By Neal Wooten
Mom had three half-brothers: Nuke, Bunt, and Poss. I’m pretty sure those were nicknames, but I don’t know their real names. Like the other two, Poss was a small man with a big personality. For many years he worked at a meat-packing plant in Rainsville, where he had to wear a hard hat. He must have loved it because he wore that hat for the rest of his life, long after he didn’t work there anymore.
It always made me think of Alan Hale, the actor who played Skipper on Gilligan’s Island. It was said he loved that character so much he wore that sailing hat for the rest of his life.
I really enjoyed visits from Uncle Poss or going to his house, which was only a half mile from ours; closer if you cut through the pasture. The only nickname I’ve ever had came from him. He always called me “Nealer Dealer Skerwarski.” I never even knew I was Polish.
His wife, Viola, was much smaller than Poss, a tiny, feisty mountain woman. When she passed away, I drove up from Montgomery to the old funeral home in Rainsville. I got there as soon as they opened, and there were no other visitors yet. All three rooms were occupied with the names above the doors, but I realized she wasn’t there.
As I was walking back to my motorcycle, Mom pulled up and asked me why I was leaving. “She’s not here,” I explained. Mom was confused, and I followed her inside. When she pointed to the nameplate, I was shocked. “Her name is Viola?” With the combination of country slang and mountain twang, everyone called her “Valler.”
We always fattened hogs for the meat, and we always took them to where Poss worked. We’d fill a huge freezer with large chunks of meat wrapped in white paper with magic marker writing: ham, pork, sausage, and bacon.” Boy, was that some good eating.
Poss always took the skins home to Viola, and she would bake real pig skins. That was a neat treat. Every spring, Viola would pay me two dollars to work all day getting her garden ready to plant. No, that wasn’t a lot of money for working all day in the sun, but I knew it was to her. Plus, she didn’t just give me money; she always gave me plenty of fresh-cooked pig skins.
The first time I ate a bag of pork rinds from a store, I couldn’t help but notice the chewy meat, fat, and grease was missing. I still like pork rinds, but they’re no substitute for Viola’s pig skins. I’ll always miss Uncle Poss and Aunt Viola.
