Back in the summer of 1973 I had the distinct honor of helping dig a hole for a septic tank.  I was working for my brother-in-law on the farm and they were setting up a place for the manager to live.  There was a house in this particular location, but it had to be torn down so that a trailer could be moved in.  For the most part, the demolition process consisted of running a steel cable around the house and hooking it to a tractor.  After a few good tugs we had debris strewn over several thousand square feet.  Cleaning up the mess took two or three good days.

    The next week they brought the trailer in and parked it.  At that point the new tenant could choose the prime location for a septic tank and commence to digging.  There was a back hoe involved at first, but, of course, that took the “skilled” labor to operate.  The bunch I was a part of was briefed on how to use a shovel, had the difference between air and dirt explained to us and instructed that we ALL must throw the dirt OUTSIDE the hole.  Our team was made up of Cooter Man (pronounced cootah-man), Tan, James (who had trench mouth) and I.
    It was a balmy summer afternoon in the delta with the temperature probably hovering around the century mark.  This particular spot lay about a hundred feet outside the Yazoo River levy and had a few thousand acres of cotton and soybeans in front.  If the trailer hadn’t been in the way we might have been able to catch a pesticide filled breeze coming off the cotton.

    We started working and within a few minutes, Cooter Man was worn out, James was complaining and Tan was digging, slowly and steadily, cigarette hanging off his lip.  I was doing what I did best, talking.  Granted, I did dig some, but we were kind of working in shifts so I had time to talk while the others were working.  Of course, considering what was going on in the world at that time, I brought up the subject of the moon landings and what a marvelous feat it was.  I went on and on about the intelligence required to accomplish such a trip.  This was my favorite subject and I had watched every moment of each space shot that I catch during that era of three TV channels.  In my mind, space exploration was, indeed, a “giant leap for mankind”.

    “They ain’t been to no moon,” Tan said without ever looking up from the hole he was standing in.  I was taken aback.  I had never in my life heard anyone utter such nonsense.

    “What?  What do you mean?” I was pretty sure he was going to make a joke or something, just catching me off guard.

    “They ain’t been to no moon,” Tan repeated his statement.  Cooter Man and James weren’t saying a word, just listening.  At this point I realized he was serious.  He honestly didn’t believe that astronauts had gone to the moon.  I had never heard such nonsense.  In my mind, I couldn’t imagine NOT going to the moon.  It was as inevitable as the sun coming up in the morning, the Yazoo River flowing to the Mississippi and Cooter Man getting drunk every Saturday night.

    “You don’t think they went to the moon?” I asked, probably as pale as a bed sheet.

    “Nope,” Tan replied.

    “Why?  Why didn’t they go?  Just tell me that.”  I was insistent.

    Tan looked up, pulled the cigarette off of his lip and said, “Same reason there ain’t nobody on the other side of the world.”