Bob Boothe and his arse-kicking machine!
Posted on 09/17/2002 8:20:56 PM PDT by stainlessbanner
BURNT CHIMNEY - Bob Boothe calls his curious invention a "tail-kicker."
But that's not what the sign in his yard says.
"The World's Only Ass-Kicking Machine!!!!" it reads. "$1.00 per minute. If still standing, 2nd minute free ... If not satisfied, you will be taken behind the wood shed for complete satisfaction!"
But that $1 fee is misleading, Boothe said. "I've never charged anybody."
The strange brown contraption stands alongside Burnt Chimney Road in northeastern Franklin County. It's a water wheel that, when running, spins a board with a sneaker mounted on each end.
Boothe, 89, got the idea to build it after spying a somewhat similar though smaller gadget in North Carolina about 20 years ago. But the water propulsion, the addition of shoes and the concept of posterior application were all his ideas, he says.
Given its remote location, Boothe's posterior -punter would be little more than an obscure oddity if it weren't for an Internet-savvy connoisseur of weird Americana who chanced across it six years ago.
"'Well, you don't see one of THOSE every day!'" Scott Wenzel recalled thinking. In 1998, two years after he first spotted the machine, he tracked it down again, interviewed Boothe, and posted a giggle-inducing Web site containing everything from the story of the rump-booter's creation to a detailed technical breakdown of the engineering principles behind it.
Wenzel, a rather bent federal employee from Maryland who generates volumes of elaborate Web pages in his spare time, backs the claim on Boothe's sign that his machine is the only one of its kind.
"I've gotten e-mails from all over the country about it, and a few people have insisted that there's another ass-kicker somewhere in their vicinity," Wenzel said. "All have promised to send me pictures, but I have yet to receive any."
The notoriety has brought visitors from as far away as California. Earlier this year, a motorcycle club from up North pulled up to the machine, said Chester Brown, a tenant of Boothe's.
The group had a list of zany attractions to visit, and Boothe's creation was one of the required checkpoints. The riders had to correctly fill out a questionnaire based on the information on Boothe's sign.
Vintage American
Boothe's own life could be considered a slice of vintage Americana. Raised on a Franklin County farm, he hopped a Norfolk & Western freight train at 14 to look for work. "There was seven of us in the family back then," he said. "Nobody had any money. I walked from our home to Roanoke, which was about 25 miles." That was the beginning of a hobo adventure.
He survived a train wreck in St. Louis and held a job briefly in Indiana before returning to Franklin County to get married and raise a daughter and son. But Boothe was uprooted again during World War II, when the U.S. Navy drafted him.
"I knew what a screwdriver and a hammer was," he said, so the Navy sent him to its construction crew corps, the Seabees. As part of his two-year tour, he maintained a water pump used by U.S. forces in the Philippines. Then he went home again to work in Roanoke as a welder, walking along steel beams high above the ground. In the course of his construction career, he learned to build houses, and became a contractor, finally retiring 22 years ago.
He's still a tinkerer. He owns several restored antique cars that he takes to shows when he can get a little help transporting them. A grove of trees in front of his house serves as a shaded picnic area - complete with a working outdoor refrigerator.
Boothe and his good friend, Daniel Wiley, 73, spend their days together driving around the county. "I just can't stay at home," Boothe said.
Drought takes its toll
On a recent warm morning, Boothe and Wiley made a striking pair as they operated the tail-kicker for a reporter. Boothe wore a cap featuring a lecherous old man, a bikini-clad beauty and a double entendre slogan that's unsuitable for a family newspaper. Wiley, who is black, wore a cap displaying the Confederate Stars and Bars, and the slogan "Dixie: The closest thing to Heaven."
Boothe addresses Wiley by the nickname "Shorty."
Why? "He's short," Boothe said.
Both men have outlived their wives, and Boothe has outlived his son. His daughter sometimes comes up from Florida to visit, and when she does, she pays her respects to Boothe's machine. "She has to have her tail kicked every time she comes here," he said.
It's not as painful a process as it might sound. Boothe's machine has suffered a lot of wear and tear in its 20 years, and like nearly everything else in Virginia, it's been adversely affected by the drought. There's not enough water in the buried pair of 50-gallon drums to keep it spinning for long.
"It wouldn't kick hard enough to hurt anybody," Boothe said. He pointed to the action-end of the machine and added, "If I thought it would, I'd put Shorty right there right now."
Wiley laughed a big belly laugh in response.
Bob Boothe and his arse-kicking machine!
in fact, I wish I could borrow it...
Righteous! Where's my hammer?
Typical!
Me neither. A little tequilla seems to work just fine ... ; ^ )>
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