I was reminded of an older friend who had passed away a few years ago. I really liked this man.
The first time I ever remember speaking to him was probably about 1975. I was working at the livestock auction at Woodward and after the sale this man came in to pick up his check. He came in singing all the way down the hall as he was walking toward the office.
Now, I think he had been drinking stronger stuff than iced tea. He walked up to the woman in the office and said, “I need to pick up a check for Busser Martin," which were slurred words from the evening’s social hour. And me, being a natural smart aleck before I thought, said, “Who’s this Busser?” Knowing his name was really Buster. I thought I shouldn’t have said that and teasing him about his slurred speech but he just laughed and we were soon friends.
A customer, who had worked for Buster for many years, brought his cattle in to sell. He says Buster was the nicest man to work for. He ran some cows but his main business was oil field equipment. Buster could tell a story in a way that it was extremely funny when someone else might tell the same story and not be funny at all.
One of his stories was about a secretary he had a long time ago who had body odor. He said there is not a way of telling a woman she has bad odor. So he said to her, “I am going to have to make a change.”
She said, “How come?” He said, “Let’s just leave it like that. I need to make a change.” She kept being persistent for him to explain. He said, “Dang it, I tried to make this easy but I guess I have to tell you—you stink.”
Another story was Buster needed a colonoscopy. Now Buster decided this wouldn’t be all that bad because there are several football games he wanted to watch over the weekend and “I can do that on these two days that I will be laying in bed.”
He said, “A lady brought in some stuff for me to drink.” Buster said, “That was the nastiest stuff and I said to the lady, ‘Are you sure I’m supposed to be drinking this stuff? It tastes to me like someone already did.’”
The bathrooms were across the hall and after several fast trips, he said, “Lady, you are going to need a flag to stop traffic when I head that way.” Then the lady came in to give him an enema. He said, “I’m already passing gas with fresh air.” Buster said, “Then they flipped me over and got out a golf putter.” He said they proceeded to see if he was a quart low.
He said, “Ma’am, have you been beating that golf putter on a rock?” His hired man said he also had a garden just to give vegetables way to people in town. My hat is off to my friend, Buster Martin.
Editor’s note: Jerry Nine, Woodward, Oklahoma, is a lifetime cattleman who grew up on his family’s ranch near Slapout, Oklahoma.
