A Eulogy for Bad Larry

By Charlie Houston

I usually write about the imperative to save western Loudoun and address land use issues. A recurring theme has been populism – the county belongs to its people, not businesses or promoters. This, though, is about a particular person.

Quality of Life

Everyone seems to know what “quality of life” means, but do we really? 

Obviously “quality of life” in western Loudoun includes our farms and lands, the Blue Ridge, elbow room as opposed to dense development, peace and quiet. 

I think our quality of life is superb, and part of what makes it so is the people who live here.

Rescuing a Sheep

As I write this, a stray sheep – a ram – has escaped his paddock after his caretaker died and is wandering the neighborhood. Five or six people have jumped in to corral Mr. Sheep, take him to a safe stall in our neighbor’s barn and start trying to find him a new home. 

Knowing your neighbors and pitching in to help on something like this would have been unlikely inside the Beltway. It’s part of daily life here, though.

The Good and Not-So-Good

A good quality of life demands good people, and we are blessed. We are also blessed by having an extended circle of friends that goes much further than just people of similar upbringing, education, occupation and interests. We are enriched by some folks for whom “good” is not quite accurate. Such had been Mr. Sheep’s caretaker, Bad Larry.

 Bad Larry

Maintaining a farm of any size takes a lot of work, energy, time and knowledge. Add horses and pet goats and donkeys, and you need help. That’s why I hired Bad Larry some years ago.

Larry called himself “a hillbilly.” He was scrawny, slovenly and somewhat sneaky. Larry was not smart in a quantitative sense; he was probably one standard deviation short of mean IQ.

When your job is to muck stalls, feed horses and put out hay, lacking one standard deviation is not a problem. 

 Larry Moves In

Larry lived with two other hillbillies in a shack north of Lovettsville. It was vile, as were his house mates. Larry wanted out and asked if he could park a camper at our place for a while.

“Sure,” I said.  

Larry’s camper was a rusty 1986 Dodge Caravan he parked next to a barn. It was his home and he had no complaints. I was glad to have farm help on the premises at all times.

Larry started with a good attitude and an acceptable work ethic. In addition to his barn work, he’d mow the lawn, bushhog pastures, do basic carpentry, and so on. He amused me and was quite funny in a down-home way. I’ll never know if he planned his humor or if was accidental. 

Larry Could Be Funny

Here are actual conversations I had with him, word for word:

Charlie: “How far did you get in school?”

Larry: “My family wrote me out in the six-and-a-half grade.”

Charlie: “How old were you in the six-and-a-half grade?’

Larry: “Seventeen.”

Charlie: “Larry, you’re supposed to be raking the walnuts, not talking to them!”

Larry: “It’s okay if they don’t talk back.”

Charlie: “What’s up, Larry?”

Larry: “I need to get me a fat woman.”

Charlie: “Why on earth do you want a fat woman?”

Larry: “’cause the regular ones won’t have nothing to do with me.”

Charlie: “Larry, how many brothers and sisters do you have?”

Larry: “Six or seven.”

Larry: “Sometimes I ain’t right in the head.”

Charlie: “What do you mean?”

Larry: “They tell me I got mental thinking confusion disorder.”

That was definitely true. Larry once said something about “smoking green cigarettes.” 

“What’s a green cigarette?” I asked.

Larry suddenly spoke like an educated chemist. Using proper English and good grammar, he rattled off a list of chemicals he mixed into an elixir of illegal drugs, in which he soaked cigarettes.

Why Bad Larry?

Larry did his chores at about the 70% level. He resented being told what to do. He was sticky-fingered and I learned the hard way not to leave cash on tables or counters. 

However, the real reason we called him Bad Larry was to distinguish him from another Larry who helped us with plumbing, electrical stuff, carpentry, and more. We nicknamed him Good Larry and those different appellations helped us avoid confusion.

Bad Larry Gets Caught

The infused cigarettes had clearly harmed Larry in his past. Sometimes those effects were still obvious. I don’t remember the charge, but at one point Bad Larry got in trouble with the law. 

I attended his trial as a character witness. I painted him in a good light, but the judge didn’t buy it. He slammed down the gavel and a deputy led Larry through a hidden door in the courtroom wall. I later found that the door led to a back corridor which took the newly-convicted to jail.

The Insane Asylum Helps Larry

Larry was transferred to Western State Hospital in Staunton. One cold, sleeting day three months later, I drove there and picked him up. He was much better, subdued, coherent, reasonably logical. He took another job close to us, and there was a room in the barn there that he could use. 

In recent years, whenever we saw Larry on the road, he’d wave cheerfully. Life seemed stable for him but now there will be no more waving or jesting. Mr. Sheep was on the loose because his caretaker died. That caretaker was Bad Larry. 

Life in western Loudoun is enriched by idiosyncratic characters like Larry.  I miss Sweet Corn Man, his brother Tater Bug, Shiftless Pete and others. I’m glad I once knew them. 

Charles Houston lives on a small horse farm outside Paeonian Springs and used to develop large office buildings for big corporations.