Trio
#4 in the series, "A Legacy of Stories." Written by my dad, Forest Jordan
(Read about A Legacy of Stories, here.)
Some of us march to a different drummer, as Thoreau put it, and here are three from my hometown who come to mind:
First, I see Doc. His real name is Lester Sampson. He is a couple of years older than me. He is thin with a face full of freckles. A shock of reddish-brown hair tops him off. He has a large nose and his ears stick straight out from his head as if straining to hear every word.
Doc lives with his mother and sister, Gloria, in an unpainted house next to the Catholic cemetery. He breeds rabbits and racing pigeons. I don’t know whether or not he sells them, but he has an interesting back yard with lots of pens.
To me he is a wheeler dealer, though he took a factory job for a more dependable living. In one of his less successful enterprises, he borrowed Paul Caruso’s Buick to transport a couple of chimpanzees to Detroit. I doubt that he told Paul about the chimps. Anyway, the apes tore up the inside of the car. Doc said it was a helluva trip. I wonder what Paul told the insurance man.
Then there is the time at the county fair. Doc stops by the Jaycees booth. “Not much action here,” he observes. They admit nobody has shown any interest. “Well, come on, who wants to look at brochures? So you do good things, who cares? Tell ya what, you want a crowd, I’ll get a crowd.” The Jaycees are wary, they know Doc. After all it’s a small town. “How?” Bob Dowsett asks. “We don’t want any trouble.” “No trouble.” Doc assures them and they give him a tentative go-ahead.
Later in the day Doc returns with a sign for the tent that reads “SEE THE RED BAT FROM KENTUCKY – FREE! A line soon forms and Doc asks each person not to tell the others what they saw. Viewers come out of the tent looking chagrined. The red bat from Kentucky is a Louisville Slugger (standard baseball bat of that era) and it is painted red. At last, the Jaycees decided the show is reflecting poorly on them and they put an end to it.
I haven’t seen Doc in many years, and I’m sure I’ve missed some good stories.
It would be hard to forget the richest man in the county who also happens to be a kleptomaniac. Alex Loewitz is a multi-millionaire with a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. He summers in a village on Stone Lake and likes to come into our town to shop the hardware store. He is a small man, always spiffy in a three-piece suit and tie. Going up and down the aisles, he fills his pockets and leaves without a word to anyone. The clerks keep account of everything he takes. They then call his son who sends a check.
Mose O’Brien is more than eccentric. I often walk past his house. He has a large front yard with tall grass. Now and then he cuts it with a scythe, the way farmers do. Sometimes we talk. The conversation starts out all right, discussing the weather or some current topic, but then it takes a turn: “The Dalton Boys are in town again, I seen ‘em.” “Aw, come on, Mose, they’re all dead.” “Oh no.” he gives a little cackle. “I’m watchin’ ‘em.” “Well, then you keep an eye on them.” Mose sometimes stands in front of the bank for an hour or so on the lookout.
A cautious person, he nailed chunks of auto tire to his shoes. “Step on a live wire, it could kill ya.” This gives him a clumpy gait as if he is stamping on bugs. Then to meet the Hitler menace, he made tunnels through the hay in his low, rambling barn. The barn houses an ancient gray horse and a two wheeled cart in which Mose hauls brush from the lowland along the creek. I suppose he cuts it up for firewood.
He shaves infrequently and has a grizzled appearance. This may frighten kids, but afraid or not, nobody teases him. We all know Mose is a special person and I think everyone likes him. He has been a part of the community for many years. I’m told relatives support him.
One day I realize I haven’t seen him for a while. I ask my pal Tom about him. Tom lives across the street from Mose. “He’s in the state hospital at Kalamazoo,” Tom says.
Well, then, he’s safe from the Dalton Gang.
Forest Jordan
March 8, 2000