then it was kicked out the back end. Later, Grandpa would gather up these bundles and stand them on end, in groups of 4-10 in a group, with the stems down and the grain on top. This helped them to dry out. I was there one time to help stack the bundles in groups, called shocks. Next, these shocks stood there in the field, like tepees in an Indian village, waiting for the wheat thrashing day.
When the day arrived to thrash the wheat, it was a community thing. Grandpa got together with his neighbors, like Mason Mathews, Justin Menteer, and Bert Byers. They, usually, all had their wheat planted, then ready at the same time. That was because it was no easy task to get the thrasher to their farms.
And that’s where Pat Fox came in. Pat had purchased one of those metal monstrosities, and, though crude types of tractors had been invented by the 1940s. it took an extra large one to pull that thrashing machine. Some of the original ones were even steam engines on wheels. Pat’s old tractor had iron wheels and traveled at a slow pace. I’m guessing it was a distance of 4-5 miles from Pat’s farm on the “J” road to Grandpa, and his neighbors, farms.
On the day he was to arrive, I stood lookout. And there he came. I could see, and hear, that old tractor, pulling that big old machine up the hill before the road reached the current Amidon parking lot. On, down the hill, around the road, and up the road to Grandpa’s house. Actually, he stopped in the field just below the barn. And there was big old jolly Pat Fox, climbing down and laughing and greeting all the farmers that were gathered around. After a few “tall tales” were passed around, everybody got to work. Grandpa and his neighbors hooked up a couple of teams of horses to hay wagons. Then they headed out to the wheat field where the shocks were standing. The rest gathered around the thrasher and helped Pat set it up. The big, round tube, or funnel, was clamped against the side for traveling, but Pat swung it out to where Grandpa wanted the straw stack to be.
Next, Pat unhooked the old tractor and backed it off a little way from the thrashing machine. Then, he got out a long, rubber, continuous belt. It was close to a foot wide. He looped the belt over a wheel on the side of the tractor, and the other end, he looped over a wheel on the thrasher.
Meanwhile, the men with the wagons were in the field, and they were gathering up the shocks of wheat and loading them on the wagon. Later, I would try to help them with this job, but I wanted to be there when ‘the dragon came alive’. Eight-year-olds can have a great imagination.
There came one of the wagons, in from the field, with a load of wheat shocks. It pulled up right next to the back in of the thrashing machine. Then, Pat Fox started up the old tractor. Again, there was a mighty cloud of black smoke, shot out of the exhaust pipe, and the tractor began chugging along in place. Then, Pat moved some levers, and the wheel on the tractor began turning. He moved another lever, and that tightened the belt, and it began moving, causing the wheel on the thrasher to start turning. Now, there was a sound like an orchestra beginning to tune up. Chain drives and belt drives all began turning something mysterious inside, and the “dragon” began coming alive.
Clanking here, and clanking there, and then, there was a ‘whooshing’ sound, coming from that long pipe. Then straw began shooting out, onto the ground. And it began piling up, and piling up. And the 2nd wagon came from the field, as the first wagon returned. And the pile of straw grew as tall as a house.
Someone grabbed a burlap sack and held it under a small door with a small spout. When he opened up the door, golden wheat began pouring out into the sack. This would continue until the sack was full, then they would use the next sack.
I caught Grandpa, driving one of the team of horses and wagons, and headed back to the field. I jumped on the wagon to ride with him. What a thrill. Grandpa let me hold the reins and “drive” the horses. Boy! Did I feel big! He even let me drive the horses along the rows of shocks. I would pull up to one and yell, “Whoa!”, and hold the horses until Grandpa had picked up that shock of wheat and threw them on the wagon, then I drove the horses to the next shock. Little did I know that old Bob and Doll, Grandpa’s team of horses, had done this so many times, they could have done it without me. And, probably, did in spite of me.
With our wagon full, we headed back to the thrashing machine. As I came up through the field, my 8-year old imagination did think the thrasher resembled a dragon, breathing straw instead of fire. Or, maybe that was a dinosaur with a long neck.
Whichever it was, I knew that Pat Fox had it under control. He wasn’t afraid. He was still standing there, reared back, with a big smile on his face. And life was good.
And when all the wheat had been thrashed, Pat stopped the belt and took it off, then hooked up the thrasher and got ready to head for the next farmer’s field. It would sit there through the night and get an early start the next morning. This was repeated until all the farmer’s in the area had their wheat thrashed. Then Pat and his thrasher would head for another area, or finally back home.
And Grandpa could save some of the wheat for next fall’s planting, or take some to Frederickown to one of the mills, and have it ground into flour.
But Pat Fox was thinking of us kids, even in the farm field, because, you see, he left us that big old stack of straw to play in. If we didn’t get caught.