A random story from Dyer...
When the late Mr. John Stockton was a young boy (probably 8 or 9) he had a boxer dog which he walked daily around downtown Dyer. Behind the Farmers and Merchants Bank there was a "liars bench" where the old men sat and swapped stories and gossiped. As John was passing the liars bench with his dog on one of those long-gone (even in the smallest town) quiet and sleepy traffic-free days, one of the old men stuck his cane among the legs of the dog and John almost tripping them. As they stumbled, the old man said, "Hey John, does that dog eat sh*t?" John recovered quickly and said, "Yes sir, but I'll try to hold him while you get away!" John's father was the town night marshal and so was sleeping. John knew he was in trouble -- as he returned quickly home, he could hear the phone ringing inside his house and his father answering, "He did what!?!?! JOOOOOHN." They say that as John's father "whupped" him, he told him that he being punished not because of what he had said, but rather, because of the disrespect he'd shown the old man. Justice was sure and swift in a small town in the old days, no?
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