Road, ditch, swamp, scraggly pines and Uncle Emil smoking Lucky Strikes. About all he had to say on the subject was, "Old habits die hard. Didn't quit cigarettes for any better reason than I felt like it. Smoke them up here in Canada for the same reason. Have to admit one of the reasons I look forward to my trips up here is to crack open a pack of Luckies. Says right on the package they're made from fine tobacco. 'Spose they could have said the tobacco was mainly floor weepings and ragweed but that might have crimped sales."
Outside of the asphalt under our tires the last indication of civilization we passed was a sign saying there was a town somewhere nearby. Where exactly was hard to tell. I figured the sign should have said something more along the line of:
<---- ST MARTIN ---->
(it don't matter which way you turn 'cause the town ain't there anyhow, eh)
Emil was lost in thought. In his fifty-some years he'd grown up in one war, lived through a Depression, fought in another war, and been married for thirty years. Yeah, he had a lot to think about. Me, I wasn't even in high school yet. Been nowhere, done nothing. On my side of the car it was just ditch and swamp. I was ready for something to happen. My Stevenson and Newman held no interest. I was ready to ask for a smoke just to pass the time. Been told good habits begin at home. And to add frosting to the cake, for the cripe's sake, it wasn't anywhere near dark even though the clock on the dash said 9:45.
About the time I was ready to crawl out of the window and live with the bears, Emil said, "There she is," and slammed the brakes into a graveled opening in the swamp. Only that's all there was. No buildings, no cars, no apparent reason for the clearing, no nothing anywhere except for the pond alongside.
"She's not much but it's our home for the night. First we've got us some work to do. Archie, me lad, I want you to crawl in the back and start passing forward all of the packs. I'll do what I can to stow them up here."
"You see, the idea is to make enough room so we can sleep back there without hooking ourselves in our kiesters. It won't be the Waldorf but seeing as how the nearest screened window is about a hundred twenty miles away, it'll have to do. Anyhow, this trip isn't about bed sheets and TV. It's about making do with what we've got at hand. And having a fine time while we're at it."
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Canada VII - Night
Slowly it grew darker. Night was coming on and Uncle Emil's windshield was being slathered with smushed bugs. Layers on layers of them. I couldn't tell what kind they were but could only judge them by the size and color of splat. The orange, yellow, white and clear ones didn't much interest me. But the red ones caught my attention. We talked about them for a couple of minutes. Emil seemed to think the red ones might be warm blooded.
"I figure they're some kind of miniature, flying unicorn with water skies for hoofs so they can land on the lakes and ponds up here where they breed. Not many people know this, and don't ask me how I know, just accept the fact that I do but they speak a dialect of mandarin that hasn't existed since about three thousand B.C. 'Cause of that I figure they flew over using one of the land bridges that once hooked up Alaska and Russia as a route."
"Only problem is they're so tiny no one can see them. Top that off with them being bigger on the inside than they are on the outside, I think Einstein was the guy who figured that out and it explains why you can see the big red splat and not the bug. Once they hit the glass they don't so much explode as implode. Poof! Gone."
"My buddy Eldon once accidentally caught one in an RC Cola bottle. Corked the bottle up with his snot rag and hoofed off to get a magnifying glass to see what the bug looked like. When he got back the bottle was gone. Two days later he found it out on the road by his mail box in a shock of long grass. Interestingly the rag was still in the top. After a minute's eyeballing in hope the bug was still inside, Eldon spied this itty-bitty hole in the RC bottle. Never did find the bug. He told me as near as he could figure the little bugger was so strong it flew the bottle all the way out to the road. Once there it had enough time to bore its way out. Tough monkey."
"Now Eldon, he doesn't lie. And for sure he's nowhere clever enough to make that kind of stuff up so it must be the truth. Or at least darn close to it."
"I figure they're some kind of miniature, flying unicorn with water skies for hoofs so they can land on the lakes and ponds up here where they breed. Not many people know this, and don't ask me how I know, just accept the fact that I do but they speak a dialect of mandarin that hasn't existed since about three thousand B.C. 'Cause of that I figure they flew over using one of the land bridges that once hooked up Alaska and Russia as a route."
"Only problem is they're so tiny no one can see them. Top that off with them being bigger on the inside than they are on the outside, I think Einstein was the guy who figured that out and it explains why you can see the big red splat and not the bug. Once they hit the glass they don't so much explode as implode. Poof! Gone."
"My buddy Eldon once accidentally caught one in an RC Cola bottle. Corked the bottle up with his snot rag and hoofed off to get a magnifying glass to see what the bug looked like. When he got back the bottle was gone. Two days later he found it out on the road by his mail box in a shock of long grass. Interestingly the rag was still in the top. After a minute's eyeballing in hope the bug was still inside, Eldon spied this itty-bitty hole in the RC bottle. Never did find the bug. He told me as near as he could figure the little bugger was so strong it flew the bottle all the way out to the road. Once there it had enough time to bore its way out. Tough monkey."
"Now Eldon, he doesn't lie. And for sure he's nowhere clever enough to make that kind of stuff up so it must be the truth. Or at least darn close to it."
Monday, January 6, 2014
Canada VI - Between II
"'Spose you've figured out we're up here to do some fishing. But don't take Silent but Deadly as being the means. And we've got ourselves quite a few miles of road ahead before we can wet a line. Good fishing extracts a price. In this case miles. Easier to drive for a day or two than to outwit a Minnesota walleye. And we still have to figure out a place to sleep for the night. Hope you don't mind I'm a cheap bugger. We'll pull off the road in an hour or two, move the gear up front, blow up the pads and hunker down for the night."
"Where we're headed is a little piece of gravel in the middle of nowhere. Well, it's not actually right in the middle. The middle's floatin' atop a bog two miles west northwest, give or take a degree and there's no way we're traipsing through a slough in the dark just to be in the middle of anything. Tried that once and nearly lost a foot to a tundra alligator. Up ahead we'll turn into a little parking area I know of and listen to the music of skeeters scraping the paint off the side of the wagon. You've not heard anything 'til you've been serenaded to sleep by those little scumbags. The place we'll bed down sits surrounded by about a hundred thousand square miles of swamp. Heard tell Big Foot used to live up there 'til he froze to death one late summer's night. Now it's nothing but bugs, bears, wolves and five crazed Canadians who come out to howl at the moon twice a month on Thursdays. Though I'm not so sure the Canucks are still there. We'll have to listen for the howling to find out. Then again the howling might be wolves. Comes down to who'd eat who to survive. I'd put my money on the Canucks. Doubt the wolves'd stand a chance."
Nice way to set a city boy up for a restful night of sleep. I figured Uncle Emil was kidding but from what I was seeing out of the window he was right on the money about this being nearly all swamp and scruffy forest so maybe he was also right about the rest. Guess horror stories aren't just for the movies.
Nice way to set a city boy up for a restful night of sleep. I figured Uncle Emil was kidding but from what I was seeing out of the window he was right on the money about this being nearly all swamp and scruffy forest so maybe he was also right about the rest. Guess horror stories aren't just for the movies.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Canada V - Between the Big Lakes
Winnipeg was no more more than a gas station stop for us. Beside fuel there was no real reason to stop, where we wanted to be was up the road somewhere and Emil already had food aboard in his coolers. Oven roasted chicken and potato salad. "Made up my mind to do most of my own cooking after Lena passed away. The instructions were all there in her dovetailed recipe box. Cooking's all about taking your time and doing it right. When a teaspoon of salt is called for, measure one out. Life lesson I guess."
Once north of the big city even a kid like me could see this was hardscrabble country not meant for agriculture. The farms grew smaller by the mile, the woods bigger. Gone were the crisp white silos of North Dakota and southern Manitoba. At first glance most of the houses we passed appeared well kept but a closer look said they'd been hammered by Mother Nature by hurricaned snow and minus forty degree temperatures. It was hard to tell if those white clapboard walls were actually painted or still covered with winter ice.
And not a sliding hill to be seen anywhere. Made me think the kids up here played hockey 'cause there wasn't anyplace to go in the winter except neck deep in snow or out on the ice. And once outdoors, if you didn't keep moving you'd freeze to death. That left hockey as the game of choice 'til you were old enough to hoist a few then it was curling. Yeah, no doubt about it, this country was built around winter.
Uncle Emil wasn't always off on a weird tangent. More often than not he'd simply voice his thoughts. When you're sitting next to a kid it's left to the old guy to get the conversation going. Around the time my feet grew to size tens, I tended to clam up in front of men. Didn't know how to deal with them. There was no need to tell me to be seen and not heard, no sir. Top that off with the new things entering and dominating my mind. I didn't always think about sex, only when I was awake. And half the time I was sleeping.
Back in those days, and particularly since I was going to a parochial school where all of my teachers were nuns, I figured I had to be some kind of pervert. That's not a joke. The nuns would never come right out and say thinking about sex was sinful and sick since they didn't like to mention such things but they came close enough to give me the idea. I came to see myself as someone who was clean on the outside and a pit of depravity - their words - inside. Made me a little edgy speaking to adults. Had to be extra careful what I might say. Something might slip out.
So Emil did most of the talking,
"You know I wasn't always like this. Laid back and mellow. No sir. In fact I even lived down in the cities for a while. Had my own company after the War. But it was the War made it possible. Maybe it was 'cause I was so much older than the other dog soldiers, even the officers, they looked to me for advice. It was there I grew comfortable with the way other people saw me and learned it was okay to give men direction. All that helped when peace finally came."
"Don't go off thinking my business was big or anything. But we did okay. Things were booming what with the country gearing up to move into good times after all the misery back in the Depression and the War."
"Didn't hurt there was some change in my pockets when I was discharged. There was no place to spend money in a combat zone. Cigarettes, food, clothes, all the necessities were free. Even the bullets and artillery coming our way was free of charge. Sent nearly all my pay home to Lena. She had a good job down in the Cities at the Arsenal and banked most of what I sent. In '46 I went to school to learn heating and air conditioning. Breezed through in a few months. Apprenticed, mastered, bought a truck, put my name on the side, did good work, expanded, hired men, then dumped the whole shebang when runnin' a business started to cut into my time on the water. That and the stock we had was enough to last us for the rest of our lives."
"Me and Lena weren't all that fond of the Cities so we moved back near our roots outside of Gopher Prairie next door to Sinclair Lewis. Bought a house, a couple of acres and settled in. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together there. Didn't work out. Some things you never see coming 'til they've moved in and made themselves to home. Doesn't take long for tomorrow to turn into yesterday. Yeah, when life says it's time to change that's what you do. Happens in a heartbeat but takes a man a while to catch up. Been better than a year and I'm still runnin' behind."
I kind of knew what he was saying but I had too many tomorrows ahead of me for it to really sink in.
Once north of the big city even a kid like me could see this was hardscrabble country not meant for agriculture. The farms grew smaller by the mile, the woods bigger. Gone were the crisp white silos of North Dakota and southern Manitoba. At first glance most of the houses we passed appeared well kept but a closer look said they'd been hammered by Mother Nature by hurricaned snow and minus forty degree temperatures. It was hard to tell if those white clapboard walls were actually painted or still covered with winter ice.
And not a sliding hill to be seen anywhere. Made me think the kids up here played hockey 'cause there wasn't anyplace to go in the winter except neck deep in snow or out on the ice. And once outdoors, if you didn't keep moving you'd freeze to death. That left hockey as the game of choice 'til you were old enough to hoist a few then it was curling. Yeah, no doubt about it, this country was built around winter.
Uncle Emil wasn't always off on a weird tangent. More often than not he'd simply voice his thoughts. When you're sitting next to a kid it's left to the old guy to get the conversation going. Around the time my feet grew to size tens, I tended to clam up in front of men. Didn't know how to deal with them. There was no need to tell me to be seen and not heard, no sir. Top that off with the new things entering and dominating my mind. I didn't always think about sex, only when I was awake. And half the time I was sleeping.
Back in those days, and particularly since I was going to a parochial school where all of my teachers were nuns, I figured I had to be some kind of pervert. That's not a joke. The nuns would never come right out and say thinking about sex was sinful and sick since they didn't like to mention such things but they came close enough to give me the idea. I came to see myself as someone who was clean on the outside and a pit of depravity - their words - inside. Made me a little edgy speaking to adults. Had to be extra careful what I might say. Something might slip out.
So Emil did most of the talking,
"You know I wasn't always like this. Laid back and mellow. No sir. In fact I even lived down in the cities for a while. Had my own company after the War. But it was the War made it possible. Maybe it was 'cause I was so much older than the other dog soldiers, even the officers, they looked to me for advice. It was there I grew comfortable with the way other people saw me and learned it was okay to give men direction. All that helped when peace finally came."
"Don't go off thinking my business was big or anything. But we did okay. Things were booming what with the country gearing up to move into good times after all the misery back in the Depression and the War."
"Didn't hurt there was some change in my pockets when I was discharged. There was no place to spend money in a combat zone. Cigarettes, food, clothes, all the necessities were free. Even the bullets and artillery coming our way was free of charge. Sent nearly all my pay home to Lena. She had a good job down in the Cities at the Arsenal and banked most of what I sent. In '46 I went to school to learn heating and air conditioning. Breezed through in a few months. Apprenticed, mastered, bought a truck, put my name on the side, did good work, expanded, hired men, then dumped the whole shebang when runnin' a business started to cut into my time on the water. That and the stock we had was enough to last us for the rest of our lives."
"Me and Lena weren't all that fond of the Cities so we moved back near our roots outside of Gopher Prairie next door to Sinclair Lewis. Bought a house, a couple of acres and settled in. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together there. Didn't work out. Some things you never see coming 'til they've moved in and made themselves to home. Doesn't take long for tomorrow to turn into yesterday. Yeah, when life says it's time to change that's what you do. Happens in a heartbeat but takes a man a while to catch up. Been better than a year and I'm still runnin' behind."
I kind of knew what he was saying but I had too many tomorrows ahead of me for it to really sink in.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Canada IV - Rapunzel
Emil and Pete droned on for about fifteen minutes. Seemed more like hours to me. The cars coming up behind us just got waved through. Times were different back then, no terrorists, no drugs. Just tourists, locals and fishermen like us.
Turned out the two of them went way back. Seemed my uncle made part of his living smuggling hooch across the border in the early years of Prohibition. The guards would just laugh and wave him through. They couldn't believe a sixteen year old, toe headed kid who looked about thirteen, had a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and driving a Model T truck could be doing anything worse than just being a sixteen year old with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and driving a Model T truck. Liquor aboard? Not unless it was in his stomach.
When they finally figured it out, Emil was gutsy enough to grease their palms. And the border boys ate that up. So cute. Barely old enough for pimples and the kid's a gangster. After some discussion, they figured, what the heck, how much damage can one boy do? And fifty bucks passed in a hand shake went a long way toward paying the bills for a public servant with a family. Yup, times were tough even up in Canada.
I learned years later Emil really did have the smarts with his money. He didn't just throw it away like most of the rum runners back then. No, did all his business in cash and when the stock market tanked, went and bought up all the blue chips his ill gotten thousands would allow. It's not like that made him a rich man but come the end of his Army days in the war he never had to work for a living. Oh, my uncle held a job but only 'cause the work interested him. Bought and sold a small business in the post-war years. Emil being Emil did it the right way, sold it to his employees. Made another small pile from the exchange and invested that also. Mostly he and Lena hadn't led flashy lives and made a dollar go a long way. Traveled when they felt like it, never missed a meal or a deal and always had a roof over their heads paid for with cash.
Just before we moved on Pete leaned in the window, looked me in the eye and said, "You're one lucky kid, eh. Emil's a legend here on the border. Kept the wolf away from many a door. When he talks, you listen. Even his crazy is smart." Then we were off.
It was light up time on the road to Winnipeg. Back then I found something mystical in the way cigarette smoke drifted through sunbeams in a moving car. Wavy ghost lines ending in curlicues looked a lot like those infinitely non-repeating computer graphs of chaos I read of in later years. Whatever that means. These days smoking is considered evil and it's no longer proper to see anything good in it. Keep in mind few things are totally evil or totally good.
Odd thing was, Emil wasn't a smoker any more. "I only smoke on my Canada trips. Or if I'm in the boat and the fishing's hot. Other times tobacco kind of rips me up. My habits are something I've learned to live with. Or maybe die by. Must be a hangover from my bootlegging days. Excitement, adventure, coughing. What fun, eh?"
"Where were we Archie, me lad? Ah yes, Rapunzel, stuck up in a tower. The story says that tower was really tall. Pure horse manure. How could it be? Hair grows what? Three or four inches a year. Let's say the tower was twenty feet high. That's to the bottom of the window. Had to be at least that high or Prince Charming could've jumped in. So figure four inches a year, a foot every three, Rapunzel's about fifteen, twenty foot tower and by the time her hair is long enough our little sweetie is gray haired and seventy-five. Any taller and she's a corpse. Do you think Charming's gonna climb that hair? I sure wouldn't."
"So, the way I see it, there's no tower. No witch either. Just a lonely kid looking out her bedroom window when some young guy on a horse comes riding by. And it's no plow horse either. The guy's dressed nice, clothes are clean, colors coordinate in a dashing manner. All in all, neat as a pin. So is the horse. Must have money. Ticket out of the sticks figures Rapunzel."
"So she whistles for the guy to stop. Which he does. It's a nice day. Blue sky, light breezes. It's fall in Northern Europe and the sun hangs low. The way the light sets the young lady's hair to glowing would of made any man pull up and check it out."
"They talk a minute, she invites him up but he better not go through the front door because mama's down there and guards her kid's maidenhood like it's gold. So our Prince Charming simply climbs the downspout."
"Once inside she begins to seduce the guy. Or at least she gives it her batty-eyed best. But our hero isn't having anything to do with her charms. Just begins to stroke that hair. Then he sets to combing it and humming like he's in some kind of trance. He grabs a scissors from Rapunzel's night stand. It's a real butcher of a cutter but the guy gives her a real clean, short hairdo. Kind of a bob. Hip for the times."
"By now Rapunzel's figured out she's got a man who's more into fashion than passion, got other things on his mind besides marriage. But he sure does know his way around hair."
"Long story short, ten years pass and the two of them have a chain of beauty shoppes, with two 'p's and an 'e', throughout the kingdom. Even do the queen's hair and all the ladies of the court. They call their operation Mr. Wonderful's, make a fortune and live happily ever after. Or at least 'til they over extend their operation, have to file bankruptcy and the Black Plague kills them both."
After he's done, another Lucky Strike gets lit and it's quiet in the car. I didn't know if he was serious or not. The way he told the story he could have been giving a lecture in school. Sounded as factual as if he was reading from an encyclopedia. Me, what could I do? I was just a dumb kid so I gave him the look.
Finally Emil says, "Archie me lad, that was supposed to be funny. You could at least try to laugh. Tell you what, next time I'll give you a wink before I get started to let you know a chuckle or even a knowing smile would be appreciated."
Turned out the two of them went way back. Seemed my uncle made part of his living smuggling hooch across the border in the early years of Prohibition. The guards would just laugh and wave him through. They couldn't believe a sixteen year old, toe headed kid who looked about thirteen, had a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and driving a Model T truck could be doing anything worse than just being a sixteen year old with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and driving a Model T truck. Liquor aboard? Not unless it was in his stomach.
When they finally figured it out, Emil was gutsy enough to grease their palms. And the border boys ate that up. So cute. Barely old enough for pimples and the kid's a gangster. After some discussion, they figured, what the heck, how much damage can one boy do? And fifty bucks passed in a hand shake went a long way toward paying the bills for a public servant with a family. Yup, times were tough even up in Canada.
I learned years later Emil really did have the smarts with his money. He didn't just throw it away like most of the rum runners back then. No, did all his business in cash and when the stock market tanked, went and bought up all the blue chips his ill gotten thousands would allow. It's not like that made him a rich man but come the end of his Army days in the war he never had to work for a living. Oh, my uncle held a job but only 'cause the work interested him. Bought and sold a small business in the post-war years. Emil being Emil did it the right way, sold it to his employees. Made another small pile from the exchange and invested that also. Mostly he and Lena hadn't led flashy lives and made a dollar go a long way. Traveled when they felt like it, never missed a meal or a deal and always had a roof over their heads paid for with cash.
Just before we moved on Pete leaned in the window, looked me in the eye and said, "You're one lucky kid, eh. Emil's a legend here on the border. Kept the wolf away from many a door. When he talks, you listen. Even his crazy is smart." Then we were off.
It was light up time on the road to Winnipeg. Back then I found something mystical in the way cigarette smoke drifted through sunbeams in a moving car. Wavy ghost lines ending in curlicues looked a lot like those infinitely non-repeating computer graphs of chaos I read of in later years. Whatever that means. These days smoking is considered evil and it's no longer proper to see anything good in it. Keep in mind few things are totally evil or totally good.
Odd thing was, Emil wasn't a smoker any more. "I only smoke on my Canada trips. Or if I'm in the boat and the fishing's hot. Other times tobacco kind of rips me up. My habits are something I've learned to live with. Or maybe die by. Must be a hangover from my bootlegging days. Excitement, adventure, coughing. What fun, eh?"
"Where were we Archie, me lad? Ah yes, Rapunzel, stuck up in a tower. The story says that tower was really tall. Pure horse manure. How could it be? Hair grows what? Three or four inches a year. Let's say the tower was twenty feet high. That's to the bottom of the window. Had to be at least that high or Prince Charming could've jumped in. So figure four inches a year, a foot every three, Rapunzel's about fifteen, twenty foot tower and by the time her hair is long enough our little sweetie is gray haired and seventy-five. Any taller and she's a corpse. Do you think Charming's gonna climb that hair? I sure wouldn't."
"So, the way I see it, there's no tower. No witch either. Just a lonely kid looking out her bedroom window when some young guy on a horse comes riding by. And it's no plow horse either. The guy's dressed nice, clothes are clean, colors coordinate in a dashing manner. All in all, neat as a pin. So is the horse. Must have money. Ticket out of the sticks figures Rapunzel."
"So she whistles for the guy to stop. Which he does. It's a nice day. Blue sky, light breezes. It's fall in Northern Europe and the sun hangs low. The way the light sets the young lady's hair to glowing would of made any man pull up and check it out."
"They talk a minute, she invites him up but he better not go through the front door because mama's down there and guards her kid's maidenhood like it's gold. So our Prince Charming simply climbs the downspout."
"Once inside she begins to seduce the guy. Or at least she gives it her batty-eyed best. But our hero isn't having anything to do with her charms. Just begins to stroke that hair. Then he sets to combing it and humming like he's in some kind of trance. He grabs a scissors from Rapunzel's night stand. It's a real butcher of a cutter but the guy gives her a real clean, short hairdo. Kind of a bob. Hip for the times."
"By now Rapunzel's figured out she's got a man who's more into fashion than passion, got other things on his mind besides marriage. But he sure does know his way around hair."
"Long story short, ten years pass and the two of them have a chain of beauty shoppes, with two 'p's and an 'e', throughout the kingdom. Even do the queen's hair and all the ladies of the court. They call their operation Mr. Wonderful's, make a fortune and live happily ever after. Or at least 'til they over extend their operation, have to file bankruptcy and the Black Plague kills them both."
After he's done, another Lucky Strike gets lit and it's quiet in the car. I didn't know if he was serious or not. The way he told the story he could have been giving a lecture in school. Sounded as factual as if he was reading from an encyclopedia. Me, what could I do? I was just a dumb kid so I gave him the look.
Finally Emil says, "Archie me lad, that was supposed to be funny. You could at least try to laugh. Tell you what, next time I'll give you a wink before I get started to let you know a chuckle or even a knowing smile would be appreciated."
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Canada III - The Border
When you're flying along at a mile a minute there's not much to see on the eastern edge of North Dakota, except maybe the eastern edge of Montana should you stand tippy-toed. If a man gets his jollies from a billion acres of wheat and a red roofed barn every ten minutes, then it's as good as a Laurel and Hardy short. However, for me the big deal was coming up ahead at the border. I'd never been to a foreign country before. Or out of the state of Minnesota for that matter. Back in '61 kids my age rarely went farther than they could walk or bike. It was a big deal to get a small cone at a Dairy Queen.
We hit the crossing in the middle of one of Emil's rambles. Believe me I was one scared puppy he wasn't going to interrupt his tale even when we stopped to talk with the border guard. He'd end up in a padded cell and I'd be stowed away in a Canadian orphanage where they'd force me to use vinegar on my french fries. Thankfully he did stop.
A couple of miles south of the border somehow or other Uncle Emil had wandered off into a fairy tale rant. Seemed he wanted to straighten me out about what was real about them and what was pure fantasy. Emil said his takes on those old stories were the God's truth as opposed to the Grimm boys who didn't know shinola. Even spit in his palm and rubbed the gob into my butch haircut to show his sincerity. Boy did he laugh when he did that.
Before I go any farther and you get the wrong idea, I have to let you know even though my uncle was weird, he wasn't that kind of weird, the kind of weird you remember thirty years later then spill your guts out in court. No, Emil just had a strange sense of humor and figured most everyone else would love it when he went off on a tangent. Even better if they just got confused. Nothing seemed to please him as much as telling a joke that only he found funny.
Who knew where his ideas came from? I sure didn't. And the truth was I'd never given much thought to Rapunzel. In fact, as far as fairy tales went I thought it was pretty lame. What a guy saw in a woman with an eighty foot pony tail was beyond me.
Emil started in, "I've got to tell you Archie me lad, the truth behind Rapunzel. You see there's this young woman. I forget exactly what her background was before the story began and I don't much give a rat's patoot considering where it's gonna end up but for sure she was one good looking lady. No doubt about it. And somehow or other she got some witch's goat, could be it was a queen or maybe her high school English teacher and I'm not even sure if there was a goat. Now that's not a smart thing to do 'cause when you kick the broom out from under a witch you're just begging for the oven. So figure this Rapunzel isn't too smart. Maybe it was just that the kid was such a doll and witches don't like pretty unless it's for Sunday brunch."
"Anyhow, the old hag, I figure she was an old hag 'cause it makes the story so much more believable. On the other hand there's some ladies who are knockouts with a touch of the witch about them like that wicked queen in Snow White, the one in the Disney cartoon. Oof dah, that kind of witchy is even scarier than the ones with warts on their noses, scary in the sense like one of those wasps or maybe it's spiders, that kill their suitors after two seconds of heaven and the guy figures it was worth it but you probably don't know exactly what I'm talking about yet. But if it just so happens you do then I figure it's good for you kid. Where was I?"
By that time we were pulling up to the guard shack. Car window rolls down. Emil says "Hi Pete." The man with the badge says, "Hi Emil." And they're off and running about fishing, kids and the merits of decent whiskey.
We hit the crossing in the middle of one of Emil's rambles. Believe me I was one scared puppy he wasn't going to interrupt his tale even when we stopped to talk with the border guard. He'd end up in a padded cell and I'd be stowed away in a Canadian orphanage where they'd force me to use vinegar on my french fries. Thankfully he did stop.
A couple of miles south of the border somehow or other Uncle Emil had wandered off into a fairy tale rant. Seemed he wanted to straighten me out about what was real about them and what was pure fantasy. Emil said his takes on those old stories were the God's truth as opposed to the Grimm boys who didn't know shinola. Even spit in his palm and rubbed the gob into my butch haircut to show his sincerity. Boy did he laugh when he did that.
Before I go any farther and you get the wrong idea, I have to let you know even though my uncle was weird, he wasn't that kind of weird, the kind of weird you remember thirty years later then spill your guts out in court. No, Emil just had a strange sense of humor and figured most everyone else would love it when he went off on a tangent. Even better if they just got confused. Nothing seemed to please him as much as telling a joke that only he found funny.
Who knew where his ideas came from? I sure didn't. And the truth was I'd never given much thought to Rapunzel. In fact, as far as fairy tales went I thought it was pretty lame. What a guy saw in a woman with an eighty foot pony tail was beyond me.
Emil started in, "I've got to tell you Archie me lad, the truth behind Rapunzel. You see there's this young woman. I forget exactly what her background was before the story began and I don't much give a rat's patoot considering where it's gonna end up but for sure she was one good looking lady. No doubt about it. And somehow or other she got some witch's goat, could be it was a queen or maybe her high school English teacher and I'm not even sure if there was a goat. Now that's not a smart thing to do 'cause when you kick the broom out from under a witch you're just begging for the oven. So figure this Rapunzel isn't too smart. Maybe it was just that the kid was such a doll and witches don't like pretty unless it's for Sunday brunch."
"Anyhow, the old hag, I figure she was an old hag 'cause it makes the story so much more believable. On the other hand there's some ladies who are knockouts with a touch of the witch about them like that wicked queen in Snow White, the one in the Disney cartoon. Oof dah, that kind of witchy is even scarier than the ones with warts on their noses, scary in the sense like one of those wasps or maybe it's spiders, that kill their suitors after two seconds of heaven and the guy figures it was worth it but you probably don't know exactly what I'm talking about yet. But if it just so happens you do then I figure it's good for you kid. Where was I?"
By that time we were pulling up to the guard shack. Car window rolls down. Emil says "Hi Pete." The man with the badge says, "Hi Emil." And they're off and running about fishing, kids and the merits of decent whiskey.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Canada II - The Train etc. - continued
For the next ten days my uncle would once in a while pass through long stretches of silence, then break in with an "I've got to tell you Archie me lad...." In case you haven't as yet noticed he almost always called me Archie me lad when something was in the offing. When I heard those words it was time for me to listen up. Something unusual and of no social consequence was coming around the bend. What he had to say wasn't always polished but usually took me by surprise. Until I got used to the surprise part. Then the only thing that would surprise me was something like, " Archie me lad, what do you want for lunch?"
By the way, I can't say as I'm fond of my name. I'm about the only Archie I ever met who's under the age of forty. It's not short for anything. It's just Archie. The story goes my mom wanted to name me Cary after Cary Grant the actor. Wouldn't have been much fun had anyone ever found that out. Believe me, I'm no Cary Grant. Lucky my dad was having nothing to do with any kid of his being named after some flighty Hollywood actor. He was all for naming me Max. Now that would have been one manly name to hang on a kid. Cary, Max, either way I'd have been beaten up a lot. Or learned to be a good fighter. Or run faster. Don't know how my mom learned Cary Grant's real first name was Archibald and that he grew up being called Archie, but she did. And didn't tell my dad how she came up with the new name. And, after a minute of thought, my dad said Archibald was out of the question but Archie was okay.
Don't know if my uncle liked to make up stories or it was just his way of dealing with being ill at ease with people he hadn't spent much time with. Never gave that a thought back in '61 but over the years, as we grew to know each other, his tales became less common. Yeah, he still spun a few but more often than not we shared silence in what he called 'the cathedral of mother nature.' Nearly all our hours together were spent in the woods, on the water or in the car on the way. "Much to be seen or heard out there without us butting in."
But on this first drive up to the northland it was different. The stories came. Could be he feared I'd be bored. That I wouldn't find the same joy he did being away from cement and buildings. Guess it took a while 'til he could relax knowing I was having the time of my life simply being with him in a world he loved.
Over the years I gave some thought to Emil's Elvis tale. Had my doubts as to its truth. But Emil swore it was gospel. Could even show you the slight difference in paint color of the rear fender where the Nomad was clipped by Presley's pink Cadillac. But, truth be known, I sure couldn't see the color difference. And even if there had been a repaint, what're the odds Elvis had anything to do with it? At least that's the way I felt until Emil's funeral when I saw the yellowed newspaper clipping. No Emil or Lena in the picture but there, big as day, stood a young Presley in penny loafers and turned up short sleeves alongside a Memphis cop staring at the dented rear fender of a two tone Nomad with Minnesota plates. Coincidence? Who knows? Could be my uncle planted the picture just to blow a little smoke. Truth or not, it put a smile on my face.
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