You probably picked up this tale expecting one of those conspiracy theory tell-alls. I mean from the title and all. Nope. In the middle of the Twentieth Century mysterious things were still reported in the Southern Highlands. However, in real life, hauntings, hexings and supernatural doings were as strange to the post-bellum South as pit barbecue, Winn-Dixie, Dr. Pepper and Royal Crown Cola were familiar. Well, there was this one item about an exploding deer that got buried in the back pages.

Did I tell you I went to James A. Garfield Elementary? Probably not. We had cheerleaders and a losing basketball team for them to cheer for—Bobo skewatten-daddle, get it right! James A. Garfield gonna win tonite!

I missed out on World War Two because I was pigeon-toed. The pigeon-toed thing never failed to get a chuckle. It’s my name—Pigeon, Harley Pigeon.

School spirit saw to it that I was more or less informed about the late president. The exploding deer thing happened when I was in the seventh grade. I was nowhere near the scene.