Chicken dinner at the point of a shovel

Pop Turner lived near the Shop while his brother in law, who we called Tall Glass, lived nearby as well. Pop's real name was Frank. Tall Glass was actually named, I am not making this up, Clabon D. Goldsmith, a name I have to believe actually sounds regal. Some people called him Goldie because his last name. We called him Tall Glass because me Grandpa Joe stuck that moniker on him. He drank from a long, tall glass, Joe always said with a grin. Pop and Tall Glass were brothers-in-law, Pops having married Tall Glass's sister.

Pop and Tall Glass were both nearly sixty when I knew them. They got along well, but as with many families sometimes a little animosity would break out. Usually this was just a shouting match, and usually when they'd both been drinking. Yet it was rarely more than that.

One such rare day occurred while me Pops (my Dad, not to be confused here with Pop Turner of course) and I were the only two in the Shop and were having a coffee. As it was a warm summer day we had the big truck doors open, sitting by them to catch a breeze. After a minute or two we heard the ruckus. Pop and Tall Glass were at it; the gist was that Pop wanted chicken but he wanted his brother in law to go to the store to get it. Tall Glass resolutely would not.

Soon Tall Glass appeared, staggering down the alley in drunk fashion, half walking and half falling backwards, slowly and uncertainly. He was yelling, "Come on man, no. Stop it," as he stumbled along in slow motion. Next Pop appeared, likewise speed and balance challenged. He was yelling at Tall Glass to go to the store for him, and was in slo-mo function as well. Only Pop was brandishing a shovel, holding it uncertainly above his head like a bat, ready to beat Tall Glass into doing his will.

If he caught him. The guys made their way down the alley, probably the slowest, most serpentine chase scene on record anywhere. Dad and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. Eventually Tall Glass stumbled and fell, allowing Pop to get within maybe 15 feet of him. He begged his brother in law for mercy.

Dad sighed, "I better go do something before one of them gets hurt." He went out and took the shovel from Pop, who in fact surrendered it rather meekly at me Pops' barked command. Dad explained firmly, putting on his dad voice, that wanting chicken for dinner wasn't reason enough to bust a family member's head open. Then he helped Tall Glass off the cement, and escorted the two to their respective homes, making them promise to behave. They did, by then crying and hugging and vowing eternal love and respect for one another after the old man had shamed them properly.

Ah, memories.