Tobacco

A guy with thick glasses and a blue wind breaker looked at our tickets, tore part of each one off, gave us the other parts and let us into the inner part of the stadium. It was all concrete, steel beams and cage like inside. Very crowded and noisy. The energy level was high. Definitely a new experience but not a pretty place. More of a gritty city type of place. My Mom and Dad and I walked up a couple ramps and a flight of stairs toward our upper deck seats. Seemed like we walked for a long time and then there it was, the prettiest most finely manicured green grass I had ever seen. Tiger Stadium. There were players everywhere warming up. Detroit Tigers and Minnesota Twins. I loved the uniforms, hats, spikes and those blue stirrup socks. All of it. There was something really spectacular about the way the Tigers' uniforms looked against that grass. The dirt in the batter's box, pitcher's mound and around the bases was also really special. Looking at the field and all that was going on down there, it really didn't even seem real. I remember thinking that I really wanted to be a professional baseball player someday. The thing that really caught my eye however was how cool the players looked with that huge wad of tobacco in their cheeks. All of that chewing and spitting. That was the best. Something to explore as soon as possible.



I played on a softball team for two seasons and then a Little League team for one. Those Little League pitches were thrown a little too fast for me. My Mom asked me if I was afraid of the ball. "NO!" I exclaimed. How could she insult me like that? I was afraid of the ball. My baseball career was over at the end of the season.

Soon after that however, I was able to live out my dream of being a tobacco chewer though. One night I rode my bike up to 7-Eleven and bought a pouch of Beech-Nut leaves. Not knowing exactly how these leaves worked, I did the most obvious thing and stuffed them into my cheek. I rode as I worked on the leaves. I sucked on and chewed them until it just seemed hopeless. I even spit a few times. It was not much fun. I spit them out and kept riding. Then I got a little dizzy. I went home and to bed.



After some word of mouth research, I learned that professional baseball players chewed a type of tobacco called cut plug. I went to G&P Market and found some of that. It was in a thick rectangular chunk and looked like dark brown cork. I cut a piece off with a pocket knife and went to chewing. I walked down 12 mile road, toward Bob Corbin's house. When I got there, I spit it out and we watched The Three Stooges and some Bugs Bunny. I was pretty dizzy the whole time. When I left to go home, I cut some more. I chewed and spit as I walked. At that point I was really dizzy. Almost feeling drunk. It was really hot weather and I went into a cold sweat. I had to spit it out. I threw up a few times when I arrived home at about 4:30 pm and went right to bed for the rest of the night. There is not a whole lot more to tell. I've never really had the urge to try any type of chewing tobacco since then. As a matter of fact, I still get a sick feeling remembering the whole thing.

Cat Shop

Slippery, shiny black beauties sleeping in woven hammocks. Green eyes abide with playfully sharp teeth and small white beards.

Telephone

When I was about seven, I answered the phone. It was my cousin,Jamie. She and my mom were pretty close and talked often. Being an obnoxious kid, I had this thing that I did when someone called for my mom. I would answer, the person on the other end would ask to speak to my mom. Instead of going to get her right away, I would just listen to what was going on on the other end for a few minutes. Usually, it was nothing. Well, that day when Jamie called I got a surprise. As I listened, she said to someone with her, "it's that little yard ape answering the phone again." I was shocked. I went and told my mom that she had a call, I also told her what Jamie had said about me. My mom was upset and gave Jamie a hard time for talking so unkindly about her little yard ape.

Water

To my dad, any person that was slightly unusual or even just a little bit quirky would be written off as an odd duck. I heard this  phrase used often. An odd duck. Cowboy Eddie, locking his bike to a tree was an odd duck. The guy with the two foot beard, brown grocery bag filled with greasy car parts and who wore a parka with the hood up in 93° weather, was an odd duck.

When he spotted a male with very long hair, he would say, "why, he's a pretty thing." He employed so much sarcasm that it was almost unbearable. 

There was strange behavior where water was involved. Dad didn't shower or bathe as much as most people. 

I do recall a time that he made an announcement that he would be taking a bath. After he was finished, it was obvious that he had been smoking a cigar during his bath. That just seemed 

really strange to me.

When I was about fifteen, my family (including my grandma) took a vacation down through Tennessee and Virginia.

There were relatives and family friends in these states. In Lebanon, Tennessee, we stayed with the Purnell family. My mom and Grandma had known Mr. And Mrs. Purnell for many years. These were some of the nicest, most down to earth people you'd ever care to meet. One day, Mrs. Purnell suggested that we all take a drive to Nashville, which was about an hour away. The middle of Summer in Tennessee was really hot and sticky weather. It was a really nice trip and I even got to go to Gruen's Guitar Shop.

When we arrived back in Lebanon, Mrs. Purnell assumed that we would all want to shower before supper (not dinner, supper). She mentioned it several times in fact. It seemed like that was just fine with everyone. Everyone showered fairly quickly. My dad was last. 

It wasn't until a day or two later that my mom told me that dad had taken a fake shower. He just let the water run and splashed around with his hands a little while he sat on the toilet. A fake shower.

Why? I don't know

Much later, when I was in my early thirties, it became known that dad had a bad drinking problem. He had hit bottom and was in bed for several days. It was a really bad period. I took some time off and stayed at the house to help my mom. Dad was really out of it. A few times a day, I would go stand in his doorway and ask him some pretty serious questions about his problem. He never wanted to address any of my questions. It was very frustrating. After my questions, he always said the same thing as he patted the bed next to him, "come here and lay down next to me, Dan." He hadn't had a shower or bath in days and it was obvious. I finally told him that if he would take a shower, I'd lay down next to him and we could talk about some important things. He said he couldn't do it. I asked why. "I don't like to get wet." What kind of an answer is that?

Who says that? The phrase "odd duck" came to mind. 

The Little Grey Cat

The little grey cat was seen for a split second between two black plastic garbage cans. As soon as she saw me, she was gone. I saw her about eight feet behind the cans, running away. Still young enough to be curious, she looked at me with light sparkling in her eyes. 

The alley and its garbage cans is all she has known. That and watching out for humans. The little grey cat will never be touched by my hand.

It's Late

I always leave the Formica covered accordion door open about 6 inches. I never know when the curious cat will check in. Tonight, it was sooner than later. I urged her onto the bed. No. She went behind the shelf and looked for the truth and her future in the crystal ball. She then made her way to the pilly brown La-Z-Boy. She loves to go behind it. There was an orange tote bag blocking her way. She dug inside as if to say, "what in the hell is in here and why is it in my path?" Then, she was gone. Downstairs in the dark.

Forest City

Almond Auto Parts was where my dad bought all of his car parts. It was about a mile from home and he was on a first name basis with everyone who worked there. Let me rephrase that, he bought almost every car related item he needed at Almond's. There is a place called Forest City. You may have seen the signs for it with a drawing of a guy with an unusually long neck. I don't know what that's all about. The closest Forest City seemed about forty miles away when I was a kid. You know how that goes. It was probably six miles or so. Forest City would have these sales with unbelievably low prices. A case of Oil for 6.99! Limit one per customer. Dad and I departed on our forty mile journey to Forest City early one morning. We went in and he bought his case of oil. When we got out to the car, he removed his navy blue jacket and put on a dark brown corduroy one. Then, he put on a pair of sunglasses. Lastly, he put on a dark brown Fedora. He instructed me to wait in the car and went back in. He came out with a second case of oil. I was really impressed. My sister would join him on subsequent trips of the same nature. Creativity, great sense of humor, and always ready to work on a car (or in my case, brush paint my 67 Dodge Dart and 70 Ford Maverick). That was my dad. I think about him every day. Daniel Thomas Shea Sr. would have been seventy-seven today.