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Uncle Shorty by Kim Metzgar December 20, 2006 Uncle Shorty was one of the younger brothers on my mother's side of the family. His given name was Elmer but I only knew him as Uncle Shorty. By the time I came along he was married to Montreda Flick, a heavy set woman with a temper. They had three children. Dennis was the oldest; I would guess he was about 10-12 years older then me. He would be by today's standards considered slow, but he had a gift for electronics and that type of thing. He always held a job but I doubt that he finished high school. Next in line was Kayleen. She was about my oldest sister's age and they played together all through school. The youngest was Tom. He was about 3-4 years older then me, somewhat of a bully and very strong even for his age. We hung out together some, much to my parents dismay at times because he bordered on the wild side for a conservative Grace Brethren. If there was a fight brewing with the Peterman's or Hause's you wanted Tom on your side. We played ball together, worked on the farm together for a summer, goofed around some with cars since he had his license a few years ahead of me. Once he got old enough to buy good cars I rarely saw him as he ran around a lot and seemed to be gone most of the time. Uncle Shorty and his family were Grace Brethren. He taught Sunday School and played special music for the services on occasion and always for revival services. He had his Dad's snuff habit which he never yielded to the Lord. He was a coal miner and before he was saved I think he was pretty wild from what little my mother has told me. He lived on the end of our street, in Reading Mines, in one of only three former company houses that had indoor plumbing. I know he worked for many mining companies over the years. He came home covered with coal dirt every day from a job that took all it could from you and gave back as little as possible. I never heard him complain or talk about his job. Uncle Shorty loved to fish and he took my cousin Bobby and I fishing for what ever might be in season. I learned to fish mostly from him. Prior to fishing we usually had a trip to the Picnic Grove to flip over dried cow pies looking for red worms or seining for minnows in the small feeder streams close to town. That was often an adventure in itself. He fished for trout in the local streams or for muskie and pike at Somerset Lake, Cranberry Lake or maybe High Point Lake. Often times the lake fishing was an all nighter or at least till midnight or so. It never seemed to matter to him. I believe that may have gotten him into hot water with Aunt Montreda on more then one occasion. Like water off a ducks back, it never seemed to faze him. Most of all though, Uncle Shorty seemed to live for picking his electric guitar. There was nothing like it, bar none! Sitting on his front porch on a hot summer evening as the sun set and singing old gospel hymns to the accompaniment of his guitar. At times as many as 8-12 kids and adults set around singing, The Old Rugged Cross, Amazing Grace, Power in the Blood and many of the old gospel choruses. On that perfect evening at some point in time he would let go with Under the Double Eagle and we never knew at the time that this was as good as it was ever going to get! On a clear summer night you could hear that guitar clearly all over town. No one ever hollered, ?Hey Shorty turn it down?. No one called the cops to restore the peace or to file a complaint. What do you think would happen now? Small town, summer night, an electric guitar and a singing crowd, those were the best years of my life. All of that took place sometime when I was probably about 10-15 years old I suppose. After I got older Uncle Shorty's kids, Kayleen and Tom at least, took off to sow some wild oats. Uncle Shorty and Aunt Montreda left the church for some reason. Eventually they bought a bar in Stoystown, where they moved, and Uncle Shorty went back to the bottle for a few years. Over the years Aunt Montreda passed away and Uncle Shorty has all but lost his sight now. He lives with his son Dennis and the word I get is that he's always pretty up beat. For his part I believe Uncle Shorty is born again; a child of God, straying from the fold a few times by a life that could be pretty harsh, but in the end a child of God. We all are hardly prepared for what life on this earth offers at times. It rarely lives up to our expectations. Uncle Shorty gave me some of the best summer evenings of my young life on his front porch with his electric guitar. Post Script: The call came early on a Sunday morning, April 23, 2006, It was my mother to tell me Uncle Shorty passed away the night before. Cancer treatments had been unsuccessful so he went home to die with his three children by his side. This happens every day across the state, across the country, and the world. It gains significance and attention when it's your brother, your father, your son or your uncle. Uncle Shorty's death won?t make the evening news, but in his time his spirit, humor and music touched all of us who knew him and it changed us in at least some small way. See you on the "other side" where the music will be eternal and you?ll never miss a chord. About the author: I'm 54 years old and a production manager for a local dairy processing plant. I've been happily married to wife Kathy for almost 35 years. We have 3 children, all college educated; two are teachers and one is a research biologist at Duke university. We both grew up in a mining town in south western Pennsylvania. My father was a steel worker and most of my relatives were miners. Over the years we've had career related moves to Indiana, south and west of Buffalo, N.Y., and now back to Pennsylvania for the past 11 years. We make our own Maple Syrup, sauerkraut, applebutter and keep a very small flock of sheep. | | | |
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