Folks said Uncle Athanatious didn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain. However, neither would you if you were in his business. Uncle Athan - no one dared call him by his full handle - operated a gunpowder mill. Dynamite was safer, but three times more expensive than black powder and harder to set off. Farmers of Boot Heel preferred the local "stump lifter" so ably concocted by Uncle Athan. Back then, explosives were in great demand for clearing land. Black powder was ideal because it exploded at a slower rate than dynamite and thereby exerted unremitting pressure on tree roots. Black powder also made great firecrackers - particularly rockets and salutes. The latter were fist- size bombs whose only purpose was to burst the eardrums of anyone standing close by when it was set off. Traditionally salutes were the first to be set off on the Fourth of July and Christmas morning. Ingredients for black powder consist of common materials that were easily obtained in country stores. Individually the ingredients were useful for many household purposes. Two are charcoal and sulfur. I dare not reveal the third lest a young reader undertake a dangerous experiment. The best charcoal for gunpowder was made from willow and alder trees. Uncle Athan had a piece of bottomland that supported a stand of the trees and needed clearing. The powder mill enabled him to turn a profit from unwanted trees. His sideline venture was so successful he continued manufacturing explosive after his own need was met. * * * Uncle Athan's process of making black powder was deceptively simple but a mite touchy. First, charcoal and sulfur were crushed to powder in a "ball mill." It was a rotating barrel containing recycled automobile bearings. The mill was turned by Uncle Athan's faithful hound Fritz trudging inside an over-size hamster exercise wheel. . After a while, the mixture was dampened and ingredient X added. Water aided chemical bonding and reduced the danger of accidental detonation. This black "mud" was pressed through a "wheel mill" comprised of two worn gears from a cotton gin. The meshed gears were turned by Jack -- a mule of limited ancestry but docile temperament -- by pulling around a long sweep attached to the gear wheels. A similar arrangement was common for grinding sugar cane. On visits, I was allowed to ride Jack while "it" earned its keep. My mother kept the visits short. Uncle Athan's casual attitude toward his product made her nervous. The wheel mill pressed out excess water and mashed the half-dry mud into granules. These were spread on wood trays to dry. Finally, dry granules were crushed into "corns" by an ordinary kitchen-type rolling pin and sifted through various screens for size. This was the most dangerous operation -- performed solely by Uncle Athan. Though gainful employment was hard to come by, no one ever applied for a job with him. A stray spark, high heat or static electricity could set off the powder. Size of the corns, and any color additives, determined the ultimate use of the gunpowder. Large grains were best for removing stumps. It also was preferred for charging the Civil War cannon fired on Decoration Day - the south's name for the north's Memorial Day. Fine-grain powder went into rockets. A little graphite gave the powder extra decibels. Rocket color was controlled by secret additives -- camphor for white, Sal ammoniac for green, lamp black for red, and ordinary sand for "golden shower." Uncle Athan didn't mess around with garden variety fireworks. The construction of little paper tubes, and stuffing them with tiny amounts of powder, was too tedious. Such things as penny crackers, sparklers, Roman candles, cherry bombs, devil spitters, fire snakes and other "kid stuff" were imported from China. * * * My uncle cured his powder in his house because it was clean, dry and handy. Trays were scattered about on tables, chairs, dressers, sideboard and beds. This kept Aunt Dilley in a nervous snit, but Athan was a stickler for quality control. "There isn't any cause for worry," he assured her, "so long as you don't open the damper on the stove or scuff your feet on the rug." This did not seem reassuring. Aunt Dilley knew the problem and didn't appreciate safety tips. When trays of powder were drying, she served cold pork and beans straight from the can and walked dainty. One night, when the living and dining rooms sheltered several trays of gunpowder, a thunderstorm came up suddenly. Apparently it was accompanied by static accumulation. In any case, the powder ignited. It went off with a loud POOF -- and sufficient concussion to blow out a couple of windows, smash chinaware and singe old Fritz sleeping under the dining table. Aunt Dilley moved out the next day and went to live with her sister down the road. Uncle Athan stayed on at the mill and visited Aunt Dilley and her sister for Sunday dinners. However, when a storm brewed, and gunpowder was drying, Uncle Athan hung around outside until the weather cleared. It was right pitiful to see him standing out in the rain in his yellow slicker and under a Purina Feed umbrella. * * * The event everyone had predicted for years finally occurred. Uncle Athan bought a one-way ticket to that Great Powder Mill in the Sky. It was never determined what set off the explosion. The day was warm and overcast, but these conditions were not deemed adverse enough to cause the blast. Perhaps Uncle Athan combed his hair too briskly that day. Old Fritz was not hurt, but he ran off - never to be seen again. Life in a powder mill for mans' best friend was to unsettling - what with the over-size hamster wheel, singed fur, sudden loud noises and a diet leaning excessively to cold beans. A large crowd came to Uncle Athan's funeral. He was well liked, but a goodly number of strangers showed up. Word got around that Aunt Dilley was going to dispose of her late husband's unexploded inventory after the burial ceremony. As Uncle Athan was lowered into his eternal resting place, the Volunteer Fire Brigade set off 25 salutes, two cannon blasts, 15 stump lifters and 30 assorted rockets. It was the end of an era, but Uncle Athan went out in style. Every Decoration Day thereafter, Aunt Dilley visited Uncle Athan's grave. She would set off a string of penny crackers - prudently disdaining stump lifters - and proclaim that Uncle Athan would rest easy for another year. |
