JOHN HENRY'S BOX OF ROCKS

John Henry lived in the Naples ghetto and worked for McCormick excavators for years. He was a huge man with a bear-like physique and prodigious strength. Which he used to great advantage. And he was a pretty good thinker when it came to not letting his job interfere with his precious off time.

Ernest McCormick would tell two stories on John Henry that illustrated the latter. A dump truck had broken down with a cracked engine block. The new block had been delivered and was waiting to be moved onto the workbench. Ernest collared John Henry late in the day. "John," he said, "gather up two or three of your partners and put that engine block up on the bench. Then, you can go home." John grumbled an okay and went to the shop.

About five minutes later, when Ernest was locking up the office, he saw John walk by. "Going to get some help?" he asked.

"No, suh," John said, "I be goin' home."

"What about the block?"

"It's up there."

Astounded, since John was the only other person there, Ernest raced back to the shop where he found the block sitting on the bench. "What the. . .?" he said.

"Just be one engine," John said. "I do it myself."

Another time Ernest told John Henry to go get a dump truck full of rocks. It was early on a Saturday, and Ernest said John could go home when he picked up a truck full. At the time the fields around SR 951 were scattered with coral rocks, free for the taking. John left on his task. In less than two hours he returned. Ernest couldn't believe it. Loading a truck full of the melon-size rocks should take hours. Suspicious, he looked in the truck.

What he saw made him laugh. The truck was full, alright, with about ten huge boulders. "Didn't say how many," John Henry said. "Just you wanted a load."

John Henry was a lucky man, too. One Saturday night, in McDonald's Quarters, an angered drunk pointed a sawed-off shotgun at John's belly. And pulled both triggers. Nothing happened.

When we arrived, John had the assailant in one hand and the shotgun in the other. We relieved him of both, checking the gun to make sure it was unloaded. There were two 12 gauge double OO buck shells loaded and each had a dented primer where the firing pins had hit them. The detective checking the gun figured the clown had tried to shoot John Henry with two empty shells. But, he ejected them and found they had never been fired. He replaced them, cocked both hammers, aimed the shotgun at the ground, and pulled the triggers. It fired instantly.

Go figure. We never could.