Grownups were so immense,
slow-moving, carrying great burdens; they sank into chairs with a great
sigh and remained
there for long periods as we fetched a newspaper, got ice cream for
them, rubbed their necks. "Rub my neck, wouldja," one
would say and so we did as the poor thing groaned. They had so many
aches and pains, we never expected them to play
with us. Aunt Flo did, sometimes, take her ups and give the ball a
whack, but she only visited the game, she didn't stay in it.
They kept to the porch in the summer when they weren't working,
sunk into porch chairs. Their dogs barked. Their eyes
burned. They had dust in their mouths, we got them Kool-Aid. "I don't
know when I've felt so exhausted before," they said
day after day, always beating their old record. Their weariness was
honorable, even awesome. They had done everything
they could do for us. We could ask no more.
So: to tiptoe out on the porch on Sunday afternoon and find three
old guys in suits, my uncles, giggling over a good one
they had pulled twenty years before. Giggling.
Our porch featured heavy white wicker chairs you could hide behind
and listen. "Oh, no! Oh, no, don't remind me!" Uncle
Art, bending over, having a coughing fit, spilling coffee on his good
brown suit. Men who in dealing with me were
paragons ofprudence and thrift and maturity and knew the value of a
dollar and giving an hour's work for an hour's pay
and meeting your responsibilities, actually giggling as they remembered
"the look on his face" when he saw his T-Model
Ford on top of the chicken coop, or when he bit into his sandwich, or
when he opened the door and found the pig in the
bedroom.
Grow up, my sister said after she took a bite of Grape-Nuts that
she had shaken salt on, knowing I had put sugar in the
shaker, but actually I had switched it back so it really was salt in
the shaker. Grow up.
My uncles were old, in their forties, but when one of them
remembered it - that deal they pulled on him and then lay in the
weeds, waiting for him to walk into it - they all remembered it as if
it were happening right then. "Here he comes."
"Shhhhhh.""What if he doesn't-" "Don't worry, he will." And he did.
Wham! The pail fell! Cowflop all over! He slipped
and sat down in it!
Tipping the privy with their cousin Phil inside. He had arrived
from Minneapolis in a linen suit and a bad case of the trots.
He was visiting the privy every fifteen minutes. The fourth visit, he
was just getting comfortable when his world overturned.
The privy fell forward, landing door-down. Phil thought it was the
result of something he had done, so he didn't yell. They
heard him say, "Oh, dear. Oh, dear," as he picked himself up, and saw
his guilt-stricken face peering out one of the seats.
Hanging bells on the bedsprings on Art and Millie's wedding night.
Art had an idea they were going to, but in his great
passion he forgot and jumped in bed like Christmas morning. Then he
tried not to move too much, but it still tinkled, and
finally he had to climb out of the rack and unfasten them, all
sixty-seven. The wire was wound tight, the boys had spent all
morning on the project.
Days of fear and trembling until it blew over. And then years of
reminiscence.
In fact, wrassling that hog up the stairs, they already were
thinking what a wonderful story it would be - boy, they're not
going to believe this one. Boy, we're going to be talking about this
one for a long time to come.
Got the pig up on the bed. Fed him corn until he quieted down. He
went to sleep. They tiptoes downstairs. They waited.
Taking the ladder away when Mr. Tollerud was up on the barn roof.
The toads at the revival meeting.
The dead cat in the stovepipe.
The pie-eating contest at the county fair, 1941, between Harold
Ingqvist and Florian Krebsbach, each of whom had been
given a good pep-talk by the boys, promising $10 if he won and told
that Lena Tommerdahl would go skinny-dipping with
himafterward. Hard to believe they fell for this, but Harold and
Florian hated eachother, so they approached the pie table
in a frenzy. They ate so fast, they didn't notice how greasy the apple
filling was, which the boys had pumped full of mineral
oil, until itwas much too late. The boys cheered them on, screaming at
them to go-go-GO, and Harold and Florian ate
slower and slower, gobs of filling on their faces, until they stopped
and looked around, stupified by pie, and tried to
stagger to the trees, but truth struck them before they got there.
"They blew up," said Uncle Tommy. "It even came out
their noses."
And now they are whispering about something else, and one by one
they sneak outside. "Where are you going?" I ask. "We
have to go look at Al's garage floor," says Tommy. "We poured it
yesterday, and I think we might've poured it
upside-down."
"Can I come?"
"No, we'll be back as soon as we check that concrete."
When I came along, the age of privy-tipping had passed, the age of
car explosives was almost over. Carl Krebsbach wore
it out when he sent away for $20 worth of car bombs. They worked just
fine; he hooked one up to the ignition, the victim
turned the key, BANG! he jumped, hit the ceiling, leaped out, ran
around, ha ha ha. The trouble was, you get an awful lot
of car bombs for $20, and Carl used up the joke before he used up the
supply. The age of gunpowder dragged on and on
until everyone was sick of it.
The flame flickered breifly on the Fourth of July. Major arms
shipments came in from the Dakotas in May and June,
fireworks being illegal in Minnesota; ammo was stored up, heavy
artillery and bombs and rockets were moved to the front,
and on the eve of the Fourth, light skirmishes broke out between the
town constables, Gary and LeRoy, and the insurgent
forces, who competed to see how close to the old Chevy cruiser
theycould set off the charges. After dark, the law cruised
down the alley at about four knots, its long white beam sweeping the
backyards, Gary and LeRoy peering out the open
windows - did they see us? Yes! Run! No, wait. Now, good old
Larry, the onewho can play Taps with his armpit, darts into
the alley and fires a colossal rocket that arcs gracefully over the
cruiser, where it explodes a few feet in front of the hood
ornament with a shower of purple sparks and a blast that rattles garage
doors, and the Chevy's taillights burn bright red
as Gary hits the brakes and throws it in reverse, burning rubber, and
you and four boys run like rabbits through Mrs.
Mueller's yard -Unnnhhhhh! What happened? I ran into the birdbath.
Come on, get up! No, you guys go on, I'll just lie here
and die.
"I saw you!" the law yells. "I know who you are!" It yelled that at
us for years, meanwhile more and more trash barrels got
bent out of shape from cherry bombs dropped in them to see the cloud of
ash come up and hear that big boom. Watching
the Volunteer Fire Department set off the official fireworks was not
the same, even when the Roman candles exploded
horizontally into the old people's section and the lame leaped out of
their lawn chairs and ran.
This is the news from Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, where all the women
are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the
children are above average.
