This is not Richard I never took his picture, but this internet photo reminds me of Richard and his house-truck. The man in the photo looks a bit like a playful, less bearded version of the Richard I remember. Fall Break of 1976 I met Richard while camping in the Ozarks with my friends Karen and Jan. Of course, some college students head for Cancun, but Johnson's Shut-Ins State Park was the best we could do. Instead of giggling over margaritas, we laughed over bowls of campfire stew. Natural Playground After a chilly night in the tent, we headed to the Black River, which was probably more entertaining than a beach anyway. On that warm October day, the water had attracted lots of tourists wanting to play in the maze of boulders and waterfalls and swirling pools. We took a few turns tumbling down slick rock slides and stumbling back up to torture ourselves again. Relaxing And then we rested on the warm rocks to let our bruises begin to heal. Eyes shut, we listened to the roar of the water and the muffled squeals of children... with a little drunken hollering mixed in. Occasionally we sat up and amused ourselves with some people watching. The distant children looked like elves and fairies as they hopped effortlessly from rock to rock...a sharp contrast to the noisy beer drinkers who fumbled clumsily with their 6-packs and cassette players. We 3 quietly teased about how someday we needed to get us some of them "Handsome Ozark Mountain Men " There was one person we observed who didn't fit in, though. He had a long untended beard and white gauzy pants rolled up to the knee. He sat alone on a nearby rock for much of the afternoon. We didn't know if he was meditating, writing poetry or planning the next bank robbery. Richard We ended up chatting with the bearded man named, Richard. He seemed soft spoken and kind and a little mysterious. He said he had been fasting for a few days. He planned to start a hike the next day and hoped to finish at Elephant Rocks (another boulder filled park in the Missouri Ozarks) in time for the full moon on Friday. We hoped he could make it since he already looked pretty thin. Richard seemed a bit eccentric to us, but there was nothing awkward as we sat chatting. He seemed like an amused older brother, as we shared funny stories and brainstormed ideas for silly Halloween costumes. He took us to the parking lot to see his "home" which was an old bread truck, covered in faded red paint. There were curtains in a window and even a little porch attached to the back. He gave us a loaf of bread before we said good-bye, reminding us he was fasting. We thanked him and told him to call if he ever made it to St. Louis. "If you're not fasting, we'll cook you up a big healthy meal!" We assured him. St. Louis Visit I must have given him my phone number because a week later I called Karen and Jan in a panic. "I didn't think he would REALLY call! He's coming to town and we promised him dinner!" So Karen and Jan came over to my duplex and we spent an afternoon making a huge mess trying to prepare a special feast for our vegetarian friend. By 8:30, the 4 of us were seated around a candle lit table eating scalloped eggplant, salad and potatoes along with homemade bread. The food was surprisingly delicious, but the atmosphere was surprisingly uncomfortable. It felt like we 4 were on some kind of a dreaded blind date. It was as if our group didn't know how to converse when we weren't sitting on sun baked rocks, lulled by the sound of the water. Distracted with Dessert Luckily we had invited some other friends to join us for our grand finale of Baked Alaska. The picture to the left is what it should have looked like. Ours was a melted disaster. The extra guests broke the ice with new energy and jokes and stories...for a while. Then, Richard pulled out his guitar. Sing-a-long? In 1976 it wasn't unusual to have a guitar come out at a gathering. Singing could be a cure for a dull party. But Richard's guitar playing added a whole new tension to our group. He squeezed his eyes shut while his hands almost spastically plucked at the strings. The melody he sang seemed to clash with the notes of the guitar. Sad and Lonely Maybe Richard's singing stirred up some old memories, because before long he began talking about a wife and 2 kids that he had lost touch with. In a soft voice Richard began to share his disappointment in himself and the world. I can't remember the specifics of the things he hated about the world, but he said he felt powerless to change any of it. He figured he would pretty much live the life of a hermit and concentrate on trying to change himself instead of the world. I suddenly realized how very sad and lonely this man was. I thought he had just been quiet and thoughtful. Thank you, Richard I was relieved when your red house on wheels pulled away from my curb. Your sadness scared me and I suddenly began to worry about what could happen when you invite an unhappy stranger into your home. So thanks for NOT being all those things that we read about in newspapers. Thank you for not overstaying your welcome or doing worse. But mostly thanks for sharing a little bit of your sadness. At 19, I was concerned with little more than my college world. It was good for me to stop and really think about the life of another. I hope you're still alive somewhere. I like to picture you sharing your life with another person, maybe in a real house. But those are my wishes. Mostly I just hope you found happiness.
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The Saltiest of the 3 Fishermen I met Tom just after he returned from 2 days at sea on the Top Tuna! He and his crew reminded me of weary horses who suddenly have the ability to gallop when they catch sight of the stable. All 3 scrambled on the deck, tackling numerous chores, preparing to leave their boat for the night. Tom did the most grumbling of the 3. DJ's Deck in Daytona Beach I was with my husband tackling a plate of raw oysters at a quirky seafood joint, when we noticed the boat pull up beside a nearby dock. It was like sitting at a drive-in movie...watching the show! A Full Load We had a perfect view of the boat, loaded down with lines and pulleys, hooks and 2 days worth of shark. Handling the Sharks Twice Despite his grumbling, Tom seemed pretty happy to answer my silly questions. (He did have to ask me to step back a few times, since the blood was splattering.) "I hate all these regulations!" he whined. "We can get rid of the shark's head at sea, but we can't remove the fins or do anything else till we come to shore." He claimed all the strict laws just ended up with more waste. "We can only handle sharks. If I pull up a red snapper, we have to throw it back even if it's dead. There are hungry people who could eat that!" Shark Fin Soup There were hoses blasting, knives slicing, blood spurting, along with a little cussing and laughter. "These go straight to China." Tom announced as he sliced the fins off each shark. He shook his head and chuckled at the idea of shark fin soup. "Yeah, they can't have a wedding banquet without their shark fin soup!" He seemed pretty amused. "They think there's some kind of aphrodisiac in that shark fin!" Working Faster Tom heaved the gutted sharks into a rolling bin, which was carted off to a nearby fish market. Eating Shark? Dwayne and his son tossed the last fins into the orange basket. I wondered if they could possibly like eating shark after handling them day and night. Dwayne said he didn't eat shark...not anymore. Colorful When Tom and Dwayne were done unloading I had a chance to admire their colorful, rubber overalls. Tom made some kind of crack about just how "colorful" he and Duwayne really were... before we got off on the subject of food. Dwayne was hoping "Mom" would be making pasta for dinner. Pretty soon their ladies came to fetch them and they headed off for an evening on land...before heading out in the morning. Thanks Tom!
I know how tired you must have been, so I'm surprised you even chatted at all. You actually made me a lot more curious about life as a fisherman...and life as a shark for that matter. Since we met, I've read up about all the controversies of shark fishing and I understand both sides a little more. Also, like Dwayne...I lost a little of my appetite for shark. All Kinds in Laguna I lived in Laguna Beach, California in the 1980's. My husband and I lived near some obnoxiously wealthy home owners. We sat in cafes besides local artists and musicians and we shared the beach with bronzed surfer kids and groups of transient youth kicking their hacky sacks. It seemed like all of these people rich or poor ended up at the Laundromat. My Weekly Trip to do Laundry There was always lots of activity at the Laundromat. You could watch a man hunting through the trash for food, while listening to a nearby conversation about an African safari. If you were really lucky you might catch a glimpse of "The Skipper" if he got off his usual route along the Coast Highway. This was not a man of the sea. He was a man who liked to skip. I preferred observing to interacting. I liked observing all the characters, but I wasn't always eager to converse. I kept myself busy or absorbed in a book, so rarely did I chat. I do remember one day sharing a bench with a somewhat energetic man with dirty clothes and long stringy hair. He munched on cheese puffs for a while, then disappeared and returned with a pint of ice cream. He greeted me with glassy eyes as I loaded my washer and asked if I wanted some ice cream. I answered no thanks and tried to ignore his swaying presence. He got my attention again when he bent his knees as if practicing a comical bow, then in a slow motion sweep, he gently kicked my tennis shoe with his foot. I stopped and gave him a somewhat irritated look. He grinned back and said softly, "Knock on wood." Thanks for this odd memory, Laundry Man. Even though you were a little creepy as you invaded my space, you did offer to share your food. And whether you were mentally ill, high, drunk or just lacking in social skills, you took your cue and there was no further pestering and no big scene. You reminded me that we share this world and our Laundromats with all kinds of people. We don't have to be chummy with everyone we see, but we need to show a little respect. I respect you for letting me get back to my book. On a muggy, August morning in 2008, I had a garage sale...probably the last I will ever attempt. There were a lot of characters who came that day, but there was one particularly feisty old man I remember... fondly. They started arriving before sunrise as I busied myself in the dim light under the porte cochere. I heard car doors slam and looked up and saw silhouettes moving across the lawn like hopeful zombies. They hung back staring at my disorganized mess (nearly as bad as photo) and I begged them to return later. A construction worker stomped away annoyed. A mother and small child begged to just look a little bit. A creepy man whose mother might have owned the Bates Motel, crossed his arms and said, "I'll wait." By 7 am I was drenched from the humidity, but ready to open up and get this over with. My son Scott and his friend Suraj raced to throw larger items out on the drive. I cringed at my lack of "display". I had so badly wanted to play store and have things pretty. Forget it. The creepy man continued to lurk. He frowned at some costume jewelry and begged me to look in my house for more. I assured him I didn't have time and he pouted and leaned against a brick pillar as if waiting until I did. Other shoppers flew from their cars, grabbing items like it was a moonlight madness sale. They ignored my mother's French Provincial bedroom set and still sealed PBS DVDs. They filled their arms with new boxes of Tide and L'eggs panty hose and buckets of rags. I was proud when I caught a few clever shoppers trying to combine items I had stapled into Ziplock baggies. No time to wonder how many thieves I didn't catch. Rocker Thief and Lexus Lady I tried to explain to one woman who spoke little English why I wouldn't go down on the price of the child's antique rocker. I later caught her trying to put it into her car. Hmm? Did she think I said, "No, I won't lower the price, so take it for free." Another woman arrived in a Lexus and spoke with a thick accent. She tried to haggle me down on a 25 cent travel clock. "Yes, I know the battery cover is missing. That's why it's not a dollar!" "Why not a dime?" She demanded. "No that price is firm!" I answered...as if I really cared about the clock or the money. I don't mind a little haggling, but this was an aggressive power play...and she was driving a Lexus! The Feisty Man Arrives I was pretty impatient by the time the old man arrived. He took his time creating a large pile of 50-cent items and then he was ready for some haggling. He had the same accent as Lexus Lady, but he came on foot...although he may have owned a Lexus! The first thing Feisty Man did was announce his age. "I am 83 years old. You make me a deal! You give me a very good price because I am an old man." I laughed because I could see his eyes smiling. I told him I was pretty old, too and that's why I needed his good money. We spent many minutes laughing and bartering. I added a little eye rolling and whining to his drama. I was happy to give in finally. I gave the man $20 worth of junk for $5 because he amused me. After I took his money he added. "Now, how will I get this home? I walked over a mile." Then he seemed to have a good idea. "No problem," He said as he scribbled out his address on a piece of paper. I gasped when he asked me to deliver his purchase to his home. "Are you kidding?" I laughed. "You want me to deliver $5. worth of stuff!?" Surely he was joking, but I could see Suraj nearby shaking his head and smiling as if he recognized this kind of converstion. Then the fiesty old man grinned. "You deliver and I will give you some good Indian food." Hurried Decision Just then there was a rumble and I could see storm clouds moving closer. I sighed and told Scott and Suraj to just get in the car and drive our friend home. The old man smiled and followed the boys down the drive, carrying his loot. By the time the boys returned, it was raining and I had pulled in the last of the goods the goods from drive. I took a quick sample of the Indian food. Just enough to give me energy to start packing up for a run to Goodwill. Thank You, Feisty Man. You gave me a chuckle at the end of a frustrating morning. You amused me with your determination. Were you actually charming, or were you just charming in comparison to the others? I hope you didn't walk away laughing that you'd pulled a good one over on me. It felt like a win-win to me. You got your stuff and a ride. I got rid of some stuff...and a funny memory! A Cold Night in Marathon, Texas Don and I met Scott in the Snake Bite Saloon in West Texas. There had been a rare snowstorm the day before and the cozy restaurant/bar was pretty quiet for a Friday night. We actually didn't meet Scott until after about an hour of conversation with his wife, Irene. Scott was too busy performing on his concertina to get in on much conversation. Taking a break Irene was able to introduce us during a break. Scott gave us a quick history about the instrument, which is not an accordion! He didn't have to give us his own history because Irene already had. While chatting earlier, we figured out that Scott had been born a year before me in the same hospital in South Bend, Indiana. We also learned that Scott has Polish roots similar to Don. But unlike Don or me, Scott put himself through medical school at Notre Dame by playing in polka bands. I would love to have that in my personal history. One conversation lead to another... Irene also introduced us to her brother Raoul. He and Don chatted while Scott continued performing. I was amazed at the different kinds of music I was hearing on this instrument that I associate with Italian or Cajun music. We heard everything from Cat Stevens to Dueling Banjos. But the thing that intrigued me the most was learning why Scott was playing in this bar at all. As a rural doctor, he finds performing the healthiest way to relieve stress. Of course surgery isn't always the most stressful part of the job, Irene explained. "Yesterday, he said it was easy doing an emergency appendectomy, compared to the drive through the snowstorm to get there." Good Food, too Raoul was pretty amused when this giant burger arrived. What he didn't realize was how much he would need those calories a few minutes later... when Scott started up an energetic, old fashioned polka. (How did Scott know I secretly love to polka?) Irene and I were able to drag Don and Raoul to the dance floor where the four of us wore out the wooden floor boards with some pretty sloppy, but hysterically fun dancing. That was a lot more exhausting than I remember! Good-Bye! After our heart rates returned to normal we exchanged email addresses and Don and I headed off to the hotel. Thanks, Irene! I always end my blogs with a thank you to the stranger I'm highlighting. I've been talking about Scott, because you shared so many interesting things about him. But really you're the stranger to thank because it was your enthusiasm and curiosity that got us all talking in the first place. We loved hearing your stories and you were equally interested in hearing ours. Most strangers I meet, I never meet again. But maybe in the future we'll join up again...for a little more polka fun!
Upper Michigan in 1974 Our family visited Ranch Rudolf for the first time in 1974. We were with our good friends the Connors, so we didn't put out much effort to socialize and interact with new people. We were too busy with our group of 12, running around in cut-offs and swimming suits, floating in kayaks and tubing in the nearby river. Then... Winter at The Ranch On our second visit to RR, we were a group of 3 families, gathering to ring in the new year. There were 11 (mostly teen) kids this time, so again we weren't on the look out to make new friends. But lucky for us, we ended up with a people encounter that could have saved a life or two. The Day we Arrived It was odd to see the lodge sitting peacefully under a snow covered roof when we arrived. Bare trees and icy air... and then an ugly sound I'd never heard! Snowmobiles! This was 1974 and snowmobiles had just recently begun to invade the winter world! I had never even seen one and now I was having to adjust to their motorboat sounds in a world, normally quiet and isolated because of the snow. We whined about it... for a moment. Our Own Noise We didn't complain long because we weren't really all about reading and meditation. The 11 kids were either in the midst of snowball fights outside or blasting "Kung Fu Fighting" on the juke box inside. When we'd had just enough cabin fever on the second day, we begged Bob, one of the activity organizers to rent us a few canoes. (reserved for summer) We wanted to enjoy the river we so loved. He finally agreed and loaded the trailer with 3 canoes. We headed up river and 9 of us were dropped off for a chilly, winter adventure! Lots of Teasing and Playing Around We treated our canoeing experience kind of like a ride at Disneyland! The water moved us along with no effort so we could ooh and ahh at the sights and gasp with great drama at a few bumps and low branches. Just Having Fun! My brother (who took the photo) must have gotten a little tired of all the silliness in the two "girl canoes". This was the last photo he took before the boys moved ahead and left us to our fun. We were constantly losing paddles and having giddy adventures to retrieve them. We clearly didn't follow the rules of "not standing" in a canoe. I enjoyed a new canoe activity, where I perched myself on the tip of my canoe and barked bossy instructions to the other canoeists. Expressions Robbi (laughing) was the only one in her canoe who didn't seem to be concerned about the increasing speed of the water or the accumulation of fallen trees. I was the last in my canoe to stop clowning, as well. In fact I was in the midst of telling my boat mates a giggly story about my near fall, when the canoe smashed into a fallen tree that sent my body flying. Suddenly I was swallowed to the ribs in the icy river. I had to catch my breath before I could let out one hysterical scream. The boat was wedged well enough against the trunk that I was able to climb back in...which did no good because at this point the roaring water was forcing the canoe over and in seconds the boat began to fill. Jenni, Colleen and I climbed into the water and held the other side, screaming and pushing...but the force of the water turned the canoe upside down, where it was hopelessly stuck. For a panicky moment, Colleen was pulled under the canoe as well, before we could free her. After 30 minutes of silliness and giggles, we had suddenly become a group of sober, if not terrified girls. Robbi's canoe promised to send help as they maneuvered past us. We 3 in our dripping clothes made it to shore where we began moving along the river towards the ranch. The Wrong Side Unfortunately, we chose the wrong side of the river, away from the road. Our side of the river became steeper as we became weaker. We held onto trees to keep from sliding into the icy water. Colleen, who'd had the most difficult time escaping the rapid water kept sitting down and telling us to come back for her. I didn't know the word hypothermia then, but now I'm sure she was suffering signs of that. My mittens had washed away and I remember my hands being so numb I couldn't tie my boot laces when they came undone. Colleen began wheezing, all 3 of us were shivering, and our wet clothes were turning to ice. It became more impossible to stay near the river, so we climbed our way to the top of the ridge. The Noise And that's when we heard it... the sound we'd cringed at the day before! Three snowmobiles in the distance could be heard before seen. When they caught sight of us I can only imagine what they thought. It wasn't until I climbed onto the rear of the third snowmobile, clutching onto my snowmobiler-hero that I could almost manage a smile. It was the sight of Colleen in front of me, that made my frozen face budge. She was clinging onto her hero, with her frozen life jacket over her coat. Warming Up This is a picture of the lodge fire pit, where we 6 sat for the rest of the afternoon, toasting our hands and feet. The canoe with the boys... and camera had made it to safety. Robbi's group had not been able to continue on the river, but they had gotten off on the road side and hitched a ride with some hunters. The two "kids" who had chosen not to canoe that day, had their own adventure when they headed back with Bob to retrieve the 2 swamped canoes. Thank You, Snowmobilers! You were 3 young guys just out having fun. You could have easily teased or been amused by our situation, but you obviously knew how serious our predicament was. You faced our rescue like professionals, loading us quickly, handing over your own thick gloves and speeding us 1.5 miles to safety at the ranch. I'm not really sure what would have happened if you hadn't come along.
I don't often get a chance to hear the sound of a snowmobile these days. But I have never complained again! Mom and Her Most Unhelpful Family In my last post I recalled my mother's favorite Christmas. I'll now focus on possibly Mom's least enjoyed Christmas. It's the story about meeting 2 very odd characters on Christmas day in downtown St. Louis. Mom would have been just as amused as we were by these Christmas strangers, but she was back home cooking dinner for 12. Mom would have enjoyed meeting our strangers. In fact, Mom never met a stranger. Here's a cartoon my brother drew as a teenager, poking a bit of fun at Mom's habit of inviting just about anyone to our family gatherings. In the drawing Mom is chatting with a fictitious grocer and bag boy who are happily attending my wedding. Had Mom been able to join us on that Christmas afternoon when we met our drunken strangers, David would have had good cartoon material...Mom inviting "Bulldog" and "Tipsy" to our holiday meal. Christmas of 1981 It was a nice Christmas...a white one. Our grandmother, Daw had been released from the hospital the day before. The "kids" were all in town, filling the duplex with Christmas morning chaos. But by afternoon, Mom was a bit frazzled. There would be 12 for dinner (some extras this year) and the house was a mess. Daw was resting after a fall that morning (caused by our boxer, Ted) and we still hadn't made our Christmas visit to Aunt Ruth's. Mom was distracted by a painful shoulder ailment and some details over a real estate closing, but she insisted she could get the meal ready, if we would take the gifts to the nursing home. "Just be home in time to help me lift the turkey from the oven." We Escaped By mid afternoon, the 5 "kids" (my husband Don was now one of the Meyer clan) were shooed out of the house with gifts for Aunt Ruth. (Luckily the house didn't look as bad as this until New Year's morning.) We made it only a block before running out of gas. We abandoned Mom's car and took the Pontiac Don had borrowed from his mom and headed into the city on I-55. Unexpected Stop We had made it fairly close to the brewery when we noticed the steering wheel was steaming! The car made it halfway up the exit ramp before dying. Luckily we had 4 pairs of hands to push the car to the nearest gas station, which was closed. An Eerie Part of Town The gas station sat on a dreary street of abandoned buildings. (photo taken recently when searching for our memory spot) But we weren't the only ones with car trouble at the closed station. There were some others who offered their bucket of water to cool the engine...which didn't help. A Bar on Christmas Day! The area may have looked dead, but we actually had a choice of 2 corner bars to enjoy some holiday cheer while we waited for AAA. None of us can remember the bar's name, but it looked kind of like this. We ended up choosing the nicer of the 2, even though Don recognized the building from a recent news clip about a bar bombing. Inside The interior wasn't nearly as bright or orderly as this internet photo, but we wouldn't have dared taking photos even if we'd had a camera. I remember 1 bartender and 8 slumping customers looking up when our nicely dressed group of 5 walked in. All eyes were upon us until someone in our group answered the silent question with, "Our car broke down." The customers seemed satisfied and turned back to their drinks. We called AAA and were told it would be a long wait, so we ordered some beers. We gathered some strength then made the dreaded call to Mom... to give her the news of our hold up. Entertaining ourselves Luckily there was a pool table and some video games for distraction. I faked interest in Pac-man, to avoid stranger interaction, (I was less brave then) while sneaking peeks at the dismal surroundings. I recall lots of faded Christmas decorations that clearly stayed on display year round. There were girly calendars and half-lit neon signs. I only sipped at my beer to avoid hunting for a ladies room. At the bar, there was one particularly weathered character doing most of the talking. The bartender called him "Bulldog". I strained to understand his slurred speech as he shared a bit of holiday wisdom with the few sitting nearby. "You know, Christmas is the only day of the year you gotta have dignity." I turned away, afraid I might laugh, then worried when he got up and wandered my way. But he passed me by and headed for my brother and sister at the pool table, where he shared the same Christmas wisdom. My younger brother Dave told Bulldog he agreed 100% with the dignity advice. My sister Jennifer was always relaxed around a pool table and I was concerned she might just laugh in Bulldog's face when he gazed into her eyes and murmured, "You know, you are as pretty as can be." The Rescue The tow truck finally arrived and the driver argued about payment since the car's owner (AAA member) wasn't with us. My older brother, Chris who had just passed DC bar exam, argued well and even talked himself into getting a ride with the driver and his wife up in the cab. We were finally able to reach Don's Dad who came to pick up the rest of our gang and drive us to the repair shop to meet Chris. While we nibbled on Fritos from a vending machine and answered calls from Mom (she had the shop's number, now) we heard some details about Chris' ride in the tow truck. Evidently the driver and his wife were "celebrating Christmas" on the job. The first thing he told Chris was "You can ride up here, but keep your hands off my wife." Then as they headed up the ramp to I-55, the feisty driver offered Chris a swig from an open champagne bottle and asked, "Ever gone 90 while towing a car!" We're lucky Chris ever made it to Christmas dinner. Dinner Eventually By the time we made it home, Mom and the guests had everything under control. Dinner was 3 hours later than planned, but Mom was a good sport and laughed with us as we told her about Bulldog and Tipsy, the tow truck driver. Dear Aunt Ruth was willing to celebrate a day late and we all went to bed happy. (This photo was probably taken a few years earlier, but I'll bet Chris carved the turkey with the same smile in 1981!) Thank you, Christmas Strangers
You didn't teach us a whole lot in your tipsy states. But you gave us a good story to tell for many years to come! 1963 in New York City My mom always said this was her favorite Christmas...the year we lived in Staten Island. Our family of 6 lived for just a year in a 1 bedroom apartment and my dad took the ferry to Manhattan each day where he worked in the theatre district. Our tree that year was special because all the ornaments were handmade. Since our decorations were back in Iowa, we covered our tree with paper chains and strings of popcorn. Each branch held cardboard and Styrofoam shapes, dripping with paint, glue and glitter. But the most special memory of that Christmas had to do with the people we met on Christmas Eve. Stern's Department Store We met our strangers on Christmas Eve, after an afternoon shopping at Stern's Department store on 42nd Street. We were waiting for Dad to finish at rehearsal before picking him up and heading home on the ferry...to start celebrating. What I Remember I was 6, and just remember a couple things. My older brother was 11 and he refused to pose with Stern's Santa. I also remember peeking in my mom's shopping bag and seeing the stuffed mouse I had hoped to get. A painful lesson. That was the year I learned that hoping and anticipating is much more fun than knowing. Snowing! When we left the store it was dark and it had begun to snow! Four giddy children on Christmas Eve, shrieking over the snow and anxious for Dad to get off work! But it still wasn't time. Fire Station To kill a little more time, Mom walked the 4 of us across the street to peek in the windows of a fire station. My memories are hazy, but I do remember the building looking something like this. We squinted through the glass and I can vaguely remember decorations...lights and greenery, I think. As we started to walk away we heard a tapping on the window. A few faces peered out, smiling and gesturing for us to come in. Firemen Aren't Strangers At age 6, I knew not to talk to strangers. But I also knew, "firemen were our friends" and besides, Mom was there! I had never been in a fire station, and here I was with my brothers and sister, exploring the truck and trying on fire hats. Our new friends seemed just as excited as we were. I wish I could remember more details. My mom was always good at retelling this story each year...The Christmas Eve with the magical snowfall and the kind firemen who seemed so eager to have children join their lonely station that night. I wish I could hear Mom tell that story one more time. Thank You, Firefighters! NY Firemen, I don't have a picture of you all from 1963 when you invited us in to play. But here is a picture of the firefighters in a St. Louis station in 1991. For many years I took my kids (and often neighbors) to visit the fire station on Christmas Eve. We always brought cookies and pictures the kids had drawn. I never got to thank you when I was a kid, but this has been my way of remembering your kindness! One More Thing Since Mom passed away just 3 weeks ago, we're trying to celebrate by remembering the Christmas she loved best. We won't visit the fire station...it's been nearly 15 years. But we bought a live tree and only pulled out one box of decorations this year. Inside the box were ornaments the kids made in preschool...and decorations made by friends...and even a few my mom sewed for our tree that year in New York. For Mom We decorated the tree and kept it simple like that year in 1963. We laughed over our sloppy string of popcorn and our very lame paper chain that kept coming apart. But tomorrow on Christmas Eve, we'll attempt to colaborate on a star that will go on the top. That will be for Mom! We'll make it a good Christmas just for her! I have no photo of Santa... But here is a picture of the kids who went to visit him on a December morning in 1983 I only remember 2 things about the magical Santa at the St. Louis department store. One thing was the color of his skin. The other is the reaction of the children when they saw him. Famous-Barr Department Store I recently visited St. Louis and saw the old Famous-Barr store decorated for Christmas. I remembered the big trip years ago when 60 children of University City Children's Day Care Center boarded a school bus and headed downtown for a Santa visit. Decorated Windows Now the store is a Macy's, but the windows were decorated lavishly when it was Famous-Barr. I'm sure the kids squealed and jammed up close to the glass to stare in before we headed inside the festive building. How Many Floors? I didn't count the other day, but there must be about 8 stories, which was a pretty thrilling sight for the kids, since most had never visited a department store. Most of these kids came from low income, stressed households with little time left over for Santa adventures. For many, it was their first escalator ride! The store opened in 1924...the first department store in the US with air conditioning! These streamlined stainless steel and aluminum masterpieces were spectacular in their day. It was hard to tell which was more thrilling to the kids, the idea of riding these big metal monsters or seeing Santa? Some were scared of the moving stairs. As we rode higher, the elevators changed to polished wood. The kids grew giddier with anticipation. The 8 teachers grew more stressed at how we would control them. By the time we reached the Santaland floor, the children and teachers were jolted at the sight of masses of children, parents and teachers standing in long fidgety lines leading to 3 separate doorways. The sound of Christmas music could barely be heard over the roar of high pitched voices and crying babies and reprimanding adults. It took only a moment to see that one line was less than half the length of the others. One teacher shoved through to investigate. She came back with the news about the Santa in the middle room. "He's black." She said. We pondered only a second before moving our children to the short line. (An Internet Search to Find a Santa that looks like the One I Remember) I really don't know how long it took us to reach the door where the children could actually see the Santa sitting on his large chair with his white beard and dark skin. It seemed forever as I fretted over how they might react. After all, half our children were African American. Should it matter? But I also had witnessed both black and white students in my four year old classroom reject the dark skinned dolls and fight over the white. And in 1983, there were very few cards and books that featured Santas with dark skin. Would the children care? I wasn't prepared for this "teachable moment". How did the children react? Finally my class of 15 moved far enough forward to peer into the fantasy world of fake snow and glittery trees. Their eyes moved directly to "Our Santa" perched high on a red throne. I held my breath, then quickly determined their gasps were simply reactions to Santa... not Santa's skin. "There he is!" "Look, it's Santa!" I don't remember specifics of each encounter. I just know the children were in awe as each took a turn on Santa's lap. Faces Not one child, black or white gave a clue to suggest they believed this Santa wasn't the real Santa. I wish I had captured photos of all the expressions, but I think I was too caught up in Santa's magic to think about the camera. But if you look a the one photo I have and zoom in on one face and turn that expression up 10 notches...you'll get the idea. So Thank you, Santa! I work with kids and I know it can be a tough job. And being a Santa must be about the toughest! I would have been nervous to be you, anticipating a few comments from a parent or even a child. You are the most enchanting Santa I've ever encountered. Maybe it was the big smile you greeted the kids with... or your confidence. But it was clear, the only color that mattered to these children was the red of your suit! Thank you for taking on your job with such enthusiasm. I think of you and those children every year!
Ernie, a Man of Many Talents Last May, my husband and I heard about Ernie through an internet search and ended up spending 5 hours with him on his Hopi reservation in Arizona. He shared a book's worth of history, a flute demonstration, a cleansing ceremony, endless personal stories and opinions and some piki bread. Photos The most surprising thing Ernie shared was being in a photo. Since early in the 20th century, photography has been banned on the reservation. Only a few photographers have been cleared by Hopi leaders to share images of this very private culture. It was after spending 5 hours with Ernie that I asked about the no photo history. As if he'd read my mind, he casually offered. "You can take as many pictures as you want in my trailer." Inside Ernie's trailer After touring three of the Hopi villages and absorbing as many details, images and stories as my brain could hold, we relaxed in Ernie's trailer. The cozy shop/home was jammed with detailed kachina dolls, Hopi pottery and woven baskets. Ernie pulled out a couple of his handcrafted flutes and played while we looked around. He told us how his grandfather not only taught him to play the flute, but how to express himself through music. Ernie was shy as a young boy and learned he could share more easily with the sounds of his flute than by using words. He played two contrasting pieces for us. and the last was so sad the notes almost quivered. Ernie's voice cracked as he told us that playing the flute made his grandfather's spirit very near. Treasures to take There are a few things we were able to take with us besides memories. We have one tiny clay pot made by a woman in one of the villages. She explained the complicated process of baking, polishing and painting the pieces. We also have 2 small feathers from the chest of an eagle. Ernie gave them to us as a gift and explained the importance of the eagle in the Hopi family. Each year a baby eaglet is taken from a nest and brought to the Hopi home. The eaglet is bathed in milk and dusted in cornmeal in a ceremony to unite the eagle as a member of the family. Piki Bread The most unusal thing we were given was piki bread. Elder women in the village had spent days making these delicate sheets of blue corn powder and juniper ash. After baking on hot stone they were rolled into scroll-like shapes and given to Ernie as a gift for his flute playing at a recent ceremony. We took the bread with us and sampled it later. It reminded me of my first communion as a child. I let the paper like flakes melt in my mouth, while waiting for some kind of mysterious wonderful awareness to wash over me. Maybe I was too distracted by the strange flavor and texture for a profound experience. Leaving Hopi Land As we drove away from the mesas that afternoon, I scribbled down as much as I could remember. We had learned so many things about the culture and history, but I couldn't stop thinking about the personal stories. I kept picturing Ernie as a Hopi child, capturing a baby eagle, planting the harvest and dancing in the festivals. I imagined what it must have been like to be a child taken from the home to be educated in Indian boarding schools...and the culture shock of the outside world. There were good things that Ernie experienced in the world outside the Hopi mesas. He had an opportunity to meet Walt Disney, he dabbled in films for a while and he gained recognition for his flute playing. But his mother's illness called him back home, where he has been since. Thanks, Ernie. I'm glad you went back home so you could use your talents to share about your culture. Since meeting you, I've tried to share your stories and thoughts with others. Just yesterday I brought a recording of your flute music to a group I gather with each week. I wish you could have seen the faces of these sweet folks with Alzheimer's as they smiled and listened and nodded...then joined your music, beating softly on drums. |
FIFTY-FIVE
STRANGERS To celebrate my birthday in April 2012, I decided to reflect on the past with a different kind of list. I've met a lot of people in my 55 years, but I'm going to stop and remind myself about the strangers I've met. These are people I met by accident, not through friends or work. For some reason, these strangers dropped into my life. Even though we may have only spent a few minutes together, these people have never been forgotten. Each week, I'll spotlight someone I met in the past, who in some small way, made me stop and think. MY GOAL: Remember 55 Strangers Archives
April 2016
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