Seems like it wasn't all that long ago I used to call Archie, Mister Know-it-all. But it may have been close to thirty years. I didn't mean that in a sarcastic way either. Unless you consider comparing him to Bullwinkle J. Moose as sarcastic. Don't know if you're old enough to remember Bullwinkle. If not, consider that you've missed something. Newer's not always better.
Back in the dark ages of the '50s, when me and Lena went to the Cities we most always stayed at Marie's house. She was Archie's mom and my sister. If a Saturday morning was in the cards, me and the kid'd watch the cartoons together. Black and white, small screen, not digital and free for the asking. We both had a funny bone for the old Warner Brothers cartoons, the 'weewy skwewy' ones filled with violence sexual overtones, and bad attitudes. Back in those days we didn't even have to feel guilty about such nonsense. Sometimes we'd really luck out and catch an old Laurel and Hardy short. Don't know which of us laughed harder.
By the time Rocky and His Friends rolled around, we didn't see each other much anymore. But that didn't stop me from watching on my own. No siree. What the hell, the Moose and Squirrel were from Minnesota, Frostbite Falls no less. We all knew where that was, only we called it International Falls. Seemed like it should've been a law in the Gopher State that a body had to watch a couple of naked north woods animals, not including the Squirrel's aviator goggles and helmet of course, take on Russian spies and ex-Nazis. Part of the show was a little segment called Mister Know-it-all, introduced by Rocky. Of course Mister Know-it-all was anything but. Can't say I ever split a gut. But it most often put a smile on my face and that's not a bad thing.
I made the connection years later when the two of us began to see each other again. Like Bullwinkle, Archie usually had his head up his keister. And at the same time, would spout whatever passed through his mind and call it gospel. Didn't help much when he pulled it out either, as he wasn't used to the light of day and the earth tones of his usual residence gave his viewpoint an off color bent. That probably explains the stories he made up about me. So I'm here to set the record straight.
When Archie won the liar's contest, it wouldn't've gone farther than a 'what if?' hadn't it been for my glass eye. Wouldn't have made it to 'what if?' if the glass eye wasn't true. That's about the end of the truth as far as I'm concerned. Except for the losin' it part. He made a big deal about it like that was the only one I lost. If I had a nickel for every one that rolled down a heat register, fell in a toilet or broke on the sidewalk when I was demonstrating how to properly bang your head on a brick wall, guess I'd have at least a buck five. One of 'em I lost to Eldon Snyder's kid Ronnie, used it as a shooter in a pickup game of marbles after a Grain Belt too many at Van Dyk's Outskirts Inn. Little prick wouldn't give it back. Paid a pretty penny for it too. Was my church eye. Had a miniature "Last Supper" in place of the pupil. She was foot painted by a guy in Mexico who had no arms. Didn't cost but three dollars down in Tijuana but the customs clown said it was illegal to bring hand-painted glass into the U.S. of A. from Mexico. Of course I explained about no hands being involved. Might as well have told that to the twenty dollar bill I slipped him to grease his palm. Scumbag.
How many did I own over the years? No idea. Some men had a closet full of ties, some just kept their ghosts there. Me, I had a drawer full of eyes and stored them in egg cartons. Started with a matching blue-green one. When our income grew, I branched out, blossomed. For fishin' I leaned toward red and white. Bobber, dardevle, bass-o-reno, dependin' what I was out for. For fly fishin', I loved my Royal Wulff. Not many knew Orvis once had this secret glass eye division. Just had to know the password (idiot's delight) on the catalogue order form. Had Disney do me up a Blossom the Skunk, the one from Bambi, for those fishin' trips I didn't want to talk about. Got so my friends could tell if I was comin' or goin' and how it'd gone, by makin' eye contact. Over time, all those eyes got to be a problem. Wasn't much to talk about when the boys at Van Dyk's just had to give me a look-see to get the low-down. Talk about the eye being the window of the soul. Needed me a Valley of the Blind so's I could be king.
As I got older, my eyes were toned down to color coordination and puns. Wisdom of age. No way was I a snappy dresser but pluggin' in any eye that clashed with my outfit, and that included overalls, just didn't set right with me. Then there was my 'i' eye, pi eye, sky eye , a blue one with a teeny cloud pupil and the ever popular 'I see you' mirrored one.
When I felt the need to laugh alone - with my sense of humor I did that a lot - I'd take my plaid suit along when Lena and I headed to the cities. Yeah that suit was a right cool one. A size too small, pants three inches too short. Pop in my hayseed eye, yup, the pupil was a real imbedded hay seed, then take the bus downtown to stroll around and gawk at the tall buildings. Had more fun than you could shake a stick at asking dumb questions of total strangers just to see the look on their faces trying to figure me out.
Finally, it was the dardevle eye I lost in Elbow Lake, not Wedge as Archie remembered it. He must have had a senior moment wandering around Pequot Lakes to forget something that was common family knowledge.
There's a lot more I want to say but can't until I unlock the handcuffs Archie put on me so's he could win the contest. Never worked in a fertilizer factory. Didn't lose the eye to a lag screw. Didn't die till 2000. Was born in 1923. In WWII, The Big One, I was in the Navy. In '43, was off the coast of Chile on a troop transport. Don't know if it was the hand of God or simple crap-shoot fate but I was on deck watch the night we were torpedoed by a Jap submarine. The tub went down in less than a minute. No one survived but those of us topside. Lost the eye to a little piece of wire shrapnel. A small price to pay for not dying.
One problem. There was this war on and I didn't want out of it till we won. But I knew for sure being a one-eye, that was all she wrote for me. Unless. You see, when they transferred a sailor stateside to recover, his personnel and medical files went with him. By with him, I mean in-hand. My personnel files were at the bottom of the Pacific. The medical records were lost to a zippo fire in a waste basket. A pity. So in San Diego I went in search of a clerk in need of the forty bucks I still had with me. A quick type job, a fine blue-green glass eye, a line of BS and the next thing you know I was back aboard ship. Most'd say that was a dumb thing to do, million dollar wound and all. Even being one-eyed, I could see that was foolishness but some things in life are worth doing simply because they are.
