A Shed in the Ozarks I was with a few college friends when I came across Dee Warren's shed on Ink Road, outside of Eminence, Missouri. On a spring afternoon in 1977, he invited us in to see how he made his chairs. A Tiny Work Space Dee's shed was one of many small wooden structures. He had a few dog houses, at least one chicken coop and a couple small barns. Sitting in the middle of all the weathered, wooden buildings, was Dee's chopping area. This was the area where he cut up the hickory and cherry and oak trees that came from his land. There was a sweet fragrance to the fresh wood scattered about. Two Kinds of Chairs Dee learned how to make chairs by studying a chair his father made. He made straight back ladder chairs with seats made of woven hickory bark. The rockers were his high price chairs. $35.00 for a cherry or oak rocking chair! A mere $15.00 for the ladder backs. Dee was not much of a salesman, but he did invite us to put our names down on a list if we wanted a chair made. He said he'd call when he was caught up and had a chair ready. It would take about a year. Chatting in the Shed He didn't bother to clean off the work table that he sat on while he told us about his work. As he spoke, I looked around at the layer of saw dust and shavings that covered the scattered tools and materials. I hoped he was careful with his cigarettes in this tiny flammable shed. Dee's Past Work Dee seemed glad to have the break while we chatted. He wasn't overly enthusiastic about his craft. It turns out he had only been making chairs for 4 years. He'd lost his thumb working at a nearby sawmill and was no longer able to do mill work. When we drove by the mill later I wondered if he was relieved to be done with that kind of labor. Hopefully he was givevn some kind of compensation, because he told us he was averaging about 75 cents an hour making chairs. That's how much I had gotten paid babysitting as a teenager. Thanks, Dee. If you're still around you 'd probably be nearly 100. Hopefully you've had some good retirement years rocking in one of those chairs...softened with a cozy cushion, maybe. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about your chairs and scolded myself. "Why didn't I put my name on the chair list?" I could have been rocking in one myself!
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Welcoming, despite the signs I drive by this house in Richmond, Texas at least once a week. I've noticed two no trespassing signs, but they are half hidden behind the multi-colored zinnias and marigolds. Two People I can't help but notice the colors when I drive by. The lot is an oasis in a somewhat sad little neighborhood. The flowers and plants are so well tended and cheerful. And almost always, I notice two people bent over, tending or planting flowers. Sometimes when I drive by they are taking a break on the porch or sitting on the two white wooden chairs under the huge tree that shades half the yard. I ignored the sign. One day I ignored the signs and pulled the car over. The two were watering flowers and seemed a bit startled when I walked up. I'm not really sure what I said. Some quick babble about how I drive by their yard every week and just wanted them to know how much I love seeing all their wonderful flowers. I was so afraid my words sounded corny and insincere, but their looks of concern were replaced by huge smiles. Irma and Dennis We introduced ourselves and Dennis proudly showed me his favorite flowers. The tractor tire displays were my favorites, reminding me of the "grandma yards" in my childhood. Irma said it was okay for me to take some pictures with my phone, but she mopped her face and implied they were too dirty to be in photos. Thanks Irma and Dennis You took a break from your work to share with me a little while. Recently I drove by and saw your whole yard cleared of plants. Hopefully you got paid well for your flowers. It must be hard saying good-bye to all that color. But I've seen you out working since, so I'm sure the flowers will be back! Preschool Teacher Days Over 30 years ago, I was a teacher needing help! A good humored policeman came to the rescue! 16 Two-Year Olds! My "teaching job" at a California preschool is one of the most challenging jobs I have ever had. My assistant Fiona and I found many ways to wear the children out to make sure they slept at naptime. A good long walk in the morning with the guidance of a long knotted rope could do the trick. Or better yet, a trip to Turtle Rock Park! One morning at the park... We let the kids race up and down the hill and pick wildflower weeds. We gave them a good picnic lunch and sat the 16 kids on the hill to wait for the preschool van. Where's the van? We waited for an hour, but it never came. Fiona and I told stories and sang songs, but the kids were no longer amused. Two-year olds who have been properly worn out for naps don't all sit and doze. They were getting second winds and wouldn't be cooperating much longer. I raced off in search of a payphone, only to realize I had no dime. I found someone to loan a dime, but (as was often the case back before cell phones) the pay phone was broken. I glanced across the parking lot and noticed a policeman who had just pulled over a Volkswagen bug. I waited for him to finish his business and confronted him about our problem. After I promised him I wouldn't make him tote 16 two-year olds in his squad car, he offered to take me to the school for help. Where'd they go? I rode in the police car to the school, only to discover the van driver had just left for the park. "Would you like me to take you back to the park?" The policeman asked. As we cruised towards the park, I pictured poor Fiona trying to coral 16 cranky, nap craving tots. But when we arrived at the park, Fiona and the little guys had already been picked up. "Would you like me to take you back to school?" The policeman laughed. "Or would you like to come fill out an application for the police force? If you're going to drive around with me all day, you might as well get paid." So thank you, patient Policeman! You were kind to transport me back and forth and you were also kind not to lecture me about how I handled the situation. I thought I was a responsible, quick thinking caregiver at age 23, but I cringe at how I left dear Fiona with 16 children! In fact now that I think about it, things would have worked out much better if I had never spotted you. But it would have been a much duller story. A Sweet Looking Woman It was January 2009 and I was strolling with my family near some shopping stands in Qufu, China. I saw this little woman pushing her bicycle fruit cart towards me. We made eye contact and she smiled sweetly. Winter Melon She reached out to show me her winter melon. It was sunny, but bitter cold and I had no desire to nibble a juicy fruit. I later learned that winter melon is actually a vegetable and not even sweet. But that's not the point. I was more intrigued with the sweet lady than the food. Our Communication Since I was a child, I've been able to fumble along using gestures and facial expressions when visiting other countries. I'm also spoiled by the fact that most people who deal with tourists speak a tiny bit of English. The melon lady and I jabbered quite a bit with each other, in our own languages. I don't think either one of us tried very hard to understand the other. Handing over the Melon The woman quickly sliced the melon in a decorative fashion, then stuffed the bagged veggie in my hand. I laughed nervously and shook my head no. I reached into my pocket and produced a small coin. The sweet woman was insulted. I blabbered in English that I had no more money. ..which was true. She stomped her foot when I tried to hand the fruit back. An Angry Sweet Lady A few shop owners nearby were enjoying the show. So was my husband as he clicked the camera, not offering to help. I shrugged and apologized and handed the melon back. She whipped her hands away and we both watched the melon splat on the street. The little woman was furious, stomping and hollering...I will never know what! An Audience I heard snickers from the growing audience as I backed away from the enraged melon woman. I used my most apologetic gestures and shrugs. I tilted my head and revealed my empty pockets. How could I gesture these words, "I didn't drop that thing! You made that happen on purpose!" So I turned and escaped back towards the tour bus. Safe! I didn't look back, but I could hear the woman yelling. Was she jumping on her bike to chase me? I made it to the bus and collapsed in a seat and felt a little confused. Should I laugh or be furious... or ashamed that I had been an obnoxious tourist. When Don finally climbed on the bus I was annoyed. "Why didn't you come to my rescue? Is she still looking for me? Where were you!" He rolled his eyes. "I was paying her off. I did save you." So thank you, Melon Woman. You were no sweeter than your melon, but you taught me a lesson. You can't count on playful gestures and smiling faces to really communicate. I think we both thought we were charming each other, but neither of us ended up happy. I'm sure I failed in the diplomat department. I should have humored less and respected more. Al and Daisy, the Quaker Parrot Daisy and Al had just returned from a month sailing in the Keys, when I met them. Both seemed to be in good moods. I saw Daisy first. Actually I heard her. She was squawking nearby as she nibbled on crackers in a fat oak tree. A squirrel was threatening to steal her treats and she was causing a commotion. Showing off! I put down my Bahama Mama and went over for a look. Al obviously loves it when people inquire about his sweet friend. He had her do a few tricks and she happily toddled around the table and dock railing. My Turn I had my own turn to hold Daisy while Al told me the story of adopting her from a shelter, eight years ago. "The family who owned her had kids who liked to bang on her cage with a broom." His big grin returned when he described Daisy's favorite adventures which of course included sailing. He insisted he has never had to worry about her flying away. Thanks Al! You helped me have fun imagining what it would be like to travel with a tiny companion. You are quite a bit cooler than some of the guys you see on Harleys with stuffed bears on the back! But mostly, it's always nice to hear about an animal being given a better life. Sounds like you both are actually pretty lucky to have each other. January 11, 1979
I only have a vague memory, so I was pleased to run across a diary entry. My biggest thrill of the day was picking up a 70ish lady walking down the middle of a snowy side street in U City. She wore a huge fur coat and a purple hat covered in pinkish feathers. She scooted slowly along with the support of a broom. I asked her if she needed a ride and then gave her one to the bank. She slowly got out clinging tightly to the door. I felt a wave of compassion as I reached across to her, "Here, don't forget your broom." Thank you dear lady in pink feathers! I had a lot on my mind that day. I was getting ready to start student teaching and I was dreading it. I was worried that I had would hate it and end up wasting my 4 years of college. You were a nice distraction that day. You made me stop to think about someone besides my self. I remember you as older than "70ish"... but I was much younger then. I hope when I am your age I'll grab a broom and use it proudly if I need it! St. Louis Zoo 1975 I was 18 when I moved to St. Louis and began taking advantage of the free zoo admission. It meant you could go for a brief visit, just to see your favorite animal. I loved the monkeys most, even though the cages weren't glassed at that time...and I sometimes had to plug my nose. Built 1929 I also fell in love with the old building that housed all the different kinds of monkeys. There was something a little enchanting about every visit. Not a Raccoon! I can't remember how I started talking with the man who was cleaning the cages one day. But I remember his comment about the ring tailed lemurs. "They aren't raccoons." He said, almost sadly. He wasn't reprimanding me, he was confiding...sharing about his job frustration. He told me about the zoo guests who teased and showed disrespect. But he was equally bothered by their ignorance. "It's so infuriating when I see a parent hold their child up and ooh and ahh over the "cute raccoons" when they have no idea how unusual and special these lemurs are!" We stood for a very long time as he wiped the bars with soap and water. I told him that the monkeys had always been my favorite. I can't remember our exact conversation, but he probably had to remind me that lemurs are primates, but they aren't monkeys. I had the feeling that this man's job was limited to cleaning the filthiest of the zoo cages and yet he polished each bar with great pride. Zoo Visits, Since Since chatting in the stinky primate house 37 years ago there have been a lot of changes. The primate house replaced the bars with glass and a new ape exhibit was built. I've enjoyed dozens of visits with family and friends since that day I listened to the zoo man. Thank you to the Man who cared about the Monkeys! I never saw you again even though I visited often. But over the years when I visited with my children, I was always careful to not call a chimp a monkey and I always smiled a secret smile when I saw a ring tailed leumr. Near the Cemetery It was 2009. We had heard about an old cemetery not far from our campground, so my husband and I went exploring. We found the cemetery, but what a nice surprise to find this lovely white church with a picket fence. Stella Maris I snapped a picture from the end of the curved walk. What a peaceful image in the middle of nowhere. Shady trees, colorful flowers and a lovely little bell with a rope for ringing. Then suddenly I noticed a man coming around the corner, carrying a watering can. Father Ralph saw us and introduced himself. "Would you like to go inside?" He asked. So Tiny and Tidy In recent years the only Catholic churches I've entered were grand, echoing cathedrals in big cities. This was a church where you would imagine a prayer could be heard. Where the priest would make eye contact with each parishioner sitting in the 5 rows. But Father Ralph's eyes were wandering around the church as he sat down on a pew near us. Sharing Father Ralph spoke softly as he pointed out some of the recent renovations. You could tell he was very proud of this small chapel that made it through the Civil War. Then he shared a little about himself. He was new to the church. I can't remember where he was from, somewhere in the east? I wondered how he was welcomed by this congregation closer to a Texas State Park than a town. Listening He was very matter of fact as he described the difficulties of getting to know church members. Many who attended church were traveling visitors. He said it was also hard because his work had been interrupted by cancer treatments. (I just listened...no camera snapping for me. I found these interior shots recently on the internet) Thank You, Father! You were so warm and welcoming when you invited us into your church. The tiny bit of yourself that you shared has never been forgotten. I remember putting some money in the donation box as we left. I also wish I could have donated a few casseroles. I worried about you over the last few years. I wondered who would take care of you if you got sicker. I couldn't picture these camping church goers bringing you hot meals when you needed them. But I found this picture on the internet. It has your name on it, just like my photo. Not only are you still at Stella Maris, but it looks like you've added another mass. Things must be going well! Gibsonton, Florida We met Freddy in Gibsonton, Florida. It was a warm September morning and he had just finished a breakfast of fried eggs and chopped beef at the Showtown Restaurant and Lounge. He was chatting with a man at another table who held a fork in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. What brought us to Gibsonton? My husband and I were recently on a road trip through Florida. We were traveling north on the Tamiami Trail from the gulf towards the west coast when we spotted the restaurant. I had read about this curious town of Gibsonton on the once touristy "trail". In the 1940's carnival and circus workers began to winter here and I wondered who might still be left. Showtown seemed like a place to meet some locals. It may be mostly a bar, but we lucked out. At 10 am, it was open for breakfast! Meeting Freddy Don and I sat down and studied the menu. I had a feeling the man in the bright yellow shirt might have some suggestions. He did. " Chipped beef on toast with fried egg." He answered as he rubbed his large stomach, held in place by suspenders. I placed my order and then spent the next 90 minutes hearing Freddy's stories of carnival life. Words of Wisdom Freddy has been associated with the carnival world for about 55 years. He used one of the many wall murals (by local artist, "Brownie") to share some of his thoughts. He pointed to the this image, depicting a symbolic collision between numerous carnival and circus wagons. There's obviously some friction between these two cultures and Freddy was quick to remind me that a carnival worker labors many more hours than a circus worker. However he also shared the difference between going to a circus and going to a sporting event. "When the folks leave a sporting event, half go home losers. When folks leave a circus, everyone goes home a winner." Freddy's Past Freddy got into carnival life with an older brother who was involved in a monkey circus and later made big bucks with cotton candy and balloons. Freddy ended up doing everything from work with snakes to Hillbilly Acts...whatever that is. But he couldn't stop emphasizing the pros and cons of hard work and travel. He took pride in all the different cities he "knew". Even though his view of the city was through the carnival visitors. He described Detroit as the scariest city. Once he tried to break up a gang fight, but one kid "who wasn't even old enough to drive" killed another with a letter opener. Why He Loves Gibsonton Freddy said in two months the town will come to life again with wintering workers. It's clear he was looking forward to that. Freddy has a lot of friends here. He said the lack of zoning laws makes it a great place for folks who have a lot of equipment and trailers to store. He said he could never live in some small town with a lot of rednecks. He obviously views his fellow carnival workers as worldly. "They've traveled and seen places." He said, with great pride. Lobster Boy Freddy told a drawn out story about Grady Stiles who once lived in Gibsonton. He went by the stage name of Lobster Boy because his hands and feet were fused into claw-like shapes. He and Grady were friends and Freddy would carry him to the phone to make booking arrangements for his side show tours. In the early 1990's Freddy suggested Grady purchase a cell phone to make his bookings. He feels a little guilty about that advice because the convenience of the cell phone lead to Grady reuniting with his first wife. Grady's handicap didn't prevent him from abusing this woman and she ended up hiring a boy in Gibsonton to kill Grady. Freddy feels pretty bad about that, but he seems to enjoy telling the story. Freddy even got to be in City Confidential when TV crews came to Gibsonton to film an episode focusing on this odd story. Thanks Freddy! In the future, I'll forget all the details of your long stories and all the characters you spoke about. But I think I'll remember how bonded you were to people who shared your kind of work and your town. All workers suffer job stress, but how much harder when your job moves from place to place. I'm glad you have a place you can call home! Tarpon Springs, Florida While recently walking through the sponge dock district of Tarpon Springs, Florida, I noticed (and smelled) two mountains of sponges... and two men sorting them. George, in the plaids with a hint of a Greek accent, was the owner of the boat docked a few feet away. Bill was the diver who harvests the sponge beds, just like the generations of Greek divers who first came to the area in 1905. Their Boat George and Bill had just arrived after 4 days out on the Agios Fanouris. A few men nearby were praising their good catch. They agreed they had had perfect weather conditions for diving. Bill guessed they had about 1,500 sponges in those piles. On the Boat They sat on a bench and leaned over 2 huge mounds of sponge. As they chatted, they examined each sponge then tossed it toward the appropriate pile. (Why didn't I ask what they were looking for?) There were a couple sponge-filled nets still on the boat, so I figured they would be there a while. Antler Sponge I asked about the things hanging from a boat railing that looked like cartoonish deer antlers. George laughed and said those were finger sponges. He liked my name of antler sponges and thought they should rename them. These are used mostly for decoration. Relaxing? It looked pretty relaxing sitting in the late afternoon, tossing these sponges around. I asked if this was the easiest part of sponge fishing. Bill shook his head like I was crazy. "I wouldn't do this at all if it weren't for the diving." Reminiscing I mentioned how much fun it was revisiting this part of Florida that I remembered from age 10. George, who seemed pretty focused on his sponges suddenly seemed to have a moment of nostalgia. He paused and studied my face as if guessing my age, then asked if I'd heard of St. Mark's. He shared a memory about fishing there in the 1960's. He narrowed the date in his head by remembering a fellow fisherman wanting to see the movie, Carpet Baggers. "I don't remember when that movie was, but I remember St. Mark's!" I joined in. "We would go to Posey's Pool Hall so my parents could eat oysters!" We both seemed pleased with our St. Mark's connection. But we also seemed a bit lost in our own separate memories. The Bear on a Sponge This 2-inch Bear does not belong in my Stranger Blog. But while my husband chatted a bit more, I pulled the bear out of my camera bag and took a couple pictures...for a different blog. When I heard Don ask what the boat's name meant, I was pretty delighted. Agios Fanouris is the patron saint of lost items. I turned to George and Bill, (the last people on earth who might understand my obsession with photographing this tiny bear) and I told them the story of losing the bear in New York and how a family had found my "Lost Bear" note and mailed him to me. These two weary fishermen paused and listened and studied the bear's battered body (after being run over by a car) and they seemed thoroughly delighted to know their boat's name fit this little bear! Thanks George and Bill! I learned about a new saint from you! But mostly I was invited to think about a world I didn't even know I was curious about. Since our chat I've learned more about the unique history of Tarpon Springs and how the Greek divers brought their knowledge and culture to this fishing village long ago. But mostly I wonder about your personal histories...up to the day when I saw you on the bench sorting sponges. |
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
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