About Woofie

My name is Helton Rutherford. I am not the character being described, but I am the one that might be able to tell you best about Woofie Ingram. I may be the one most responsible for the current situation he is in.

Woofie was born just outside of Wassamassaw about 1952. He was christened William Faulkner Ingram. He never saw his father as George Ingram died fighting in the last battles of the Korean War. His mother wanted him to be a great novelist.

An unfortunate thing happened when Woofie was a baby, which may have ruined his chances to accomplish his mother's dream. He was a very fussy baby and his mother took to putting his little basket bed on top of the washing machine while the wash was being done. The repetitive motion of the machine put the tiny William to sleep and soothed his mother's nerves.

The early automatic washers were fairly violent as they went through their various cycles. One day as the Ingram's machine was finishing it's last back and forth action before the final spin cycle, the load of towels and sheets bunched up on one side of the tub and caused the whole machine to wobble uncontrollably and poor William fell to the floor. The doctor said he had incurred a serious concussion that knocked him unconscious with a possible brief cessation of breathing. Thereafter, William's mother placed him in his little bed on the floor next to the washer instead of on top.

The rhythmic motion of the machine may have influenced his early verbalizations. He developed slowly but eventually seemed to be able to do most things that other children do. Sometime in his seventh year he was discovered repeating a nonsense string. "The-future-toka-ROKitude, The-future-toka-ROKitude, The-future-toka-ROKitude". When you spoke to him he would respond normally, but while he was alone, he would repeat the phrase constantly to himself. Mrs. Ingram blamed herself. She said it was the rhythm of the washer that had implanted the nonsense string in William's head.

At first William had trouble learning to write. He did manage to print his initials: "W.F.I". That is how he came by his nickname. One day on the first day of school, the teacher asked the children in William's class to perform a writing and reading exercise that might also serve to get everyone acquainted. "Write your name on the paper and pass it to the person in front of you. Then in turn we will all read the names". When it was her turn the little girl in front of William read his name as "Woofie". Everyone laughed. The nickname was born and stuck to little William like chewing gum in his hair. He didn't seem to mind it, nor did he mind the razzing that he got for being slightly different than the others. He became a willing scapegoat.

Woofie was short and stocky and he walked without swinging his arms. His face was mostly sober, seldom smiling or laughing except when he was by himself. His mother always cut his hair very short. About the time that Kennedy was assassinated, Mrs. Ingram lost her job in Wassamassaw. She had a married sister in Tulia who invited her to bring Woofie to live with her until Mrs. Ingram could find a job. So Woofie went to school in Tulia from then on.

It wasn't long before the Tulia children discovered Woofie's differences. By the time he graduated high school he had become something of an institution in Tulia. He was seen all over town wearing his short-visored, faded ball cap walking slowly everywhere or taking buses. He loved to read the newspapers. Somehow he had managed to get a job at the post office as a substitute mail carrier.

He also loved to go to the high school football games. Eventually someone suggested giving him a small job on the sidelines during the games. He assisted the linesmen or brought towels or gatorade to the players.

At that time I was first-string quarter back for the Tulia High Titans. We were having a terrible season having lost the first three games. Coach Rawlings job probably was on the line because the last two seasons the team ended in last place in the Mid-State conference. To top off the bad luck, I was sidelined with an injured throwing arm.

It was the evening of homecoming and we were playing the Wassamassaw Wolverines our perennial rivals. I was pacing the sidelines out of uniform. The game was going badly. Some of the brains from the physics class were up on the top of the bleachers with a parabolic microphone picking up private conversations from cliques of giggling girls. One of the geeks had tapped the public address system from near the announcer's booth and was looking for a likely candidate. They were going to pick up a conversation and send it over the P.A. as a prank. One of them spotted Woofie walking on the track carrying a big bottle of Gatorade. Everyone knew of his habit of chanting to himself out loud.

I was feeling like getting a little attention myself. If I wasn't playing in the game I could at least have some fun. As Woofie walked by me, I stepped in behind him and began to mimic him. I walked without swinging my arms and chanted. "The-future-toka-ROKitude, The-future-toka-ROKitude." I chimed in. He didn't know I was there. I figured I might get some laughs from the cheerleaders as we passed by them.

Suddenly I heard myself over the P.A. Then one of the cheerleaders began to follow me doing the same thing. Then the rest of the cheerleaders joined us. The sound from the P.A. echoed off the brick walls of the school. Someone from the crowd said "Hey, let's get in on that." and the bleachers began to empty onto the track.

Woofie seeing what was happening at first flustered but I told him to keep going. We led a long procession around the track and back to the bleachers. By the time we made a full circuit, the second quarter was over and our team had made its first touchdown.

During half time the crowd kept up the chant. "The-future-toka-ROKitude, The-future-toka-ROKitude." The cheerleaders were all gathered around Woofie making sure they were saying the chant correctly. The band picked up the idea and the bass drum pounded out the rhythm. A little catchy tune was improvised and the crowd caught on to it. At the end of half time the Tulia Titans stormed out of the locker rooms beneath the stands a transformed team. I was in there with the team, and I tell you, you couldn't hear yourself think for the sound of the cheering crowd above us. The team had picked up the crowd's energy and by the time the coach's talk was over they were steaming fire from their nostrils.

That evening the Tulia Titans beat Wassamassaw. And Woofie became the new team mascot. The team informally became the Tulia Rockets and Rokitude became synonymous with team spirit. Many of the towns retail businesses hung banners from their roofs shouting "Get Rokitude! Go Rockets!" The whole town went crazy and the team went on to win the Conference title.

For Woofie, it was a mixed blessing. He didn't know how to be a celebrity and couldn't learn. He managed that first season but later things went down hill.

During that "golden year of Woofie" I would take him out with the guys when we drank and reveled after games and when we weren't in strict training. The girls fawned all over him and he began to smile when he was with others. The owner of the sporting goods store had Woofie's hat copied and emblazoned with the letters "Rokitude". He also made T-shirts with the same slogan on them. His whole supply sold out.

Now when Woofie went on his mail deliveries people that never acknowledged him before waved to him. Even previously angry, gnarly dogs seemed happy to see him. At one of our bashes I introduced Woofie to Ruby Appel. Ruby and I had gone steady for a while, but then she dumped me saying that I was too full of myself. How could that be? Well anyway, she seemed to take to Woofie. Maybe she felt sorry for him.

Ruby's father wasn't so taken by Woofie though. He began to pressure Ruby to go back with me. My family had wealth and I had a more promising future than Woofie's. After about a half a year Ruby and Woofie were over.

Woofie couldn't understand. He tried to talk to Ruby, to get her to see him, to go out with him. She made excuses and excuses and then finally told Woofie that they were through. It devastated him. He couldn't let it go. He tried to be everywhere that she was, just to be able to see her. Finally Woofie backed off after Ruby made a big scene at Howlie's Burger Hut before most of the kids in our crowd.

Woofie got very moody. He still would secretly stalk Ruby, but never approached her anymore. Ruby had been the one bright spot in Woofie's life and until another bright spot lit up, He would be unable to put her out of his mind.

His work performance began to suffer. Mail patrons began to complain about him. Some said that they weren't receiving all their mail. Finally the postal examiners got involved and one day discovered Woofie in his apartment in a drunken stupor surrounded by piles of other peoples' mail. Some of it opened. It didn't help much that he had been paying some poorer folks' bills out of his pocket. Some of the mail Woofie had hoarded consisted of letters that Ruby had sent to me when she was on vacation with her folks up in Tahoe. She and I had gotten back together for a while and I guess Woofie was intensely jealous.

He barely escaped spending time in a Federal prison because of all the people that stood up and spoke on his behalf in the sentencing phase of his trial. He existed for a while on the good will of his mother and others. Finally he began to do odd jobs and was able to get his own seedy little apartment again.

Years went by and we all went our ways, all except Woofie. He resumed going to the Tulia Titans games after skipping two seasons. But Rokitude was not the same and the Titans would go many years before being conference contenders again.

So this is who Woofie is. A simple person, a Tulia perennial, briefly lit by the light of glory, almost street person, still enamored by Ruby Appel.

"The-future-toka-ROKitude", "The-future-toka-ROKitude". It just doesn't sound the same any more.