Ray Verdon

It seemed the Mondous of Fieldville, although far away, were a popular subject becausee they had fallen on hard times, and there was nothing the locals liked talking about more than other folks' hard times.

Suddenly Mac stopped by the wire fence that ran along the road and pointed at the cows grazing in the field under the hydro lines. The hydro lines were new. Mac said that ever since they went up a year ago, the cows were different.
"They used to stand around all pretty well facing in the same direction," he said. "Now they face in all different directions, like they don't know where they're going. I think that electricity running just over their heads is frying their brains for sure."

As for the Bible, he was always telling us that we should read that as well. The trouble with Catholics, he said, was they let the priests do all the reading, and they just sat and listened to the guy in the pulpit.
"You don't need priests to do your thinking for you."

"Hi, there, Barry O. I'd like you to meet my great-nephew, Raymond."
"Doesn't look like there's too much great about him."
Mac answered, "Don't be insulting, Barry. Raymond is a right smart lad."

He had fought with the Church because they wouldn't take care of this graveyard like they took care of the one up the hill. "Perpetual care doesn't last long, Raymond."

I had never seen my uncle move so fast, let alone toward the Church. The Hereafter, he called it.