My third birthday was approaching in the fall of 1935; also squirrel season had begun. We lived in the Sabine River bottom below Old Salem and folks knew it was a hunter's paradise. Daddy had one of the best squirrel dogs in the county and friends knew they could always borrow Ole Blue to help them locate the squirrels. People would camp behind our house near the edge of he woods and often borrow water and firewood.
Store -bought toys simply did not exist in our home at this time. There just wasn't a cash flow. My brothers and I were blessed with vivid imaginations tho, and could turn most anything into a toy. An empty box, a baking powder can, or a Prince Albert tobacco can were some of the things we coveted and considered treasures. We would ask early on; “Daddy, when your tobacco can is empty, can I have it for a play- pretty? Remember, I asked first!” If we were talking to Mama; “When that baking powder can gets empty, I want it. When that spool of thread is used up, I want that spool.” oh, the toys we could make from these treasures!
Once a grateful hunter gave Daddy a large can of Prince Albert tobacco and I happened to be the lucky child to speak first. My only concern was the size of the can and what a long time it would take Daddy to empty it. The can was about five and one-half inches tall and the same in diameter. Prince Albert stood there on the can in an oval frame, looking very stately, with his long dress coat, complete with a boutonniere in the lapel. In his left hand was a cane; all in all, I thought he must look like my grandpa, who had died before my birth. I kept careful watch each time Daddy lifted the lid to roll a smoke. “Daddy, let me see when it will be empty” I would say. Then I would quickly add, “Don't forget. I asked first.”
Finally the day came when he carefully pinched the last crumbs of tobacco and handed me the empty can for my very own. What a treasure! How many ways could a little girl use this beautiful red can? It could be used as a treasure chest. I could get the boys to help me convert it to a pull toy. There were endless possibilities. Mama rinsed and dried my can and I hurried away to gather my treasures which it would hold.
A few days later two couples arrived to camp behind our place. They pitched tents and set up camp. Breakfast utensils were laid out and only then did they discover neither had remembered to bring a coffeepot. They trouped to the house to borrow one but Mama explained she only had one. They asked for a pot to boil “hobo” coffee and Mama had to tell them she did not have an extra pot of any kind. The next thing I knew was Mama saying, “Louise, bring your tobacco can. They can use it for boiling coffee.” I burst into tears, protesting, “No! No! Not my pretty tobacco can. It will ruin it.” After Mama threatened me with a spanking, I slowly retrieved it from under the bed and emptied my treasures. The ladies promised they would take good care of it and return it when they finished camping. What a sick feeling engulfed me as I watched them walk away with my prized can. I was hoping God would send a thunder storm and rain so hard they would not be able to start a fire. Other wishes ran through my mind, which I shall not divulge. Mama kept trying to assure me of how they were taking good care of my can. This didn't help my feelings one bit!
Well!....talk about poetic justice! The next morning the heat from the campfire melted the bottom of the can and extinguished their campfire. All the beautiful red paint turned a charred gray color and poor old Prince Albert was no more. When they told Mama what happened, I ran to my favorite hiding place to sort out my feelings. I felt a devilish smile playing around my lips; I felt as though I had truly been vindicated! Justice had indeed been served!