About Us
J.K.DEAL KENNELS
AMERICAN PIT BULL TERRIERS
This is How it All Started
Part I
By: J.K. Deal



Statesville, North Carolina, 1974. I was 11 years old then and he, was 67 years young. I guess it might sound strange to some, but to me,
he'll always be 67. I've seen pictures of him when he was in his thirties and forty's, and it was like the picture had just been made. I mean,
like he had went from thirty-something straight to 67. As he grew into his seventies, eighties and finally his ninety's, to me he never
looked a day over 67. He was a man who was wise for his years. A man who had seen and done a lot in a fairly short amount of time. You
could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice, that sound of inner strength and confidence; the desire to succeed no matter what the
cost or sacrifice might be. He loved to visit and talk. We spent many hours together and I gained much wisdom and pleasure from our
many conversations. I quickly learned that there was one word he never used. It wasn't in his vocabulary. The word was...... can't .

He was a man of many interest and endeavors. One of which was a real fondness for "Game Chickens". Fact is, he kept his game birds at
my grandmothers place. Grandmaw feed, watered, housed, bred, and raised his game stock for years. He often showed up at her place on
a Saturday. He'd be on his way to a show some place and in need of a couple good roosters to take along for the ride. A lot of the shows
were in and around Iredell County where we lived, but some would be over in the eastern part of North Carolina by Howard Teal's and
sometimes down in South Carolina and other places. Twenty-five cents a piece is what the old man paid to catch those sometimes
unwilling passengers and put them in his car. That was my Uncle Gerald's job. Damn if a game rooster aint quick as lightening when it
wants to be. If you don't believe that, just try and catch one that don't wanna be caught. There's easier ways to make twenty-five cents, my
uncle liked to say. I later found out he was sure right about that. But then, that's another story.....

He sometimes reminded me of one of those old veteran game-roosters. He was tough as they come, cocky and not afraid of anybody.
When he was a kid, he liked to fight and got into quite a few scrapes. He wasn't a real big man and usually the other fellow was some what
larger than him. That didn't matter though. He won the fight more often than not and even when he didn't, the other guy sure knew he'd
been there and would be there again if need be. I guess you could say he was a tough ol' bird himself. Even as the years caught up to the
body; the mind was still strong and fearless. He didn't mind one bit telling you that you could go "straight to hell", if he thought you
needed it. You always knew where you stood with him. He didn't play games, and if he had something to say to a man, then he said it to the
man's face. Not behind his back and then deny it later like a lot of them do so often today. You gotta respect that. I do...

I'll never forget sixth-grade. His daughter was my teacher that year. Grandmaw and momma and them called her Faye, but to me and the
other kids in my class, she was known by another name. A name that was passed down to us by the many older kids who had already
enjoyed the pleasure of doing time in her class and who were now in middle and high school. They tried to warn us. I for one did not take
heed and I soon found out, quite painfully I might add, just how she had earned the name... "Hammering Hank". I'll tell you what! That lady
could swing an "old wooden paddle" like Hank Aaron swung a Louisville Slugger baseball bat. Fast- hard -and often! And she would hit a
home run on your butt with each and every swing. And too many times that butt belonged to yours truly... me. Many was the time she
would grab me up outta my desk by the ear and we'd head outside in the hallway for some batting practice. Afterwards, I'd walk back into
class grinning like a tough guy on the outside, but crying like a baby on the inside. Sitting back down at your desk, your hard wooden
desk, wasn't easy when your back side had just been fired up.. like a raging forest-fire. What you did then, was what us veterans of the
game like to call....."the-one-cheek-sneak". What you would do is slide one butt cheek ever so gently down onto your desk and let the
other butt cheek kinda sneak out over the edge of your seat a little. That way some air could circulate under there and help cool things
down a bit. The Wayside Volunteer Fire Department was right across the highway from the school. It's no small wonder that big red fire
trucks with sirens blaring, didn't come rushing over with fireman and their water hoses. What with all that smoke that would sometimes be
rolling outta my pants! I really didn't mean to dwell on this, but some things just kind of stick in your crawl..er..uh .mind; forever it seems.
I'm sure there are those of you who from you on personal experiences, know exactly what I'm speaking of.....am I right? I thought so!!

He lived just outside of the city limits, off highway 70 east. His house kinda set back behind the church on Hodge Lane. The whole
neighborhood was composed of his house; my 2 Aunts homes and about a dozen other homes and the church. It was a small country
neighborhood at that time and was surrounded by farmland and dairy farms. My grandpa owned a 125 acre farm on the other side of
Highway 70. My dad had built us a house there and that put me just a short bicycle's ride away from the ol' mans place. Hop on the ol'
trusty and slightly rusty 3 speed. Sail down our 100 yard long gravel drive way, then up and over the rail-road tracks. Slide across the
highway, sometimes looking for oncoming cars and trucks and sometimes not. Thinking back, it's a wonder I never got run over by a
mayonnaise truck or something. Next, I'd speed across the church yard, hoping the preacher wasn't there while snatching third gear and
flying like a bat-outta-hell past his house just in case he was, because he'd already yelled at me a hundred times about riding my bike
across the church lawn and how that was defacing church property, which was a mortal sin in the eyes of God, and how God might just
decide to look the other way the next time me and a mayonnaise truck were both using the highway at the same time. I told the ol' man one
time about what the preacher had said to me about God looking the other way. The ol' man just kinda grinned and said, "Son, that's why
when God made 3 speeds, he also made grass seed, and truck brakes!" I still ponder on that bit of wisdom sometimes. But anyway, once
you go past the church, you had two options. One, you could cross the church parking lot which connected to Hodge Lane, where you
went down a slight incline, around a sharp banking curve to your right; and then up a hill. At the top of the hill, just before Hodge
intersected with Barkley Rd; is where the ol-man lived. Or, option # 2; ( the quickest), cut through Mr. Johnson's garden, my Aunt's front
yard and garden, and then down the edge of the fence line that separated her yard from the ol-man's yard. This was the preferred route of
travel as it brought you out right next to his drive way at Hodge Ln., and you didn't have to peddle up that dang hill. The down side to this
short-cut was the mild-scolding you might receive from Mr. Johnson and my Aunt concerning some slight damage that may have occurred
to their gardens due to the 3-speeds tires running over newly sprouted corn, bean and tomato plants. It usually went something like
this....Hey you little *?-!, get that *?-! bicycle out of my *?-! garden before I kick the *?! out of your little *?-!, you hear me boy?!!! Nothing
major though. After all, these were church going folks you see. Usually though, I was moving so fast, that a blur of red bicycle and the
occasional "Atlanta Braves" baseball hat that might blow or bump off my head and land near-by, would be all the sight or proof of me that
there would be. Although, this fact of the matter; never quite seemed to stop the annoying phone calls that Grandmaw and momma
received concerning their son or grandson's behavior. If grandmaw got the call first, then I could pretty much expect this response when
I got home. She would say...."The hell with'em", your not the only kid riding around here with an Atlanta Braves baseball hat. Now come on
in here to the kitchen and I'll get you a Coke-a-Cola and Milkyway to hold ya till suppers ready."
Now on the other hand, if momma got the call first, it might go something like this when I returned home. "Jeffery Keith Deal, if I told you
once, I've told you fifty-eleven times....blah...blah...blah...blah.blah. Now go get me the belt young man!" To which I might reply, "but mom,
your making a big mistake here, it really wasn't me this time, I promise." To which momma might add..."Oh really, ...then where is your
hat?!!" And while I'm on the subject, just how many is fifty-eleven? How many times is that? Is it five thousand and eleven times, or would
it be sixty-one times? I have had several mathematical classes since those days and I've also questioned my mother thoroughly as to the
mathematical equivalent to fifty-eleven, and I have yet to get a straight answer. Therefore I have finally come to the conclusion that this is
just another one of those phrases that southern women sometimes use when they are completely and utterly frustrated with the actions
of their children. Right or wrong, this is my conclusion. So okay, now that that is off my chest, lets get on with the rest of the story before I
get side-tracked on fifty-eleven other things I didn't understand in my childhood.

The ol-man used to love to tell the story about how as a young boy growing up and getting into quite a bit of mischief himself. It always
seemed that no matter how careful he was to hide it, his father always seemed to find out about what he had done. He recalled the time
that he once asked his father just how he always seemed to find out about stuff, to which his father replied; "A little bird tells me." Long
story short, his father returned home from work the next day to find the front and back yard covered in "dead birds"!

Prior to that day, so long ago, in 1974, I had been by his house numerous times on my bicycle. Sometimes I was on my way to a friends
house or to the ball field,or to third creek, which ran though Jim Lentz's bottoms where I hunted and set traps for coons, minks, and
foxes. But sometimes- sometimes I was on a mission- a secret mission!! Call me 007. My name Bond, James Bond, my mission....to see
what the old man was hiding in his back yard. That's right, you see...I had heard things. Like all youngsters, when grown-ups are talking,
my ears would suddenly triple in size, especially if I had any indications that they didn't want me to hear what they were saying. I've
noticed this phenomenon with my own kids. They may only be a mere 3 feet away when their mother tells them to go clean their room or
get ready for bed or to do their homework. But she will have to repeat this request at least 3 times ( unless I begin removing my belt first)
before the sound-waves carry to my daughters ears, and her brain urges her body to react to my wife's request. But..... if my wife were to
go outside, get into our truck, and quietly whisper " who wants to go to McDonald's?" then... these very same kid, who are still inside the
house and at least 60-75 ft away from my wife, would suddenly, jump up and go flying past me, out the door, down the sidewalk and leap
into the truck, having just heard my wife perfectly clear... the first time! I guess it is all a matter of priorities. But anyway, back to what I was
saying. I had over heard some conversations between older folks that had really got my curiosity up and going. As I said earlier, the
ol-man was a man of many endeavors and interest, and in a small town such as ours, everybody knew what everybody else was doing. Or
at least they thought they did.

From this point on, my bicycle trips past the ol-mans house became more and more frequent. It had gotten to the point to where it was
becoming some what of an obsession with me. Every day after school, I would get on my bike an peddle as fast as I could over to Hodge
Ln. When I had gotten almost up to his house, I would slow up just enough to catch a quick look and then I'd dart on past so as not to be
seen. Little did I know at the time, that my numerous trips past his house hadn't gone un-noticed!

Looking back now, I guess I must have looked pretty foolish. Day after day, trip after trip past the ol-mans house, straining my neck to try
and get a look. But to get a look at what..?, you might be asking yourself at this point. Some of you might even be thinking that I must have
been slightly "retarded" as a young child. I assure you that I was not-that didn't happen until years later when I got cracked in the head
with the butt-end of an M16 at lovely Paris Island, S.C., followed by marriage to my future ex-wife, kids, full time job, way too many beers,
etc., etc.!! But in my own defense and despite what the friends I grew up with, the neighbors, and...my very own momma would say....in
1974, at the tender you and age of 11 years old, I still had all of my brain cells. At least as many as the good lord had seen fit to give me.

But still, I realize that there are those of you out there, who at this very moment are shaking your heads in disbelief. You might even be
thinking to yourself...."So Keith,..If you overheard whatever, and you were obsessed with whatever, and you wanted to see whatever,
then why in the world didn't you just go up and talk to the ol-man...about whatever!!? Well dear readers, allow me to explain. At this time
there were 2 widely spread rumors going around. And keep in mind now, I was only eleven and much more easily influenced by what
others said than I am now. Also these story's or rumors, were being spread by much older and wiser 13 and 14 year olds, who had the first
knowledge of their accuracy. Their proof being that they knew someone, who knew someone, who knew someone else who had a friend,
that had another friend, who's brother knew a guy and so on and so on....What were the kids saying you might ask?? Well, first off that he
(the ol-man) had a far worse temper than his daughter, our 6th grade teacher who thought she was Hank Aaron and your butt was a
baseball. This was bad enough. Then there was a second rumor. The biggie! The one that every kid in our little neighborhood, heck;
maybe even every kid in the great state of North Carolina knew well. You see, the 1st rumor might cause you to loose all respect for Hank
Aaron's hitting abilities, but the second rumor; if it were true....could very well get you killed!!! It was kept hidden behind the ol-mans
house secured by a fence that ran the entire diameter of his back yard. Rumor was that "It" was as ferocious as a grizzly bear, strong as a
bull, had teeth like a crocodile and the speed of a rattle snake when it struck! And pertaining to rumor #1, if the ol-man caught you
messing around back there behind his house....well then..you...would become its super!! Never to be seen or heard from again. In other
words, if you were an only child, your momma would be childless! Worst of all, "It" wasn't alone. There were others too !!!!

My pap-paw once said to me "that if curiosity killed the cat-and I was a cat, I'd have been dead along time ago. Case in point, I thought I
might be able to climb the fence that separated the ol' man's yard from my aunts yard. If I could just look over the top, I might be able to
see something, yet, still be plenty safe. Sounded like a plan and I even waited until I thought he was gone. That day, my aunt was over at
grandmas and the ol-mans car wasn't in his carport. This was the perfect time. I had tried to get my best friend to come with me but he just
shook his head, said something about how it had "been nice knowing me" and then slammed the door in my face. Oh well, I never did like
him that much anyway! It was settled then. I would do this alone. Just like agent 007, at your service....Well....long story short, turns out I
wasn't a very good James Bond/secret agent. The first thing that happened when I tried to climb that fence was that one of the many holes
in my jeans got snagged on a nail as I tried to pull myself up. And then, while trying to unhook myself, one of my shoe laces which was
untied, somehow got caught and looped around the webbing of the fence. Boy what a mess I had gotten myself into. I looked like a big ol'
fly...caught in a big ol' spider web! Could it get any worse than this I thought!! Yes it could. Just then, as I was pondering my next
"secret-agent move", I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I froze!! Had the spider come home to find a nice tasty meal waiting? My heart was
racing but I was too afraid to turn around to see who's body the hand was attached to. Is that you aunt Judy, I asked?? The voice that
answered was not my Aunts! "Boy...what he heck are you doing?", the voice hollard. I'm hung up, I answered. I can plainly see that, the
voice said. But what are you doing climbing up that fence in the first dang place!" I was just looking, I said, kinda half scared for my life
and at the same time wishing I had just rode on my bicycle at a safe distance like I usually did. Now I understood what my friend meant
when he said, "Its been nice knowing ya." This was it. This was...the end! My pap-paw had tried to warn me and I hadn't listened. Now, I
was about to loose my last life. The big #9! But just then, when I thought my life must surely be over.. I heard God speak to me..and he
said, "aren't you Mrs. Deal's grandson?" "Yes God, yes I am." And I know my grandma and the preacher says we should always be
prepared and grateful for the day when we get to go be home with the lord, but God, if you don't mind, I really aint ready to go just yet. You
see God, momma's expecting me home for supper shortly and there's this really big cat fish down at the creek I've been meaning to catch
and also God, I'm only 11. Heck, I aint even got a chance to shave or kiss a girl (not that I'd ever want to), but God, I was just wondering if
you could see your way clear, and if I promised to never,ever do anything like this again, could I have just one more chance....please!!!.... I
awaited God's answer....but ...there was only silence. Maybe he was considering his options. Maybe he was trying to decide whether to
take me now and possibly save the life of an old catfish, or to let me go and send the mayonnaise truck to finish me off later! What I heard
next was a low snicker, followed by another that was just a little louder and then....a complete "outburst" of thunderous loud laughter
erupt from behind me. Was God laughing at me, I thought? And more importantly, was this a good sign or a ....hey... wait just a minute now!
I don't ever remember the preacher talking about God laughing at anyone in their time of need or when they were in a jam such as I was,
no...no, God wouldn't do that...but the preacher did talk about someone else who enjoyed seeing God's children down and out, and in a
bad jam like I was in. Someone who I had never thought of much, except maybe when I was alone and in the dark. Just then, 4-hands
reached up and grabbed me, 2 hands on each side and started pulling me down. There was only one thing left to do..I screamed....I mean a
blood curdling scream. Help! Help! The devils got me! The devils got me!! The hands continued to pull me down and I just screamed
louder. Help! Aunt Judy! Grandmaw! Momma! The devils got me, he's got me good! Help!!!

Well now, let me just tell ya'll something. I have been in my share of sticky situations, but I aint never been as scared as I was at that exact
moment! Now then, as you may or may not have figured out by now, it wasn't a 4-armed devil that grabbed me that day. Nor was it God. No.
Who it was though was a 67 year old man who just happened to own the fence I was trying to climb over and the mechanic, who was
working on his car, had given him a ride back home! Oh well, like I always say, it is far better to be caught red-handed by an old man than
to be snatched away by the devil!! So anyway, the mechanic left to go fix the car and yours truly was invited in for some dinner. "You don't
mind if we use the front door this time do ya?" he asked. "Oh, no sir, I said, I think I would prefer it."
To be continued........