Thirty five years ago today I rode a hearse to Hawk & Handsaw, took up a glass cutter and repaired my first stained glass window. Thanks, Brother Bill, for the instruction, short as it was. Thanks, Uncle John, for the opportunity. Thanks Danny, Lynn, Marla & Beanhead. Thanks, Chicago.
12 comments:
Wow. That is a milestone. I remember Hawk and Handsaw. Somewhere near Wells and LaSalle. Had a giant tabbycat named Monstress. She had kittens while I was there, and she was moving them, one at a time, from some hidden birthing corner to somewhere else. There was an acid tank in the basement. It was 1974 when I was there, and you were already established. You turned me onto Rick Wakeman's "Six Wives" as we tried to wrest a milano cookie from your little cat Spoonhead. She had a thing for food that wasn't hers. There was a bar around the corner from Hawk and Handsaw, and they kicked me out. I don't blame them; I was a kid.
y el grande también...
Wow! That's something that you remember the exact date and everything.
I rememebr too that you weren't allowed in the front of the store.
As for the acid tank in the basement, quite the antithesis; it was more like chemical lye. It would take a human hand to bone within one minute for sure.
Ah those were the days.
Now wait a minute, el Grando. One of us has a selective memory. I don't recall not being allowed in the front of the shop. Was John afraid I'd scare away the customers or did he just want me tied to the repair table? Maybe it was you who banned me. In any event, I don't recall being ostracized to the back of the bus. Now I'm mad.
It was me who insisted you stay back there, although John was in full agreement.
Back then you were all for truth and honesty and you loved to tell the customers how much we paid for something as compared to the ripoff price we were charging.
Capitalism was never your strong suit. Pretty good repairs though, and a patsy at the poker table.
I take my thanks back.
You were still considered an excellent artisan, and a fellow of good cheer.
Not to mention a good cross-country-Corvette companion, when the goin' got rough.
Good cheer. Harrumpph.
I'll have you know I held my own at the poker saw. It was when you and Danny Otto (what a pair of hyenas) whipped out Montana Red Dog that I became a patsy. What a sucker's game.
Montana Red Dog. You taught me to play that. Isn't it similar to Acey Deucey? Some sort of pot game where you either win big or not at all. Not at all was my strong suit.
Yup, that's the one.
Montana Red Dog?
Kind of rings a bell, but Danny Otto? Coulda been, but I think it was Vic Biancalana.
He's the one who always had the money and was never afraid to bet. Cleaned all of us out more than once.
I heard recently that Vic suffered a massive stroke and died last year. 60 years old.
He was a good old boy, and changed the course of my life for sure in regard to the people he introduced me to. Some are still of my best friends today.
Montana Red Dog.... hmmmm.
Sorry to hear about Vic. He was the real deal, alright.
No, it wasn't Vic. It was you and Danny alone taking me for all I was worth (which wasn't much) at John's mill in Peru, Indiana. You both thought it was so funny to take my rent money. Then you laughed for weeks about it. Hardy-har-har.
Down by the old mill stream huh?
I don't remember the incident, but surely it could have happened.
Rent was cheap back then so it couldn't have been that much. Were you living with Danny at the time, or on the ground floor across the street?
Man, I wish we still had that old mill today. Peee-ru Indiana, right next to Plymouth, the blueberry capital of the world.
Of course the mill wasn't in Peee-ru, it was in Mexico. ;)
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