My grandfather was a great story teller. Quite so in that he did it in the classic format. That being in a chair while I sat on the floor and listened.
My mom was not a big fan of her father-in-law so to one degree or another she kept me from his influence as much as possible. He had been a bootlegger, a sailor, and a regular brawler in different eras of his life. There was an infamous story, that was verified by people who were there, that sometime before the War he and his brother had been in a barroom brawl that left just the two of them standing. My grandfather in a drunken rage had attempted to tear down a stop sign outside the bar in order to cut a guy’s head off. Cooler heads, not his prevailed.
During the War he served on a landing craft in the South Pacific, and put Australian troops on the beach during the invasion of Borneo. He was the oldest man on the boat at 28, after the XO.
I learned to shoot a .22 rifle off the brick patio, and he made me my first bullwhip out of rope after I became enthralled with being a six year old, fedora wearing archeologist in 1981. On the same patio he showed me how to break a glass beer bottle, transforming it into a close quarter weapon…in case I ever needed to know.
I still have the rifle.
And the patio. Thus from which I write.
Over the last few years I had intended to write on here far more than what actually occurred. Some of it, much of it, my own fault. But there was also writing on the wordpress interface…which I hate. One night while trying to change the appearance of this page everything was deleted. After a bit I was able to recover and reestablish much of it, but it ultimately burned me in just the enjoyment and ease of which to write.
So changes had to be made. The new course is weekly essays without excuses and no time off for good behavior.
You can find me over at substack now.
At: Bendigostrange.substack.com
I hope to see you there.
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