Uncle Frank's Driveway

I find myself, well, okay, I haven't exactly found myself here as I drove here quite purposefully, in Hessel in Michigan's glorious eastern Upper Peninsula and pondering, remembering what once was. And what once was was my Uncle Frank teaching me the precise way to turn around in the driveway.

He had retired here, and while the house already existed the garage and the driveway did not. So he had a garage built, a very good one from where I still listen to Tiger baseball and will again tonight, and a driveway laid from asphalt. And the asphalt needed precise care.

As such, he instructed me on how to turn around on it without doing damage. You pull up and turn hard left, then go hard right to back up into place, all the while moving so that the turning of the wheels did not harm any spot on the asphalt. Never, never stop and turn the wheels in one place. Keep your car moving.

After about an hour of practice Uncle Frank was satisfied that I could make the maneuver. And ever since then, I have made the maneuver rather well. I think.

Uncle Frank is gone better than 23 years now. But I have not and will not harm his driveway. He has seen to that.

The Hessel slow roll

We rented a cabin in Hessel, MI in the Upper Peninsula for years, and for years this one fella rented almost at the same time. I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. The thing is, his rental and ours offset by one week, meaning Cloyce and his family left during the middle of our two week stay.

The cabins rented Saturday to Saturday. On Cloyce's second Saturday one year the family which was renting his place next arrived, rudely, at 7 AM. They knocked on his door and basically demanded to know when he was leaving. Cloyce, properly annoyed, answered, "Checkout time is 11." He thought for a moment and then explained further, "And check in time is 2."

They didn't like that. Yet they were the ones being insensitive. They figured if they sat nearby staring it might hurry Cloyce up.

They were barking up a tree, and those of us who knew Cloyce knew that.

He quite understandably took his breakfast: at around nine. He then took one suitcase to his van. Then he took one article of clothing out, folding it at the van door and putting it in the suitcase. Filling the case one piece of clothing at a time took about a half hour. Then he filled, in the same way, a second suitcase. Then he took about 15 minutes finishing the last cup of coffee from the kitchen, sipping it on his porch as he watched the watercraft go by. Then he emptied the fridge one item at a time, after bringing out the cooler empty. Lastly he packed his fishing gear one piece by one. Finally he took the folding chairs from the porch and tied them to the roof of his van.

The he sat on the stoop of the porch and stared back at the early arrivals. Eventually he looked at his watch and called to his wife, "Okay, let's go. It's 10:59, just about checkout time." And they were on their way home.

My guess is that it was actually about 10:59 and fifty-five seconds.

Intimidating the locals

So we've vacationed in the little town of Hessel, Michigan for coming up on forty years now. Just down the road a piece is Cedarville. Sometimes, it seems, the two villages get a little bit fractious with each another.
One year when my sons were teenagers, there was some small dispute between the towns during our vaycay. Apparently Cedarville was trying to muscle in on Hessel's action, you see, trying to take over an antique boat show which Hessel had hosted since its start. A few Hessel citizens were complaining about that one day as my boys and I stood nearby.
After listening to the complaints for a couple of minutes, my sons walked over to the tiny crowd. Both of them were punching fists from one hand into the open palms of the other. My oldest grunted to get their attention. "Uhmm. We're from Detroit. Ya want us to take of this?" he asked.
The four people looked at them and replied nervously something like, no, that's okay.
But Hessel has kept its boat show ever since.

The last shot

He always bought every shot. Every beer.

Uncle Frank. My Uncle Frank. To his family, to my children, he was Oggie, or Oggs, for whatever reason. To me, Uncle Frank.

He retired to da UP, to Hessel, in the Les Cheneaux Islands. We visited there often. We still do.

We drank a few beers together, mostly Old Milwaukee. We had a few shots, mostly the house whiskey.

He always bought.

One day, back in 1996, in July as we visited, he asked me to help him take the trash to the dump. I did so. He asked me afterwards if I might like a shot and a beer. I said yes, I might like that.

We made a side trip to his haunt. We had a shot and a beer. Those drinks seemed to last a long while that day. We talked a lot, as though we had known each other a lifetime.

Eventually our drinks were almost spent. He asked if I might like another, and I said yes, I would. He ordered. I said, Oggs, you always pay. Let me pay for these.

He stared at me for a very long moment. Then he just said, okay. I paid. We clinked glasses and downed our shots. We sipped at our beers. For another hour we talked just like old friends. I drove him home.

He passed away that night. I had bought him his last shot and beer. I am proud to have done so.

Small town perspective.

So here I am in Hessel, Michigan, part of our state's glorious Upper Peninsula. And I need a haircut. Naturally then I went into town, Cedarville, all of three miles down the road, to see the barber. I thought to myself, "I think I'll head into town and see Dan about a haircut.'

Hessel has maybe 250 year round denizens. Cedarville has closer to 900. And here I am heading 'into town' from the one to the other.

Sometimes it's just about perspective, isn't it? And now Cedarville has a Dollar General! What have I said about that recently?