Smitty, Who Died in His Car Somewhere in Arizona

Smitty, Who Died in His Car Somewhere in Arizona

In Tuscarora, everyone has stories about characters who lived there. In Tuscarora everyone is a character. One evening last summer my friend James told me this story about a man who lived in the small stone building visible from the road as you drive into Tuscarora.

“Smitty was filthy and he was huge. He weighed at least three hundred pounds. He wasn’t educated, but sayings about life poured from him. He was one of the wisest men I have ever known,” said James.

“The stone house had no plumbing, no electricity. He used an old gas stove for cooking. The shelves on one wall of the room were filled with Duncan Hines cake mixes, at least fifty of them. Clint, who had the mail route, brought him jugs of red wine and cake mixes. Smitty baked them in 9 x 11 aluminum pans. When I went over there, even in the mornings, he offered me wine and cake.”

James smiled, unable to resist the effect of his story. Then he leaned forward. “You have to understand. He was remarkable. He was never mean-spirited. He was tolerant, accepting. I loved talking with him.”

I wanted to ask, “What were Smitty’s words of wisdom? What did he say?” However, I could tell by the way James shifted in his chair that all was not going to go well for Smitty. He couldn’t sit forever in that stone house drinking jug wine, eating cake, and saying wise things.

James continued. “One day he said he was going back East to visit his mother who was seriously ill. He did it. He got on a plane and flew back East.”

“Do you think he took a bath first?” I asked. “You know, got cleaned up?”

James thought a moment. “I doubt it,” he said.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“He returned, but he wasn’t well. He was having a difficult time getting through the winters. So he took his two dogs and left, drove to Arizona, where he lived out of his car. He died in his car somewhere in Arizona.”