portrait of a gentleman as a cook

conservativecave ^ | January 7, 2009 | self

[franksolich]

"Tiny" was the cook at the local pool hall in the small town where I spent my teenaged years. According to his obituary, he had been born in 1910 in Queens, New York, and his road west to the Sandhills was not unremarkable.

My parents at some time told me that "Tiny," as a young lad had suffered a trolley-car accident on the congested streets of New York, acquiring a pronounced limp and loss of some parts of those that had made him a male. The meaning of the second disfigurement meant nothing to me, and the first disfigurement was all but invisible, given that by the time I knew him, "Tiny" was about 400 pounds, at circa five and a half feet tall.

That sort of, uh, veiled any other characteristic of him.

[franksolich]

I hope this is of interest.

[Monsieur Poirot]

I gave up after the first 3,000,000 words. Who wrote it?

[Hot Tabasco]

There was a character in the little town I grew up in in northern Michigan back in the 50's. I'm thinking he worked for the mill (or maybe it was a part of the train depot)I don't really remember what that building was anymore.

But anyway, his name was Cedrick and the car he drove he had made out of wood. Imagine that.

There was another guy who lived in a tar paper shack towards the edge of town who never talked to anybody, he just went about his own business. I think us kids nicknamed him "hermit". Anyway, the only car he had was an old Rolls Royce which he parked beside his tarpaper shack. Unfortunately one day his shack burned to the ground and took the Rolls Royce along with it.........

[Tainan]

Another good story Frank. I've known a few 'cooks' like Tiny though the years. To a man, the more I got to know them the more I learned to appreciate the history that had led them to where they were when I met them. Some were treading the last few miles of a rather ragged life. Holding on the the remnants of what they had. Bits and pieces of memories that had more meaning than they used to have. Knowing they were close to the end of the game.
Some still had dreams of the future rather than the past. Plans to get out of there...do something they knew thay had to so. Something that would make it all worth it.
Thats when places had 'character.'
And it was accepted that some people were 'characters.'

[HIDEK6]

What a jerk.

[AppyPappy]

If you don’t know any “characters”, you probably are the “character”.

[no more apples]

I really enjoyed that story. Thank you.

[SouthernBoyupNorth]

While the post is long winded it is still an interesting piece. The fact that the author remembered such a man and felt compelled to write about him says something about the character of the man himself. In the end it is the live you touch and how you are remembered that counts.

[MudPuppy]

I really enjoyed that story. thanks!

[Philo1962]

I hope this is of interest.

It was, Frank. As they say at Alcoholics Anonymous, "Thanks for sharing." Many of us are addicted to fond memories in the same way an alcoholic or junkie is addicted. They provide us comfort, and tearing oneself away from them causes withdrawal.

Some people please God a lot more than others. I've known a few people like that, and I'm grateful to be reminded of them. A few, God bless them, are still around.

[Jackson57]

Thank you frank. Reminds us of days gone by when people were gentle-folk.

[Twinkie]

From a lifetime of observation, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are highly addictive people who stop short of alcohol or drug addiction due to early family taboos. I’ve seen work addiction, blood kin (family) addiction, food addiction, addiction to people, places, things and, as you say, memories that cause them to live in the past with memories of people, places and things that they remember as they NEVER actually were (perfection imagined). What they see and have NOW, and who they see NOW in the present can never measure up to their “perfect”, nostalgic memories of the past. . and whenever they do see “old” flames, friends, acquaintances, they still see them through the rose-colored glasses for the past they don whenever their addiction trigger is set off.