TURKEYS VS BOY

Larry Bennett

   THE TURKEYS

This little story is written in memory of my friend Don Lepp.

 Don was an eighteen year old Trainee at the Air Traffic Control College in Winnipeg in the year nineteen fifty six.

I wrote this from memory about forty-five years after I heard it. I originally heard it with tears running down my face, and with a rather alcohol soused brain. All of the dialog and most of situations are from my imagination. But in essence this is a true story.

I presented Don with a copy of this story shortly before he died of Cancer – he read it over in silence, didn’t even crack a smile. After putting it down he said.

“You know Larry; believe it or not, I had a similar experience when I was young.”

We (a group of about eight or nine very young men) would congregate at a local Pub every Friday evening following our weekly exam. It was always a jolly time, with many stories told, some sad some funny. The more we had to drink the funnier or sadder the stories seemed to get.  Don and his story sticks in my memory for several reasons. He was a young  man who had never drunk beer before. He was very shy in class. But after several glasses of beer that evening he became loud, animated, and very funny. He told the following story with exuberance and various contortions as he literally ran up and down the aisles between the tables. It was the funniest comedy routine I had or indeed have, ever seen; I think a few of us actually peed our pants, laughing.

                                       The Story

It was almost midnight, as we approached the old abandoned aircraft hangar.  The windshield wipers were losing ground to the rain, as the wind drove sheets of water in the glare of the headlights.  "Now remember," Dad said," George is a good friend of mine, and he needed help tonight, I promised him you could handle this job."

I was fifteen, and this was going to be my first real money-paying job.  Dad said I didn't need any experience. I was to help on the midnight shift feeding turkeys being readied for the Thanksgiving Day market.  Now how difficult could this job be, just put in eight hours throwing a bit of grain around, and go home with sixteen big dollars.  Of course, I had never actually worked for eight hours in my life. I had never been up all night either, let alone in an old hangar full of live (or dead for that matter) turkeys. I was a city boy, and I had never seen a live turkey in my life. I assumed they were much like our neighbor’s chickens. It was only the big rooster, which really scared me.

We stopped in front of the old, hulking, building. There were no lights outside, and no light coming from the building.  As we sloshed through the mud toward this dark brooding structure, I started to feel a twinge of apprehension. I wouldn’t admit it, even to myself, but maybe a little fear as well.

We approached a door that looked much to small for such a large building, Dad opened it and we stepped into a small, dirty office, with a grimy single light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a frayed cord.

A wizened tired looking old man, sat at an ancient wooden desk.

"Hi there.” Said dad."I’m Bill Jones, a friend of George Archer. This is my Son Don. George mentioned you were short a man tonight, so Don here has come to give you fellows a hand."

The old man sort of nodded to Dad. He looked at me, and I could swear his face was getting older by the second.

"Hi Son," he said, "How old are you?"

"Just turned fifteen Sir." I answered.

“You sure don’t look that old." He said. “I don’t expect you’ve had any experience at feeding turkeys in captivity have you?"

"Well no," I said" but I'm sure I’ll have no trouble helping out."

“Well that’s another problem," said the old man." Henry the other worker on midnight shift called in sick and won’t be in tonight, so you will be here all night on your own."

Hey that’s no problem at all. “Said Dad.”My son can handle it."

And with that put on his hat and was at the door.

“See you at eight tomorrow morning." he called as the door closed behind him.

"Well Son.” Said the old man, “It’s been a long night and I want to get home. The first thing I'll do is show you how to use the ‘Forced Feeding Machine’."

"Forced Feeding machine, what's a ‘Forced Feeding Machine’?" I said.

"You see Son." He said, "For some strange reason, Turkeys in captivity will not eat. If they don’t eat, they lose weight, and we lose money, so we have to force feed them."

"Follow me," he said.

We went into a little room off the office, next to the hangar itself. It was here I got my first look at the ‘Forced Feeding Machine’.

"This is it.” Said the old man.

"Wow, it’s almost as tall as me." I said, "What’s that big thing on top?"

"That’s the hopper, it’s where you put the mash, and it holds 30 gallons." Said the old man. "There's about 500 Turkeys here tonight, so there should be enough to feed them all without a refill."

"Now listen carefully." He said." Take hold of this small rubber hose with your right hand; then grasp a turkey around the neck with your left hand. Next you slide your left hand up to the turkeys’ mouth and pry it open. Quickly shove the hose down its throat, and then with your right foot, slowly press down on this peddle.  The pedal regulates the amount and the speed the mash is pumped into the bird. Remember, the harder you press the more powerful is the jet of mash.”

 “One of our main worries.” He continued," Is to make sure you don’t put to much mash into the bird to fast.  If you do the turkey will burst and die, and it makes quite a mess”.

I had been lost since he said, “Then grasp a turkey.”

“I don't think I can ever learn to do that.”I said. “What’s that awful smell?”

"Of course you can do it.” He said “Oh the smell is from the Turkeys in the main area next door.  Come on, we'll get in there now and I'll give you a little lesson before I go.”

With that, he dragged the large ‘Forced Feeding Machine’ through the door, and into the main hangar.  As we stepped into the large room, I immediately noticed three things. The smell almost made me gag. The noise was terrible. The Turkeys looked bigger than me, and appeared very scary.

"Man look at the size of these things." I gagged.

"Yeah some of these beauties come in at 65lbs, dressed.” He said. “And, alive they are much heavier; they stand at about 4 ft.”

“I'm only five foot four, and weigh about a hundred and fourteen pounds, DRESSED.” I said, backing away from a very large Turkey that seemed to have its eye on me.

"They're sure bigger than our neighbor’s chickens." I said.

"Now Don I've got to get going, so watch me, I'll do a few, so you can get the hang of it.” Said the old man.

With that, he grabbed the Turkey that was menacing me, and before the turkey knew what had happened, it was full of mash and on its way. It looked easy watching him. Rubber hose in right hand, grab turkey with left, pry open large beak. Push in hose. Press peddle, all done. 

Nothing to it. 

He did a few more, it was a blur.

"There, see how it’s done, pretty easy eh. Well I'm going to leave you now, so good luck” Said the old man. “Oh and by the way, a little hint, watch the Turkey’s eyes as you pump in the mash. Just before it is about to explode its eyes start to bulge, so stop the instant you see eyes bulging." He said, and left me all alone.

He closed the door and I was alone. It was just me, and all those turkeys. The way these Turkeys acted it was as if a loud speaker had announced.

“See that wimpy guy, he's afraid of you. He doesn't know what he's doing. Go get him.”

 They all seemed to be closing in on me. I suddenly felt this urge to run.  I ran to the door.

"Oh no." I said out loud. “He locked me in."

I just stood there, cowering in the doorway, not knowing what to do next.

Well after about thirty minutes, the novelty of scaring a little wimp to death, wore off. The turkeys went back to cackling and defecating on the floor. From what I could see, this was about all they did.  I was wondering why we fed them; it seemed to come out the other end in greater amounts then when it went in.

"Now that reminds me. I’m here to feed you guys; I guess I should have a go." I said to the assembled horde.

So, I dragged the ‘Forced Feeding Machine’ into the middle of the floor.  I warily started circling the smallest turkey I could find.

"Here Turkey, Turkey." I said "Come on, lets get some of this slop into you."

Well, every time I tried to grab that stupid Turkey it would peck me. Although it was one of the smaller ones, it could still hit my head with its big beak. I was afraid it would poke out my eye. Eventually I got hold of it by the neck and we both sort of slid over to the ‘Forced Feeding Machine’.

I got hold of the rubber hose, but no way could I get it into the stupid bird’s mouth.  Then I remembered "slide your left hand up to its mouth and pry it open”. So I slid my left hand up the turkey’s neck and into its eye. He didn’t seem to like this too much. He pecked my other hand holding the rubber hose.

"Owe you bastard." I shouted, as I dropped the bird and the hose.

After about an hour I hadn't fed one bloody Turkey. I was standing almost up to my ankles in bird shit, and my hand was bleeding.

There was nothing else for it. I threw up. 

The Turkeys seemed to really get a charge out of me retching my guts out. They gathered around to get a better view.

 "Goccha." I said as I put a stranglehold on a rather large, fierce looking bird. I got behind him, and with my legs straddling him, I somehow managed to sort of hop both of us close enough to grab the rubber hose again.  I got my left hand up to his beak and after a bit of fun I managed to get the hose into his mouth. This changed his loud cackle to more of a muffled cookle. Unfortunately however the peddle to pump the mash was on the other side of the machine. I dragged him with the hose down his throat (I think it went much further down in the scuffle) over to the peddle.  With a super human effort I managed to hold this rather large, ferocious, bird, with both hands around its neck. Finally I got my foot on the peddle and pushed.  I could feel the mash pulsing through the hose. Suddenly there was a sort of SLOOMP and a horrible cackle.  Instantly, guts and shit, sprayed all over me. 

I threw up again. 

The Turkey died.

I would have sat down and cried, but there was no place to sit.

So I just cried.

After feeling sorry for myself for another half-hour or so, I realized I only had another 499 Turkeys to go. On the upside though, it seemed the Turkeys weren't quite as aggressive as they had been before the explosion.  In fact they were keeping their distance from me. I was starting to feel like I was the boss. Time to feed another Turkey.

I grabbed another bird, and we went through the same basic dance as the last one.

“OK, OK now calm down." I said, “Just keep that hose down your throat while I gently give the pedal a little push.”

" SLOOMP-- shit, guts, feathers

Turkey - cackle, rattle.

Me - retching.

 SILENCE

I think the rest of the turkeys were starting to become a little worried.

This was the basic pattern for the next four or five Turkeys. The main difference was I had stopped throwing up after each disaster. I was retching yes, but I had run out of stomach contents, so at least I wasn’t adding much to the mess.

That is other than the rapidly rising pile of dead Turkeys.

I was determined to feed the rest of the Turkeys. I was wondering if they would deduct the cost of the dead Turkeys from my pay. If they did, I was probably already in the hole. 

I would have to be more careful. 

Then I remembered what the old man had said about looking the Turkey in the eyes,

“When they start to bulge stop pumping the mash.”

"Here Turkey, Turkey."

Well, they weren’t so brave now. They were cowering over on the far side of the hangar.  Now that I was truly the boss, I felt much better.  I went over and grabbed the first one I could catch.

“OK don't worry, I think I've got the idea now." I said to this nice Turkey.  By the look in its eye I don’t think it believed me. I got the hose in and gently pushed on the pedal. I looked intently into the Turkeys eyes.  Suddenly the eyes started to bulge, I was about to release my foot. 

          SLOOMP, shit, guts, feathers, cackle, rattle.

"Oh no!!  I guess I waited a little to long, but I'm definitely improving.” I said to my assembled audience.

They were non-committal.

Anyway I eventually more or less got the hang of it, and by morning I had got through about half the Turkeys. By the end, I was only blowing up about one out of six.

When the morning shift arrived they found me sitting with my back against the ‘Forced Feeding Machine’, fast asleep. Guts, shit, feathers, puke, and at least 30 dead Turkeys surrounded me.

They carried me out to the fresh air where my Dad was waiting.

" Well how did it go?" Dad said" Geez, you look awful, and, you smell terrible."

I did not get paid.                                                                             Larry Bennett

Written by Larry W. Bennett