I was reading the newspaper at the Barns & Noble Deli in Roseville Minnesota yesterday, I should have started this story out with, this is me, you know, Troy baby, Mr. Burroghs to those who are under 21. Anyways, as I was saying I was reading the newspaper yesterday, drinking my 4-shot Latte. Thats what it takes to settle me down. And I read about this lady who died at 82-years old, yes for real. She was due maybe, but here is what I remember, and it brought back some old memories. She lived on $500-dollars a month and evidently couldnt afford to turn the heat up. Well she died right next door to where I was reading, St. Paul; my good ol St. Paul, the best place in the Midwest, and the Southwest, and hick, its better than Paris, maybe.
Let me get to the end of this part one of this three part story. Next she went to the garbage sales, I mean, garage sales. Boy if my mother ever reads this. And no one thought much of it, that being her friends, apartment peo ple and all. When I looked in the paper at her, if you would have told me a bag lady froze to death, Id had believed you, but here was the story, in print, black and white, right on my table with my four-shot latte, my glasses fixed, and my eyes focused. She was the first lady, cant think of how they put it, some fancy wordsshe was the first newspaper woman photosphere, to circle the country and be allowed to follow the president where ever he went. She had a few snap-shots of him and her together. She was so very proud. You know that just tells you, you just do not know who your neighbor is; be it a tourist, a terrorist, or celebrity, past or possible new, or bag lady. Noooooopp, you just dont know.
Incidentally, the president I was talking about was Truman.
The Bank
Watching TV all day will get you no place my friend. Nevertheless, I used to work for a bank many moons ago; I worked my way up, up and away. I started out as a mailroom clerk, which is a 1 on a 10 scale level, to Assistant Operations Manger, or was it, assistant to the assistant; a long time ago, perhaps a 3.
As I was about to say, there was Tim, a young man who worked with two older men in the mailroom, on the second floor. And then there was Amy, who worked in the Wire-transfer room, she was a 5 on that scale I suppose. She was smug, some what cut, in a very plane way, and used to do the smug things to Tim. Id watch her as I walked by them, shed smile at me, and smug him. Well, I never did the smug thing to Tim, because I new Tim, plus, when I was a lad, I learned a lesson Ill never forget, but that comes next.
Well, one day Smug-Amy came to work, started reading the newspaper, and looked at it, oh I dont know, her head was bobbing up and down like a fish toying with a fishing line, and you got it, right at young Tim. She went up by me, and said,
Is this picture of Tim in the paper really him?
Sure it is Amy, we have a celebr ity here. She almost slashed her tongue across my nose. She told me she was trying to write and get a book published for years, and this guy just wrote, whatever he wrote, and hes in the newspaper, and she should be, and he got all the breaksand on and on, and one. And she repeated three books, and then added, Id give my right arm to get one book published.
Well, she didnt do the smug job on Tim anymore, matter-of-fact; she did the kiss-ass job I think on him; Ol well, Tim had his reasons for working there, all three of them.
Old Man Rice
My grandfather used to own a restaurant back when I was about eleven-years old, my brother was two years older than I. That was when hed drop us off and would tell us to go play around the building, and keep to ourselves, or hed pull my ears off its knobs. Well, Mick and I played well together, he was always bigger than I, and was a little fat, or maybe called heavy or, I think he was called tubby. Well there was a d ishwasher we met, a nice old man he was, when the time was over to rest between meals, he worked it seemed, he worked steadily from early morning to evening, hed rest outside in the Summer sitting on the back of steps, kind of alone Id noticed, now and then though. I went over to him and talked, he said he was Rice, so I always referred to him when I called Mick,
Theres old-man Rice, Im going to talk to him. Hed just smile, and Id rush over by him, then for some reason Id slow down, and walk with grace. Something told me his eyes maybe, his mannerisms, he had seen much in his day.
Hi, Id say to Mr. Rice.
Troy, hed say in a soft voice, looking right in my eyes, a smile, you look healthy and wild today, have you been fighting with your brother?
Yup, I said with a smug, but not too big.
How many brothers you got, he asked.
One sir, and hed look at me in my eyes as deep as deep could go. Then Mick came up and put his hand on the side of th e building resting it, listening to the old man with an indifferent smile, but polite.
Mick, Troy been calling you names.
Yup, like always.
Then the old man would sit back and tell us a story about meeting President Eisenhower, how grand it was. And I thought he forget about what he was going to say about Mick and me, but now that I think about it, he said enough, I think he was trying to say, I had only one brother, and that fighting with him was quite notable.
And I got thinking, the old man is loosing it, but I liked him. He took time out to talk to me. But when I started to get smug, hed say it was time for me to go, but I didnt want to go, I wanted my smug-time. He just wouldnt give it to me.
Well for three years my grandfather owned that restaurant, and we went there, then one summer Old Man Rice was gone. I asked grandpa what happened to him, he said he passed away, he was 83-years old, and his time was due. Then asked why he was w orking up to his last hours. He said because he could, and he didnt like to stay home. And his children were all grown up, and had their own lives to live. It was more of a resting place for him, a place to get paid, do a little work, and socialize. Plus he added, even if you do not talk, just being around people is a good thing, like going to a movie, you could watch TV, but its more exciting to go to the movies, then he added the shocker, Plus he had written 70-books son, and he was very tire.
I said, 70-books, you mean I knew a hero, something like that. He replied you can always know now the person you befriend was more famous than anyone else you will ever meet. That is why I got to write one book, this guy sold over thirty-six million books, and made sixteen-movies; his initials were, it doesnt matter, now does it. It just goes to show you, you never know who youre talking to.
Written 11/2002, revised and reedited, 1/17/2006
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com see Dennis' 33-books at http://www.amazon.com or http://www.Alibris.com.
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Short Stories
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