It was my second summer working for Reardan Grain Growers, the local grain storage co-op. The previous summer I had demonstrated that I could operate a shovel, so I was invited back early in the season to help the regular crew empty the grain elevators before harvest began. This primarily involved shoveling grain bins, and loading train cars before August when the wheat and barley trucks would start rolling in with another year’s crop. It was tough, dirty work, but the job paid well enough to finance another year of college, so I didn’t complain.

One of the new hires that summer was Hugh Harvey, a man who would be difficult for anyone to forget. Hugh was a lanky fellow in his early thirties, about six-foot-five, with a dirty blond mullet and a bushy mustache that traveled down his cheeks and extended to his neck. Dan, one of the full-timers, ironically named him “Little Huey,” which Hugh did not find amusing. He was a modern-day drifter, who picked up odd jobs as needed. That summer he needed some cash because his motorcycle broke down and as he put it, “Harley parts ain’t cheap.”

He was hired as one of the town elevator operators, and although his outward appearance was somewhat intimidating, he seemed like a good-natured guy, and he told great stories. One of my first encounters with Hugh was just outside the seed house, where we were waiting for a bin to empty before going in to shovel out the bottom. He was telling me the tale of how he quit the Ghostriders motorcycle gang because they were a bunch of kittens. Now, he didn’t actually say “kittens” but I think you get the idea. Hugh didn’t respect that their former gang leader plead guilty to manslaughter to avoid a first degree murder charge, nor that he narced on some of his friends as part of the deal.

Before he got into the details of the story, Hugh noticed a praying mantis innocently crawling nearby. He picked up the large green insect and held it in front of me. I wondered what he would do next as the creature’s spindly legs wiggled wildly near my face.

“Watch this,” he said as he opened his mouth and prepared to bite the head off the live insect in a demonstration of equal parts machismo, stupidity, and cruelty.

Then he thought twice and yelled out, “Hey, you guys want to see me eat this bugger?” He didn’t actually say “bugger,” but he did get the attention the rest of the crew. Three other part-timers, Dan, and even the foreman, Doug, came over to enjoy the show.

With a full audience, Hugh told his victim, “Yeah, you better start praying!”

Then he laughed with his typical series of deep chortles, opened his mouth wide, and moved the helpless insect towards its doom. At the last moment, as Hugh’s crooked teeth were about to bite down, the praying mantis rotated its head around and clenched onto Hugh’s upper lip with its powerful mandibles. The big man howled and shook his head side to side, but the mantis wouldn’t release its grip on his lip – it just flopped back and forth slapping both sides of his face. Finally, he pulled it off with his hand, threw it to the ground and tried to squish it under the heel of his cowboy boot, but it scurried to safety under the nearby steps.

“The little bastard bit me!” he cried incredulously at the reversal of fates.

A trickle of blood streamed down his chin. There was a moment of silence but then I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself and neither could anyone else. Soon everyone was practically falling down in hysterics. Dan was laughing so hard he was overtaken by his smoker’s cough and had to sit down to catch his breath. Hugh was cursing, spitting blood, and vowing revenge as he looked under the steps for his new enemy.

Once the foreman Doug could finally speak again, he said, “I guess prayers are answered.”

This set off another round of hilarity. Dan was laughing and coughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He began turning red, then purple, and then passed out from a lack of oxygen. He tumbled forward and hit his head on a rock. I thought Dan was about to die, but everyone else just started laughing even harder. Even Hugh began chuckling after seeing Dan crack his skull. I ran over to check on the poor guy. Luckily, Dan was breathing again.

He grabbed his injured head as he rolled on the ground and moaned, “Who hit me?”

Apparently there’s nothing quite as funny as another’s misfortune, because once again the men erupted in laughter.

Moments like this helped motivate me to continue my education.