- Joined
- Jun 30, 2022
- Messages
- 1,324
First you have to meet Uncle Alf.
He owned a small business, but would rather be at the fire telling a dumb joke, or a long story..some of which was based on fact.
He always had a gun, “In case of Indian attack” (Aunt Connie, was a Seneca) Playing with his latest knife was just commonplace. He loved his buddies and they were always at camp trying to breath life into some kind of junk project. He loved the ladies!!
One day we were fishing for bluegills in his pond. I was 8. So I asked, “Why are you a beautician?” His reply was instant. “Because all day women come to see me, and give me money.” I didn’t understand untill years later, when I realized how much like him I was.
Oh yeah, the buck. So, he and one of his buds were riding around camp country, ah..drunk. They hit a deer.
Now, in those days (mid ‘50s) it was customary to tie your game onto the car fender, and drive all over town feeling victorious, and well, drinkin’.
The problem was, the deer was a doe. Not particularly macho. What to do? Back at camp, Uncle Alf had horns..a couple of wood screws..instant buck!
Head to town, buck on display, beer in hand, life is good!
This is a small town, so it didn’t take long for “Deputy Fife” to have some questions, that needed answers.
First, it was summer. Not even close to deer season.
Second, the horns were from a ram sheep. This made a strange, new species.
Third, the drunk thing. Drunk driving was discouraged even back then.
Fourth problem. Uncle Alf was on the town council.
In the ‘50s, things were simpler and actually made sense. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
They we’re escorted home to butcher the deer, hopefully without cutting each other.
I‘d be very suprised if there wasn’t a tenderloin in it for the officer.
Anyway the crime wave was over…untill next time. Boys will be boys.
He owned a small business, but would rather be at the fire telling a dumb joke, or a long story..some of which was based on fact.
He always had a gun, “In case of Indian attack” (Aunt Connie, was a Seneca) Playing with his latest knife was just commonplace. He loved his buddies and they were always at camp trying to breath life into some kind of junk project. He loved the ladies!!
One day we were fishing for bluegills in his pond. I was 8. So I asked, “Why are you a beautician?” His reply was instant. “Because all day women come to see me, and give me money.” I didn’t understand untill years later, when I realized how much like him I was.
Oh yeah, the buck. So, he and one of his buds were riding around camp country, ah..drunk. They hit a deer.
Now, in those days (mid ‘50s) it was customary to tie your game onto the car fender, and drive all over town feeling victorious, and well, drinkin’.
The problem was, the deer was a doe. Not particularly macho. What to do? Back at camp, Uncle Alf had horns..a couple of wood screws..instant buck!
Head to town, buck on display, beer in hand, life is good!
This is a small town, so it didn’t take long for “Deputy Fife” to have some questions, that needed answers.
First, it was summer. Not even close to deer season.
Second, the horns were from a ram sheep. This made a strange, new species.
Third, the drunk thing. Drunk driving was discouraged even back then.
Fourth problem. Uncle Alf was on the town council.
In the ‘50s, things were simpler and actually made sense. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
They we’re escorted home to butcher the deer, hopefully without cutting each other.
I‘d be very suprised if there wasn’t a tenderloin in it for the officer.
Anyway the crime wave was over…untill next time. Boys will be boys.
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