DUNKIN DONUTS DINER
THE STUDIO CAFE
HOME OF THE SCREENWRITER SANDWICH
AND FADE IN FRIES AND SLUG LINE SLAW
TRY OUR FAMOUS COLUMBO CHILI
WE SERVE THE BEST NEW YORK STYLE FRANKFURTERS BOILED IN BEER ONLY $1.50 EACH
Rich Burriesci's maternal grandfather, Nick Rinaldo, owned and drove only one car in his entire life. It was a 1916 Tin Lizzie Ford Model T such as this one above. He drove daily to Belmont Racetrack and Syosset.
FOR THE LADIES ... 1956 Ford Crown Victoria
COURT SQUARE DINER IN LONG ISLAND CITY
on the way into Woodside, L.I., N.Y.
This diner was a watering hole for Rich Burriesci and his friends (scrambled eggs and home fries)
when he lived in Stewart Manor 1965-1974. It was more of a dining car in those years unlike this.
1964 CHRYSLER TURBINE (rear view)
The 1955 LINCOLN FUTURA became the inspiration for the Batmobile (TV series)
1953 CHEVROLET Good Humor Ice Cream Truck
"winter dreams from the sub tropics"
by wes prussing
Listen: the soft cadence of muffled footsteps when the snow is new and fine and as soft and feathery as goose down. Late at night a north wind washes over all the land, roaring over everyone and everything like the hysterical rushing of icy waters in some mysterious glacial stream. The sky is swept with vibrant stars. Vast and billowing nebulae rain down silver spears that blink silently and relentlessly in the motionless air. From far out at the galaxy’s edge a delirium of comets, suns and pulsating stars shower even more humming, crackling and hissing lights; painting a single new gray dawn among the millions of heaven’s galleries. Ice is everywhere. It grips the land and chokes the waters; it hangs from bent boughs and twisted branches, and along the lonely gables and eves of frost-crusted clapboard homes. White erases all color and all texture. Everything is satin-smooth in a slick, elliptical mass of silver-blue.
Then slowly in the east, dawn arrives with a flood of new light. Soon the sun’s pale gold mixes with the earth’s agitated and ascending waves of heat and refraction, wrapping the misty valleys in ribbons of soft pinks, yellows and teal-greens. From north to south a polar rainbow arches high over the mountain peaks.
Winter arrives: virginal, cold, pure and obdurate. Portending not sleep, darkness nor decay… but birth.
LUNDY'S OF SHEEPSHEAD BAY
HOME OF THE BROOKLYN DODGERS
LIFE ON THE STOOPS
CLICK THE ARCHES FOR AN INTERESTING TRAIN RIDE ACROSS THIS BRIDGE IN 1899
CLICK CAR FOR TUCKER CLOSEUP
Customer: Give me a hot dog.
Waiter: With pleasure.
Customer: No, with mustard.
Two men were in a restaurant and ordered fish. The waiter brought a dish with two fish, one larger than the other. One of the men said to the other, "Please help yourself." The other one said "Okay", and helped himself to the larger fish. After a tense silence, the first one said, "really, now, if you had offered me the first choice, I would have taken the smaller fish!" The other one replied, "What are you complaining for; you have it, don't you?"
This guy goes into a restaurant for a Christmas breakfast while in his hometown for the holidays. After looking over the menu he says, "I'll just have the Eggs Benedict."
His order comes a while later and it's served on a huge fancy chrome plate. He asks the waiter, "What's with the fancy plate?"
The waiter replies, "There's no plate like chrome for the hollandaise!"
"ME, MYSELF AND I"(A poem by Richard Christopher Burriesci circa 1990)
I'm just an ordinary fellow, a plain and simple guy.
The three best friends I have are me, myself and I.
This may sound egotistical but this is always true ... that the one person who will never leave your side is certainly always you!
So you better get to find yourself and like what you see, and then, only then can you truly be happy.
BY KEITH VAN ALLEN
"Yaah, that was Ol' Lunker," said Uncle Harold in his long gravely drawl, sitting in a comfy booth at Sam's Diner,"the biggest Sheepshead Catfish in Lake Champlain..tried to catch him for 20 years..." "Why is 'Lunker' such a popular name for a fish?" I asked while ordering a late brunch of baked chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy with fresh green beans, Sam's specialty. "Well, it just was...that was his name, still is..known far an' wide all over upstate N'Yeurk.." The shining railroad-car-like diner was a place you just wanted to be and stay for a while, whether you ate or just had coffee. I almost hated myself for the question I asked him at the end of this down-home-cookin' meal for which he kindly picked up the tab. " So did you ever catch Ol' Lunker?" " Well yaahh..ya wanna see where it happened?" " Well, I..well sure.." " Then let's go!" I barely had a chance to tell him this wasn't a good time for me. My Uncle talked in such a drawn out sleepy ramble, that it made you think he never wanted to move. But then he'd surprise you and take off. Outside was his big wide and blue 60’s Oldsmobile. His gravely commentary continued as I, his nephew up from Virginia on business and staying at his house, protested in stumbling ineffectual fashion while he, feeling (rather too easily I felt),a strong obligation to act as tour guide for the town of Plumpton N.Y., urged me onward to the Olds. "Yaah, there's the Old North Church...just like Paul Revere except differ'nt..an' the ol' post office since 1735..." "I'd love to Uncle Harold, but I've got that business over in Peasleeville, so I'll just go get my car OK? The house is only a few blocks..." "Aw naw..get in,that's on my way..I'll drive ya over an' we'll be back in time fer supper.." This was going to take forever.I could just see George Munce waiting for me at the courthouse to research that land deal we'd been working on. "Uh gee, thanks Uncle Harold, sounds great but my meeting's at one and I really have to get going." I could also see me wandering through the county with my uncle changing the subject every second, (as well as our direction),reciting his latest poem or stopping at fruit stands to pick out a green watermelon. He was known far and wide for his ability to pick out a green water melon,(even if most of them were ripe).His laid back folksy way of operating would have us in Peasleeville by five at least,but by now the old cotton shirt with the wide red comfortable plaid,straight out of a kodachrome slide was itself now sliding nicely behind the steering wheel with Harold in it, as easy as a Lazy Boy recliner. "Yaah, we'll make Peasleeville in no time, and still have time for fishin..maybe catch Ol’ Lunker,the biggest Sheepshead Catfish in Lake Cham-"
“Ya know Uncle Harold, I’ve heard you tell that story before, an’ I looked it up. The Sheepshead is really a Drum, not a Catfish..”
“Oh really? That’s wonderful...”
Harold covered any hurt feelings at being corrected under his continuous genial personality. I felt mortified and couldn't hurt his feelings again. "All we have ta do is pick up some blood worms.." he rambled. As I got in I could only pray that I could stir up his energy enough to make my meeting with Munce. This land deal was very important and the mall and condos we would build would make a lot of money--and help the community of course. "We might pick up a watermelon on the road.." he said as my eyes rolled out the window. I'd have to really focus to keep him focused I thought, and was about to jump out the car when he touched the key and the Olds 88 roared into 8 cylinder life. An oft repeated phrase of my Dad's suddenly came to mind. "Harold's got a heavy foot". He leaned out as I watched him give a signal along the endless dashboard. VOOOOM! We were off down the narrow winding two laned mountain road. I shot him a set of bulging wide eyes as I slumped down, holding on like in a cheap state fair roller coaster , the blue tuck and roll upholstery sliding out from under me.
“Here's the famous Ol' Stone House from 1658,"YEEEOOWM-SCREECH,"An, that there's the ol' Grange where they shot a movie with Dustin Hoffman er somebody..." I just could'nt believe how somebody could drive like Richard Petty while delivering such a dry monologue. BEEEYOWWMMM,EEEeeerrrch! We must've taken that turn on two wheels but with the super-glide suspension it was hard to tell. YEEOWM YEOWM, other smaller and newer cars with higher centers of gravity whizzed by while the Olds hugged and snaked the shoulders like a well oiled juggernaut, but Harold unfazed, continued. "How'd ja like ta hear a pome? Just wrote it yesti'day.." He stuck his head out the window looking backward. I kept silent with road-glued eyes. "Here comes a truck.." I murmured, my face frozen as his head finally came back in, BEEEYOOOOWWOOooooooommmm. "Just up that hill is the ol' Indian burial ground.." (And I was praying not to end up there prematurely).I also tried hard to enjoy the scenery which was in truth utterly beautiful, a swerving sun dappled sufi dance of hills, rock and yellow lined road ribbon so hypnotic it was almost soothing me, except for the fact that Harold began singing-
"My WIIILD IIIIRISH ROSE!
That GROWS and GROWS and GROWS...",
the combination of sensations almost jumped me out the window. Thing is that he sang it so that all the musical dynamics seemed to match the curves in the road, sort of like a wave form pattern. The immortal words of Yosemite Sam murmured in my brain, "whoa stomach, don't turn over now.." When this classic Detroit made tilt-a-whirl finally stopped, I found my head spinning, but my body amazingly placed in front of the Peasleeville courthouse right on time,as I saw by the old clock tower. I staggered into the lobby while Harold went into the bait shop across the street. I couldn't believe it, Munce was late! He had said one o'clock sharp! I thought of how I'd scrambled so much to get here for this great opportunity, big wall street trader that he was, and him with his constant cutting remarks about my punctuality, his aggressive no-holds-barred business philosophy, "staying on top of one's game" as well as his constant condescending remarks about "podunk, slow moving Virginia". I waited a full half hour, before Uncle Harold enticed me to try the egg salad sandwiches they had for sale at the bait shop, over by the bloodworms , which made them taste funny somehow.
“Well,it looks like he's a no show, how 'bout gittin' in some fishin'?" I reluctantly agreed, somehow thankful and relieved, but not knowing why. "Well it's prob'ly fer th' best.."said Harold,"that mall would be pretty ugly,just mess up the place.." "What are you talking about? That's a multi-million dollar deal! I could use the commission thank you! Besides..it would be great for the community! Housing starts are the leading indicators of a growth economy!"
“What d’ya mean? The more land you destroy the better things are? There’s not but so much of it ta begin with..now you’re not makin’ sense boy..” WOOSH WOOSHH..more near misses and fast taken curves as we retraced our route and rode on in silence. The afternoon sun flashed and strobed through the trees and on to my retina. "Yaah...the Indians worshiped these hills as sacred,"Harold piped suddenly,"the Adirondacks are extremely old..it's all Canadian Shield, pure granite,whatever..the Hudson's really a fiord they say.." The yellow line on blacktop, the vibrant foliage and blue sky wizzing past again had it's effect, and then suddenly more singing. It jolted me up and I swear should've shattered the windshield.
"ROLL O-ON SILVERY MO-OOON,
While the NIGHTINGGAAALE"S
Nevermore from my lo-ove
Will I STRAAAAY...."
My uncle was now actually yodeling, and not that bad really,(that is if you like yodeling). I'm not sure why nobody ever tried to curb him of this habit of bursting into archaic love songs. The most his wife Katherine ever said was a mild, "Now Harold.." A sign swiped by,"Port Kent 8 miles"."Yaah, Lake Champlain was sacred too, very special lake...really good fish'n..." Again I woke out of a daze. "So what about Ol' Lunker?" "Oh well, I hooked 'im right down here...yaah,that big eye came starin' up at me..that big flappin' belly..pretty near dropped my line.." The flashing, the undulating,the droning gravelly drawl,I had trouble staying with him. Then The great blue lake came into view. Of A sudden I started awake, totally fresh. “Damn that George Munce! He messed up the whole deal! We probably missed our chance on that land!" " Oh?" said Harold,laconically taking a hair pin turn with a 50 foot drop. "Yes, he was supposed to be at the courthouse at one!" "Well, we left there at about twelve forty-five.." "Are you sure??" "Yaah, I remember I checked my watch with the ol' clock tower.." "But we got there at ONE O'CLOCK!" "Oh no, that was about five after twelve.." "WHAT!? NO, it was one! "Oh yaah, well,you must'a mistook the hour hand for the minute hand an' vice-a-versa..I've done that...those ol' Victorian clocks can be hard ta read..that's why I double check..one time I was com'n back from Rochester an'.." "We gotta go back!" "Go back?" For the first time Uncle Harold seemed actually surprised. "But we'll miss Ol' Lunker..." "Damn Ol' Lunker! We gotta catch George!" "Damn Ol' Lunker?" Harold looked genuinely hurt and taken aback. "Oh, he'll be gone by now, it's almost 2 o'clock.." "Yeah but we might catch 'im!" "But you said he had ta get back to th' city. He'd need to make time back ta Manhattan..beat the rush hour.." "Ohhhh, I guess" I sunk in my seat with hand over face. "Yaah, well, the bes' thing ta do is-" "Hey, you gotta cel phone?" "Cel phone? No, I like ta escape human contact sometime.." "I forgot to charge mine- DAMN!" "Bes' thing now is ta go fish'n.." VOOOOM, we slid like a blue snakey roller coaster down the landscape to the shining shores of Lake Champlain. Pulling into Port Kent you notice a plethora of bait and tackle shops. "Yaah, Ol' Lunker an' I go way back. They say he's 6 feet long and can take your boat down with'im.." Uncle Harold was now in his true element. "Might pick up some new sinkers.." he muttered as we navigated the ram shackle roadside hoopla of advertising and T-shirts. I noticed here and there some crude cartoon images of dragons in water. "Go Monsters" read a sign, supporting a local football team,and I had a surreal surprise rounding a corner, being faced with a giant inflated sea serpent on the lawn of the community center. "Doesn't the lake supposed to have a sea monster?" I asked. "Yaah, they call'm 'Champ'...but now yer delvin' into fantasy..we're here fer serious fishin'.." After acquiring the necessary rods and tackle, which were miraculously pre-loaded in the trunk of the Oldsmobile, we rented a boat and puttered into the sun washed lake. The wind was up, so white caps were everywhere,and the little row boat with a clamped on Evinrude smacked up and down- BAM bam,BASH bam BASH..b-BAM,as we plowed out to Harold's favorite spot, but while in route he took opportunity to continue his song. " As I stray'd from my cot
At the close of the day, 'Mid the ravishing
Beauties of June, 'Neath a jas-sa-mine shade
I espied a fair maid As she plaintively sighed
To the moon... Here he cocked his head, trying to remember more words, but failing that, he just made up his own. " Ro-oll o-on Silvery MO-OOON, I'll MARRY YOU in Ju-UUUNE He said to the Lady of the Lake.." Again I was forgetting my business entanglements and stress of competition, under yet another beauty induced trance-dance with the deep blue of water and sky, dark green hills rising like the humps of “Nessy” on the horizon, and white cloud cumulus puffs reflected by the ever moving white caps ,forming and falling ,rising dispersing , from nowhere to somewhere. “Yaah...it looks like a good day for Ol' Lunker...maybe Champ too..." Harold smiled, almost winking, as we settled into our accustomed routine from visits long before. His ever placid countenance and patient pleasantness bespoke of a natural fisherman of eons past. Those 44 years at IBM were just a sideline, fishing was Harold's true vocation, that and just generally being a friend to man. "Wanna hear a new pome I wrote about the kids?" His true ambition was his self-described title of "Poet Laureate of Plumpton Heights", which he made a reality with endless self published pamphlets on an old mimeograph machine in his basement, that is, until he got a Xerox. I guess my expression wasn't very enthusiastic, because he quickly went back to yodeling, although softly, on account of the fish. "Yodel A dee Adee Ohh da Ladyy OOOoooo..." Placid he was,but he suddenly jumped into a quick form of minute heroics , as he pulled in a nice string of lake trout and even a pike.I didn't catch much,a few perch, but this ancient aquatic harvest ritual ,the flashing sun on scales, his bright red shirt and tackle box soothed me. I looked up from my rod and saw him sitting by an old woody station wagon on a folding camp stool, with a stove and pitched pup tent nearby,all in a crisp flaming sunset, but all of them somehow floating in the water. Harold smiled gently as the sun flashed rhythmically around his silhouetted head, then I shook myself and all was back to normal. However, I cherished the vision as a special little gift, holding it gently in my mind. "Yaaaah...Ol’....Nanabozho...." said Harold, suddenly musing. "Nana Bozo? What's that, a clown's grandma?" "No, Na-na-boz-HO! The legend of the old Indian that fought the Great Serpent in these waters..which caused the great flood, same as Noah... " "I thought you didn't believe in it." "Sea Serpents are one thing, Indian legends are another...were'nt you in th' cub scouts?" " No I missed that." " More's th' pity.." " What?" " I said it's really pretty...today.." Then it was spontaneous poem time. " By the shining big sea water, Stood the warrior Nanabozho Searching o'er the big sea water Searching Tatoskok,
The great serpent..." To which I added- " Stood the Henry
With his Wadsworth, Searching for
His great Longfellow..." "Huh! Huh! Huh!" Hey, I got Harold laughing! The fresh breeze was waking my awareness to all that was around me. How silly and broody I had been. This was in truth a vacationer's paradise I thought. Not only that but with homes and lake front property, what a killing to be had! "Damn that clock! I gotta catch up with George Munce! Let's go back ashore, I could use a phone and call him and explain, then we could set up another meeting.." "Naah..believe me,you don't want ta do that..." Harold leveled his eyes at me, strangely I thought,for him. "How do you know what I want Uncl'Harol'!?",I burst out in thwarted dealer's frustration." This is my business I'm talkin' here!" Uncle Harold just busied himself with his rod and reel. "And what's all this damn recreation and fishin' ..an' an'..Why did'nt you tell me about that clock? Huh?!! I, I appreciate you're hospitality an' all, but I came to make a deal damn it, and you messed me up!" Harold seemed not to notice but casted his line with a decisive intent. WhizzzzzzzzzPLUNK! went the sinker in whitecap waves that went Ka-pash Ka-pash under our prow. Sunshine-Reflections- Ka-pash Ka-pash, I was losing it again in the utter sensuality,the repetitive, monotonous, godly beauty of this great northern lake..but I shook it off. "Com'on Harold, crank up the motor, I've really gotta make that call!" "Just a minute.." graveled my uncle. I felt relieved, at last some action. SNAG! GAGENG! GICK-GICK-WHHIIIIIRRRRRRR, Harold's pole jerked into life. "It's Ol' Lunker!!" shouted Harold, which really wasn't a shout but a mildly effusive expulsion of something deep within. But if his New England reticence precluded extreme verbal expression, it didn't stop his body, Harold sprang into action. WHIIR WHIR, Raachet rachet chet ChetGECK GECK GiiiiiGGGWhirrr went his reel. “Give'im plenty a' play!" I shouted, totally into the age old drama of man versus fish. Harold braced his feet against his tackle box which was wedged against a seat, and off flew Ol' Lunker and the boat with him. The shiney, pinkish silver shape undulated just beneath the surface with a ferocious force, breaking out here and there with white caps of his own. My consciousness was so totally engaged that seconds felt as minutes, the cool bracing air in my face, the excitement, "This is life! "I yelled ," this is living!" " Yaah, com'on boy! Com'on boy!" said Harold to the fish, now half standing in the boat, which had me worried-GEK GEK Whirrrrr.We were basically water skiing in curley-que zig zag patterns all over that section of lake. Lunker was not only powerful but smart. Over near a small island was a ragged out cropping of rock, pure Canadian shield thumbing itself at the sky. Lunker pulled us past it but at just the right instant turned sharp, then sharp again, then back out to deep water. There was no way to avoid being pulled onto rock. Then Harold in his rustic wisdom did the only wise thing, he pulled out his hunting knife and cut the line, with just a few feet to spare. Ka-KLANG! We hit as the wash carried us forward. Harold, with his superb-at-all-times balance was fine, but I, with all the centrifugal force I could muster went SPLASH into the water, as the boat careened sideways overtop me just as I bobbed up BANG! against the aluminum bottom. Scrambling, ice cold and holding what bubbling breath I could, I made my way across the ribbed grey metal through amber green soup. On surfacing I searched for a reference point besides blue on blue, and seeing a big hulk of grey, instinctively paddled over and grabbed on. The rock was very slippery but would have to do until I could connect with the boat. But was it rock? It seemed to move and roll beneath my touch, it--was alive!! Rising above me was a mountain of grey flesh,and beyond and above that a tremendous neck and head with staring black eyes and 4 inch teeth glinting in the afternoon sun. With stunned non-thinking I stared into the face of Champ himself! It sort of hovered a moment, with what appeared to be an enormous smile. Crocodiles do that,"What was God thinking when he made them?" I thought oddly enough in a moment of split second infinity. Then it lunged down at me. I flailed and scrambled but couldn't get traction, fool that I was, still trying to hold on to the monster as if it were rock. Fortunately I was just out of reach of the great Plesiosaur's mouth, it could only nip it's own flank. "Heck, my dog can reach better than that", I wondered for some damn reason in the most adrenalin charged moment of my life.(Believe it or not I also made a mental note to ask about this at the Smithsonian on my way home). I knew however , my safety was short lived. The creature now began rolling and rocking to shake me loose. It's great rear flipper partially lifting me out of the water and dropping me back, but I knew my happy zone and was determined to keep it, although I was getting weak. Now the beast was twisting it's entire length to great churning effect , while lunging it's head nearer and nearer. All the time, I was aware of a determined, cool stance taken by Harold as he stood in his violently rocking dingy. As the thing reared up for yet another lunge, my own dear uncle with hunting knife in teeth, leaped mightily, grabbing onto the great Jurassic neck, and began stabbing a couple of feet below the head,while giving a great Indian war whoop he must've learned from a John Wayne movie. The dragon's head flailed and flailed with lolling tongue, frustrated by it's new and determined assailant, then started swinging it's neck around in long sweeping arcs. To my utter amazement Uncle Harold just hung on, his feet flying in air,as he sang as loud as he could,
"MY WIIIILD IIIIRISH ROSE!!!,
THAT GROWS AND GROWS AND GROWS.."
I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or freeze,and probably did all three simultaneously, but now the serpent appeared to be attempting a complete turn over. The flippers made mighty slaps and the water pulled downward just like beside a sinking ship, as I treaded water upward toward the boat,which was now coming my way, down into the sudden whirlpool.As I glanced up I saw the great arched neck was flinging down toward me along with Harold in all his off-key glory-"My WIIILDIIIIRRRISH"-SPLEELUMP-FOOOSHshhhhhhhh...and all was black. Next thing I knew were slow swirling bits of shiny metalic light, the clinking of utensils and a delicious aroma."Yaah, that was Ol' Lunker, the biggest sheepshead catfish in Lake Champlain..." I blinked around at the booth in Sam's Diner. Across from me drinking coffee was Uncle Harold. "Wait a minute, this is where I came in!" "Hmm?" quizzed Harold, awakened from his rambling reverie."You mean the front door? It's over there.." "But...hey, didn't we just go fishin??" "Well yaah..but that was yesterday don't cha remember? "Yesterday??" "Yaah..after you missed your meetin',don't 'cha remember?" "Oh,yeah..."I rubbed my face. "Here, have some coffee, better wake up son.." "Huh? Oh yeah.." "We'll get a jump on today and do some real fishin'.." "What!!??" "You'll feel better when you get some brekfas'...sorry you were seasick yesterday..." "Seasick?"
"Don't cha'member? Had ta bring ya back in, just when I was catch'n a big one too...must'a been them waves..had ta put cha on the couch. Kath was mighty worried about ya.." "Oh?.." "But I don't think ya had a good brekfas' that day, what with all yer wheelin' an' dealin'.." "Uh, would you excuse me, I gotta go to the bathroom." "Sure.." I staggered round Sam's counter to the gents. At the end of it,I was struck by an odd water color cartoon by some local artist, framed on the wall by the cash register. It looked for all the world like Bozo the Clown dressed up in a granny costume. "What's that Sam?" I asked. "Oh that? That's Nanny Bozo! Brings me good luck, been there ever since I opened up.." I shook my head and went to the can, through a musically squeaking door with a wood stained jig-saw cut out of a dutch boy in wooden shoes blowing a kiss to his female counterpart on the opposite door. On the way back it was coming back to me. "Sam, isn't Nanny Bozo whatever an old Indian legend?" "Yeah, some sort of ol' medicine man used to live in these parts." "But is'nt that cartoon sort of uh...politically incorrect?" "Oh maybe, I dunno, it's just fun.Guy that drew it was part Ind-uh, Native American himself..said this way at least people will keep his name alive. People don't realize it but them Indians, Nativ-uh..they got a good sense a' humour..their stories are pretty wild, kinda like Looney Tunes ya know?" “Nanny Bozo..." I repeated, staring oddly at the picture. "Na-na-boz HO!" piped Harold from the other end of the counter. “OK Harold," said Sam, giving him a backwards nod, "some of the local folklore experts take this stuff seriously. Your uncle's one of 'em. All I know is I've had a good life here,I make enough to live on, not much but enough, been able to do what I like, cook good food, plenty of friends-and the scenery! Jeese.." Sam cleaned his counter as I stared again at the weird clown image, and it staring at me. "But that legend.." I said. "Oh yeah, the spirit of that ol' medicine man, shaman whatever, is supposed to return every so often..ta sorta protect this place..the lake an' everything.." "Huh," I mused suddenly staring at my uncle at the far end window booth, drinking coffee, framed with the hills and a bit of the lake in the distance. "All I know is I've been happy ever since I came here ,and I'm very thankful.." continued Sam. "I sure hope they don't build all them malls and condos they've been talkin' about, ay Harol'?" "Yaah!" “Yeah, people don't have ta live here to come and enjoy it..do that an' you ruin it. You don't have ta own everthin'-just enjoy it,love it and move on,leavin' a few of us to take care of it what knows how...just like the Indians!" "I nodded and went down to the booth, but could'nt help thinking Sam had something there. "Yaah!" graveled Harold,"Sam's got a good brekfas' com'in--he cooked up that big fish I caught while you were gettin' sick yesti'day.."
I sat and stared at my uncle in a whole new and somewhat strange light. "Here it comes now!" Sam brought two steaming delicious portions of a really huge fish.I stared aghast. "Ol', Ol' Lunker??"
"Naah, he got away..would'nt have kept 'im even if he had'nt. This here's just his li'l nephew--Dig In!" That meal has since stayed in my memory as a true taste-tempting sensation of happiness. As we pulled away later in that big boat of an Oldsmobile, his singing somehow took on a quality that lodged in my heart.
"Ro-oll o-on Silvery Mo-OOOON, While the nighting--gale's
And the great Silvery Light
Rolls on it's waaaay. Yodel a-DEE a-Deeoooh, Yodel a-DEEE a-DEE Ooooh, Yodel ADEEE de Oooo, Yodel LADYY aDEE OOooooooooooooo."