(upbeat music) - I've been driving and I've been driving.

It seems like for over two hours isn't there any end of this hill, farmer?

Why heck stranger, there ain't no hill here.

You just lost your two hind wheels.

(upbeat music) My name is Marshall Dodge.

Though I am a native and resident of the city of New York, the state of Maine is closer to my heart.

It was 15 years ago that I started delving into Maine humor.

Since that time I have worked to put out six records of down east stories and have performed them from Maine to Texas.

I'm going to tell you some Maine stories.

Some of them have been told to me some I have come upon in books and some I have made up myself.

All of the stories reflect the spirit of old Maine and all are stories, not jokes.

They end gently with a poke rather than a punch and most have a message that lives on through many tellings.

I was setting on the front porch of that farmhouse when I heard what sounded just like one of them foreign sports cars approaching down the road and it went like this.

(Marshall imitates engine) Well that sports car drove right on by the front of my house.

And for some strange reason he stopped down by the blueberry barons, started back in and fill in and heading back, apparently up to my place.

(Marshall imitates engine) That were him backin' and fillin'.

Of course I didn't understand it because there's nothing for miles around my house.

I stand there all alone and there's nothing for three four miles in either direction.

I couldn't imagine why he was coming back up through (Marshall imitates engine) Well, he drove right on by and stopped down by the abandon Esso station half mile down the road.

I heard him backin' and fillin', (Marshall imitates engine) This time he stopped right out front and a head poked its way out of the car and said, "Which way to East Vassalboro?"

I said, "Don't you move a God damned inch."

Are you stuck?

Well, I would be if I was trying to go anywhere.

Well, what's the matter?

Well, I was changing a tire and I lost the lug somewhere in these leaves.

Well, why don't you take a lug from each of the other three wheels, put it on that wheel and you'd have enough support all around to get you into town in good style.

By jingles, why didn't I think of that?

Well, now I may be crazy, but I ain't stupid.

Where's this road go, mister?

Don't go nowhere, mister.

Stays right here.

May I take this road to Portland?

Well, sure.

But seems to me Portland's got enough roads already.

Well, is this the road to Portland?

Yes it is, but it's about 30,000 miles the way you are traveling and there's some stretches of pretty wet wheeling.

Is it fur to town?

Well, it seems as though it's fur, but you'll find out it ain't.

Well, we're going to Portland.

Well go right ahead.

I ain't stopping you.

(map rustles) Say mister, can you tell me how to get to Alfred?

Alfred?

Now let me see.

Alfred.

Well, now it seems to me that you head down the road here toward Dry Lake.

Keep going where you're going and now let me see... Dry Lake.

That's right.

You come to a crossroads in Dry Lake and you could go left Sabbath day or right to Gray.

Now let me see which one them two roads do you take?

No, you better turn right around at that crossroad come right back up where you started from, right here in Oxford and head down the road.

You go right down the road in the direction of Otis Field and Casco.

Now that's a lumpier road.

That's why I didn't recommend it in the first place.

But you head on down there until you get to Raymond.

Now, when you get to Raymond, you're gonna get into some problems because they got one new fangled traffic circles.

And you go around that traffic circle and you take a turnoff there.

And I'm trying to remember now whether it's the 180 degree or the 90 degree turnoff there.

Let me see, go right around that traffic circle once more.

And by the time you come around it once again I'll have decided which one of them, two turnoffs to take.

180 or 90?

God for mighty, you know, come to think of it, you can't get there from here.

Well, if you can't tell me how to get Alfred at least you can tell me if there's a gas station nearby.

You know, I don't know.

Well, you don't know much, do you?

No, but then again, I ain't lost.

- I reckon we used to to play that lot.

We play it lot for country dance, Red Wing, you know.

(plays accordion) ♪ There was an Indian maid ♪ A shy little prairie maid ♪ And under the sky each night, she would lie ♪ ♪ And dream about his coming by and by ♪ - [Marshall] Albert Tyler was newsy on his porch one morning when he was rudely awakened by a moose sniffing around amongst his parsnips.

Quick as a wink, Albert had his gun off the wall and chopped the moose in the hind leg, just to wound him, you know, so he wouldn't get away.

The moose flopped over on his side and Albert dragged him into the barn, and bedded him down for the night with some hay and water.

After cleaning the Moose's wound, of course.

In two days time, Albert painted the barn a bright red with white lettering on the side so everybody could see it.

"See the moose: 10 cents.

15 cents special family rate."

In a week's time, Albert's place looked more like a fair than a farm.

A fella come through with his family and paid Albert his 15 cents to see the moose.

Albert took one look at the man and one look at his family and said, "Here's your money, Mister?

I don't want it.

It's worth a good deal more for my moose to see your family than it can be for your family to see my moose."

♪ The night bird's crying ♪ For afar 'neath his star her brave lies sleeping ♪ ♪ While Red Wing's weeping her heart away ♪ - You get a good drag, good crowd together, you know?

And you can go town on that, see?

Get in and get that child to help the old folks and then you can come around here where I am.

I'll get around here.

Get over here, get over, get over, get over, get over now.

I think he's a little might touchy today on the count of that mess we had them hornets last night.

Don't you, Walter?

- [Walter] Yeah, probably.

- You got your own right in there.

- [Marshall] Eben Robe went down to the Treemont Temple in Boston one Saturday night to hear Norman Thomas speak.

Next Monday, he was preaching socialism to Enoch Turner over the back fence.

You know Enoch under socialism a person shares everything.

You mean to say, even that if you had two hay rigs you'd give me one of them?

Yeah.

Yep.

Em, yeah.

Yup.

If I had two hay rigs, I'd give you one of them.

Do you mean to say even that if you owned two plows, you'd give me one of them?

Yup.

If I had two plows, I'd give you one of 'em.

Or if you had two hogs, even, would you give me one of 'em?

Damn you Enoch.

You, you know, I've got two hogs - You know I'm pretty well pleased with the old boy for not breaking the rest of my damn neck up there in that place.

- [Marshall] Charles, you put down that newspaper and look at me.

What do you want?

Do you know what day it is?

Sunday.

This is our 46th wedding anniversary, Charles.

And you should be ashamed of yourself for not thinking of it.

Hmm.

You know, some one these days, something's going to happen to one of us, Charles, then you'll feel different.

When it does, I'm moving up to Farmington.

And another thing, Charles, I'm sick and tired of that double bed we're sleeping in.

It's hot in the summer, cold in the winter.

And it just ain't decent.

That's all, Charles.

Well, how do you propose we do our sleeping?

In them twin beds at aunt Clara's.

Will she give 'em to us, you suppose?

She said she would, Charles.

Well, them twin beds is fine by me, Sarah, just as long as you do the walking.

Frost, you say?

Did it have any frost up to my place this morning, you ask?

Well, now let me tell you.

This morning I woke up at about five o'clock.

Ain't never been a layer bed in the Perkins family for as long as anyone can remember.

I stepped into my pants, and pulled on the boots, looked around for them teeth of mine found them over by the wash stand.

Applied some clutch to my gums.

Bitted them in place and started down over them stairs.

Now them stairs, they ain't steep and narrow where you break your damn neck going down them.

My stairs have 12 inch treads and only six inch risers.

And alongside of them stairs of mine I got a red cherry banister and at the for newel post made outta curly ash.

Now red cherry and curly ash is a combination that makes for the nicest effect, especially in the early morning light.

Now, once you get down them stairs of mine, your pass through my sitin room, and you know that sitin room has a black plush sofa.

When you're tired, there's nothing like that sofa for stretching out.

On Thursday, when the bugle comes out, I don't think Nathan are lying there till 8:30 before I go to bed.

Out back of that sitting room stands the kitchen with an old black, Clarion wood burning stove right in the center.

That Clarion will handle 10 not 12 dishes all at once.

At the back is the simmering area for soup stock and chicken bones, flat irons, and bed warming stones.

In the middle is the waiting area where the peas wait for the pork chops or the butter waits for clams.

In the front is the working area where I brew my tea in per my coffee, sear my steak, and fry my bacon.

I only burn oak and beach in that stove.

And the flavor of that wood goes right through them stove lids, and cooking pans and mellows the food.

As for baking biscuits and bread, there ain't no finer oven in the world.

And way on top of that Clarion, is a shelf for storing my bills and keeping my salt shakers dry.

With them four regulators, you don't get no spills but if you do have a spill, it forms little balls and hops down on the floor outta the way.

Course, that whole Clarion of mine takes more than a teaspoon of brains to operate.

But that's probably why them stoves ain't so popular as they used to be.

Tacked right onto that kitchen of mine on the outside of the house is the wood shed with the green wood stacked on the right side and the aged wood stacked on the left.

Now that aged wood has got a good even fire.

Some people say a wood shed tacked onto the side of the house is a fire hazard but I say it's a real convenience in the winter.

Beyond that wood shed of mine stands the privy.

Now I always say a fellow who ain't regular in his habits ain't gonna amount to a hill of beans.

And to be regular, it helps when you got yourself a good privy.

You gotta be mighty careful when you build yourself a privy that you get it quarter into the wind.

It makes some high side of difference with the draft that comes up through the holes.

If you want a smooth privy seat well you'd better use boxwood.

Mighty soft and velvety, I want to tell you.

20 rod or so back that privy of mine lies my cow pasture.

A greener pasture in October, you've never see.

Though the Lord give earth and taketh away, my cows take and give back threefold.

Well, as I say, I got out to that cow pasture of mine and leaned on the fence rail.

And I happened to look down on the ground and you know there on the grass was just a little might of frost.

(sandpaper grinds) You know, I went up to Mr. Perkins place the other day.

And Mr. Perkins said, "Son, I've been thinking about building me a new privy, tearing down the old one."

Well, I said, "Mr. Perkins, it's your privy."

He said, "Psy, I'd like to have my new privy over by the chestnuts over there.

I think that'll be just about the right place."

Well, I said, "Mr. Perkins, it's your privy."

So we tore down the old privy and had just about built the hole for the new one.

When Mr. Perkins said, "Psy, I've been thinking some about this new privy of mine.

And I figure if it it's over by the chestnuts there it's awful far from the house in the wintertime when you gotta shovel snow in the middle of the night."

"So I figure," he said, "If it was over by the lilacs over there, it'd be much closer the house and more convenient in the winter."

Well I said, "Dennis Perkins, it's your privy.

So we filled in the old hole and dug the new one over by the lilacs over there and I'd no sooner got the floorboards in when Mr. Perkins said, "Psy, I've been thinking some about this new privy of mine.

And it seems to me with the prevailing wind being nor nor east and the house standing south Southwest it might be kind of uncomfortable for the lady folks in the kitchen during the summer months."

Well, I said, "Mr. Perkins, it's your privy."

I said, "Where are you gonna put the privy now?"

Perkins, he said, "I'd like it just halfway between the lilacs and the chestnuts.

And neither would it be too far in the winter nor too close in the summer."

Well, I said, "Mr. Perkins, it's your privy."

So I filled in the hole over there by the lilacs and dug the new hole and had got the upright members on and was starting in on what you might call the interior decorating when Mr. Perkins come out and he said, "Psy, I've been thinking some about this privy you're building.

And I noticed you kind of got it framed up there for a one holer.

And I have specified from the very start that it's got to be a two holer."

Well, I said, "Mr. Perkins, it's your privy.

But now I don't wanna seem to be dictating to you, Mr. Perkins, oh nothing like that.

But it seemed to me that if I went ahead and framed it up as a two-holer and you was to come out some night which you might say pressed before you made up your damn mind which one of them two holes to sit on, It'll just be too late, that's all.

It'll just be too late."

(sandpaper grinds) (distant talking) (upbeat music) And Foster Fighead met his wife, Hettie, down at the blueberry festival at Union all back in the spring of 33.

He proposed to her as she was spooning out the pie on his plate.

And she accepted as he put the first spoonful in his mouth.

That's the way things are transacted in Maine: speedy and efficient.

Anyway, Hettie he invited Foster home to meet her folks after the fair.

And lying in the middle of the parlor was a dead horse.

Foster said, "Hettie, that's the carcass of a dead horse, ain't it?"

She said, "Yes, it is.

But now Foster, I told you a lot of things, but I never said I was tidy."

Year later, Foster brung Hettie home an anniversary present.

And it was a double bitted ax.

He carved her initials right on the end of the handle.

Foster used to say, "You know, she was out chopping wood before breakfast.

First thing.

Something a little might fancy will tickle a woman most to death."

Foster used to say that it's true that Hettie was quite big around the middle but he said she's shade in the summer and warmth in the winter.

In the winter of '42, Hettie's right lung collapsed.

Then that spring, her left lung collapsed and Foster had to slap her into an iron lung.

But that was all right, 'cause every Easter, Tut Tottle, the postman, used to take Hettie for a ride in the back of his mail truck to see the countryside.

One Easter Tut went around the corner too fast and Hettie came right off the back of that truck, onto the pavement, iron long and all, of course.

And Tut didn't even stop the truck.

He just leaned out of the cab and said, "Steer to the curb, Hettie.

Steer to the curb, for heaven's sakes."

In the winter of 52, Hettie died.

As Foster used to say, "My wife Hettie passed away at five o'clock on the morning of December 13th that year you know I bruised my thumb with a hammer, ran outta nails twice and split three covers before I got the fourth one nailed down tight.

Bruised my, I strained my back lifting Hettie to the wagon and pulled the halter loose as Bessie the horse came outta the barn so poor Bessie had to ride into town pulling crooked all the way.

Got outta control like coming down that last hill and Hettie shot straight off the back of the wagon, straight through the post office window.

I jumped off the wagon, ran inside the post office.

made sure no one was hurt.

And there was Tut Tottle staring at me through the stamp window.

"Lucky ya had the braking down," he said.

"It sure was," I replied.

"Did you pass the preacher and the undertaker on your way out to town?"

Tut asked.

"No, I guess I missed him, Tut," I said.

"You know, my day's been one long fizzle from beginning to end."

Well, since farming got pretty bad, I made a little extra on the side as census taker, and God almighty you should have seen the sites I saw in these back country roads in state of Maine.

Why I'd come upon a family that had nothing but twins.

Well, heck on the front lawn there must have been six or seven sets twins.

Inside there were four or five more.

And I asked the lady, I said, "Excuse me, lady.

But I don't mean to seem to be nosy or nothing like that.

But tell me something.

Do you get twins every time?"

She said, "Oh God no."

She says, "Thousands of times I don't get nothing at all."

(audience laughs) Bless her heart.

(audience laughs) I came across another lady.

She didn't have twins, but she sure did have an awful lot of kids and all over front lawn.

And I went inside and there she stood, stark naked.

And I said, "Oh, excuse me, lady."

But I said, "I'll come right back."

And she said, "Oh no, you come right in.

I'm a nudist, that's all."

Well, I said, "All right."

So I went inside, I sat down and I said, "Now I'd like the names of your children."

Well, she said, "There's Charles and George and Harris and Peter, William, Jerome, Abigail, Helen, Susan, Sarah.

Oh, I said, "Excuse me, lady but how many children do you have?"

Well, she says, "I got 17."

Well, I said lady, "You ain't a nudist.

You just never had time to get your clothes on."

(audience laughs) (upbeat music)