Rick Smith/Columnist
When Aunt Josie, a well-upholstered woman, stood, she would have overshadowed everyone in the room had she not stooped. Uncle Eugene, her erect, heavily starched husband, looked ill-matched next to her.
The couple settled into a life of bucolic simplicity on a farm in northwestern Louisiana after he forwent a career opportunity with the Military Intelligence Corps. He had been offered a position in special ops because of his uncanny ability to cipher numbers in his head and recall information with great accuracy.
Had Aunt Maud been about two inches taller, she would have been perfectly round. Her thin, tightly permed hair, the color of a crow’s wing, hugged her head like a vintage aviator helmet. She had dark, deep-set eyes and pinched lips.
She took as gospel that “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” freely sharing Red Delicious apples with … everyone. No one seemed to notice, or care, that the chief characteristic of a Red Delicious apple was its lack of flavor. Beautiful color. Colorless taste.
Aunt Josie and Aunt Maud, both Southern women, never met each other. The most distinctive peculiarity that set them apart from their Northern sisters was their fondness for tobacco. They were snuff-dippin’ women, fancying the Garrett brand.
The ritual was the same for both women: tap the top of the tin to loosen up the snuff, open the tin carefully to avoid spilling the contents, and place a pinch of the powdery substance between the bottom gum and lip, distorting their mouths.
Aunt Maud occasionally visited for Sunday dinner. Following dessert, she would fish out a can of snuff from her purse. Within minutes, the spitting commenced. My grandmother’s eyeroll was her tight-lipped statement of stiff-necked disapproval.
Aunt Josie seemed to always be dipping snuff. Well, at least every time I visited. Her mouth was always distorted. She had a container of brown spit within her reach. There was a sweet, sickly smell.
Aunt Maud and Aunt Josie both passed peacefully years ago. They were snuff- dippin’ women right up until the end.
Not all snuff-dippin’ women pass as peacefully as these two.
On October 10, 1862, the Houston Tri-Weekly Telegraph reported that a young man in northwestern Texas married a beautiful lady. Shortly thereafter, he left to fight with the Confederates. Within months, he obtained a furlough.
He eased into the house, snuck up on his wife, and grabbed her by the shoulders. She had not heard him arrive. She screamed, turned, and face butted him just as he leaned forward to give her a surprise kiss. Unfortunately, she had a snuff stick in her mouth.
One end of the stick entered the gentleman’s eye; the other end stuck her in the throat, releasing a spoonful of snuff. She got strangled, burst a blood vessel, and died before help arrived. Within days, the young man died of inflammation of the brain, related to the eye injury. They were both buried in the same grave, along with the stick.
In the end, all those “up to snuff” witnessed the final ceremonies.
Rick Smith is a Jeffersonian and can be reached at theriquemeister@gmail.com.