The Loose Cannon: Remembering Smitty, the Yountville original who broke every mold

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Who is this young man?

(Photo courtesy of John Norton)

You know, only because I told you, I would be writing about Smitty. That picture does not look anything like the Smitty that many of us came to know.

That picture was taken before Smitty became the family rebel.

I mention that because Smitty became the Smitty people knew by choice, not by influence.

I once received a birthday card that said, “When you were born, they broke the mold.”.

And on the inside it said, “And they beat the Hell out of the moldmaker.”

All kidding aside, they broke the mold when they made Smitty. There will never be another Smitty!

From the Jan. 28, 2010 edition of the Yountville Sun:

This link will get you to his Yountville Sun obituary on page three: Yountville Sun 01/28/2010

Critters and a Camper Shell

“I remember Smitty. He and Oscar were friends. I ‘seem’ to remember that he often slept on the ground with his critters in that area near Piña winery… Definitely his own person — not in the ‘mainstream’ by choice,” Sharon Stensaas recalled.

Smitty slept on the ground with his critters for long periods of time to protect them from night predators. He eventually got a sofa to sleep on. And in the wintertime, he slept under a camper shell that was sloped downhill to shed rainwater. The exact location was closer to ZD Winery.

Years ago, the road leading up the hill to the Smith/Rodgers family property had a holding corral and an old wooden cattle chute right on the Silverado Trail. At the time, much of the property between the Silverado Trail, Lake Hennessy and Rector Reservoir was leased by the Rutherford Gun Club. I’d estimate there were about 25 members in the club on average over the years, and most of those were Piñas.

The Black Powder Rifle (as told by my cousin Craig Piña)

“I have a bunch of stories about Smitty, but the one I remember the most was the day he let me shoot his black powder rifle.

“My dad and I were coming down the hill in the Jeep from hunting and Smitty was at the gate in the jalopy that I sent you a picture of, he had his friends there all on Harleys. Anyways, they were shooting black powder rifles off the cattle chute that used to be by the gate. I thought they were cool guns and so Smitty loaded his rifle, and I got up on the chute, and I remember him holding the gun because it was as big as me. I think I was about 12 years old or so. Anyways, he was holding the gun on the railing and I shot the rifle and the recoil knocked me back against the other railing and Smitty grabbed the rifle so it wouldn’t fall. I couldn’t see the target that I shot at because of the big cloud of black smoke. Years later I saw Smitty feeding his cattle and we got to talking and he remembered that day and we laughed about it.

“He was a unique guy and at his funeral people got up and talked about how well he played the piano and guitar.”

The Bobcat

My brother, Larry Piña, was living in his house on the Silverado Trail winery property and had this story to share:

“I was at the house at 8050 when Smitty comes up and bangs on the door. He had never come to my house before and he looked sort of roughed up.

“Then I saw his leg. His jeans had a 2-3-inch tear and blood was running down his leg from the corresponding cut.

“All he said was, ‘Come here; I’ve gotta show you something.” Needless to say, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, but I followed.

“In the back of the pickup was a full grown bobcat.

“He proceeds to tell me he caught it with his bare hands and it put up quite a fight. It was alive and well and looked a lot better than him.”

Larry’s daughter could hear the bobcat screaming from inside the house, and Larry explained that it wasn’t screaming because it was hurt; it was just mad.

After leaving Larry’s house, he stopped in at my brother Davie’s house to show him the bobcat, too. He told Davie he was going to release him on the far side of Lake Berryessa.

From Curtis Van Carter:

“I can ramble on a bit about him, for I did spend quite a few moments tipping beers with him. And on most occasions, one too many. One thing that never changed, he always had quite a few yarns. Wish I could remember them but do remember laughing my behind off a couple of times.

“The one thing I do remember for certain, and something anyone who has ever driven much around here about 30 years ago can relate to, his truck. I believe an older Chevy but could have been a Ford. And it was always filled with way too many hay bales. I mean, they used to lean that old truck so much, a couple of times I swear it was going to tip over. All loosely tied down by a couple of way-too-thin cowboy ropes. And no, I only always saw it continuing on down the road.

“I think his favorite bar here was the old Whistle Stop with almost equal time at Pancha’s. That’s where we tilted way too much on more than one occasion. I will miss the old hoot for I would have sworn he was going to outlive me.”

From George Rothwell:

“I knew Smitty and some of his antics. Besides running cattle, he made money with firewood, that with the help of Jesus Figueroa got harvested on the hillsides where his cattle grazed. Seeing his old rusted-out diesel truck coming down Washington Street with this long-haired, bearded, buffed-out wild man at the wheel was a true Yountville experience.

“He told me he ran with the Hells Angels for a while.

“Once he sat down at a piano at Claudie’s Lounge (Bistro Jeanty) and played honkey tonk piano. He told me he studied classical music as a kid and proceeded to do some high brow stuff.

“As a prank, he sat at Claudie’s bar and asked if he could eat something he ran over a few minutes ago. He placed a dead squirrel on the bar and opened up the belly and began eating the inside of it. Of course, he put some spam in the squirrel’s cavity ahead of time.

“Smitty had a very kind and compassionate soul and was part of a very wealthy family despite his rough appearance.

“Occasionally he would come into our store, Antique Fair, and chat with my wife, Alice, about art and old wood furniture. He and Alice got along very well. I’ve always wondered why Smitty worked and lived like he did. His brother was the exact opposite and with a passion for Lionel trains.”

I was also told that Smitty once went into a bar after delivering a calf without completely washing up. He went from the bar to the piano and began tickling the ivories.

Smitty was not poor, even though his appearance and his trucks could lead people to think otherwise. He would regularly stop in at the Piña Vineyard Management shop to visit. His truck leaked so much oil that he would refill it with oil from recycled crankcase oil barrels at the shop. And when the rear-end on his truck went out, he removed the driveshaft and engaged the front wheels of his four-wheel-drive truck.

Like George said, “Seeing his old rusted out diesel truck coming down Washington Street with this long-haired, bearded, buffed-out wild man at the wheel was a true Yountville experience.”

Smitty reminded me of Old Yountville. Outlaw’ish, and a little rough around the edges, but with a whole lotta character!