James Sheridan "Heck" Goble
1873 - 1958

Grandpa Goble
by Jimmy Goble

James Sheridan Goble was the son of Dr. Isaac Goble and Emaline Hanna, and the grandson of Samuel Hannah and Frances Amelia Auxier. He was from a family of eleven children, including his twin brother, William Grant Goble. His wife was Florence Wells Goble, the daughter of Charles Morgan Wells.

James answered to many names, Uncle Jim, Jim, Jim Heck, or Heck. He was a small man and weighed about 145 pounds. He had unusually large hands and clear blue eyes. He was very fast and quick. At the age of 66, I watched him run down my 15 year old cousin and give him a quick kick on the butt for some infraction.

"Heck" was well known for his skills, especially around the river. As a boy, I heard many comments about his ice skating, such as; "The Best that's ever been around here", "I've never seen anything like him" and "Nobody can skate like 'Heck', he's good." Could all this be true? I had some doubts.

In the winter of 1939-40 the river froze over solid. The ice was six inches thick in some places. I was with a gang of boys trying to learn to skate. It was my first time with a pair of clamp-on-skates. We were not doing very well. Most of us struggled to stand up on those things. While we were struggling to stay upright, Grandpa showed up. I thought if he tried this he would at least break a leg. Some of the boys had a little smile on their faces. I am sure they had some of the same thoughts. I had always wished I could have seen him skate and now the time was here and I was scared. He took a few quick strokes with his feet and off he went gliding across the ice so smooth and fast. I was amazed that this ancient old man could do this, and with almost no effort.

Grandpa then started skating the figure eight. He never faltered and gained speed as he went. He then did a more difficult maneuver which he called the "Spread Eagle." He put his toes pointing out from the side of his body, his heels facing each other, his arms straight out from his side, his knees bowed and started skating circles. All of us sat down to watch and we were rewarded.

At that time, Grandpa was 66 years old and still working in the coal mines. He made a believer out me and after that day on the ice in Auxier, Kentucky, I never doubted anything anyone told me about his younger days. I never saw him skate again.

In a boat on the river, Grandpa was a master. With ease, he could take his boat any place he wanted. When you were in the boat with him, you had to be alert or you would find yourself swimming. He enjoyed seeing you get knocked out of his boat, apparently by accident. One time, Raymond Wells and I were in his boat with him and we were bugging him about something. He started telling us some things we had supposedly been saying about each other even though they were untrue and simply designed to make us mad. It worked because we started fighting. Grandpa took a boat paddle and pushed both of us into the river. "Swim or drown", he said. We didn't drown.

I went with Grandpa to set steel traps in the river to catch muskrats. He skinned them and sold their hides to make a few extra dollars in the winter months. He liked to have his trap set so that the muskrat would drown. He liked to have the trap set at the den entrance or on a slick, as he called them. A den entrance was always under water and a slick was a path they made to a feeding spot on the bank. Usually this was near someone's corn field and it would be slick from use. He staked his traps down so that a muskrat could not get on something solid. He told me a muskrat would gnaw his foot off to escape if it could reach solid ground. I never saw this but muskrats in his taps were always dead.

Grandpa was an optimist. When we went fishing with live bait he always took the biggest chum minnow and put it on his hook. You could catch a dozen smaller fish, but he didn't seem to mind because he was waiting for the big one to bite. Most of the time it didn't. He had the patience of Job.

Florence Wells Goble, his mate and the mother of his children, died in 1942 at the age of 69. When Grandma left she took a big part of Grandpa with her. After her death, he was never the same man I knew. He spent most of his time in a rocking chair on the porch in summer and by the fire in winter. Grandpa no longer smiled or laughed. He became very hard to talk too because nothing interested him.

Grandpa lived another 16 years after Grandma's death. He ran his course, he fought the fight and he left his mark.

Published in The Trestle, September 1997

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