Respect Your Elders

09 Respect Your Elders First draft 2/29 11:30 AM

I sat on my bar stool contemplating my pint of Lake Placid what-ever-you-call-it. Yep. This is a fine beer. But I have to go after two. It's a half-mile walk home, and I have a bladder the size of a thimble.

I chuckled. When you're a kid, the whole world is your bathroom. If I stopped to pee behind a tree now, I be arrested sure as hell. Of course, maybe the officer would see that I'm old and I could just play on that? I have to pee here because I'm old. Is that a problem officer? No, that wouldn't work. Two beers, hit the men's room, and shuffle home as fast as I can.

I looked around the bar. The crowd was thinning out. Just Terry the bartender, a guy sitting at a table finishing his meal, and me. Not much to research, right now anyway. I might as well go home. Work on my next book a little.

I finished my beer, did my men's room business, and put on my coat. I picked up my cane and held my hat in my hand.

“Have a great day, Terry,” I said

“See you again?” asked Terry.

“You bet.”

I put on my cap and went out the door. The breeze felt cold. I turned my collar up. As I passed the old women's entrance into the restaurant, I noticed that there was a sign on it. Please use other door with an arrow pointing towards the barroom. Nothing stays the same. See, as a businessman, I would have that door unlocked and have both doors labeled “Women” and “Men”. Just like the bathrooms. Naw. Some woman's libber would have a cow over it. I haven't heard the term “woman's lib” in a long, long time. So I guess the woman's liberty movement worked. But you still have to be careful what you say and who you say it too. What do they call it now? Politically correct. You have to be politically correct. When I was a kid, it was the ginney store. We didn't know that ginney was a bad word back then. We were kids. We didn't know better. But none of the grown-ups corrected us. Maybe they just left it for us to figure out.

Is that bowling pins I hear? Can't be. Must be something else. I belonged to the school's bowling club. I was never good enough to make the bowling team. Bowling was just something I enjoyed doing. I still do that. I like doing things I'm not good at. It takes the pressure off. I can just relax and enjoy the game. Golf was like that too. When I took up golf, I was going to be the best. I worked hard at it, but I could never break a hundred for eighteen holes. It was when I realized I was no good at golf that I really started having fun. Same for playing guitar. Everyone should be required to do something they're no good at. It would make life more enjoyable if we were all humble. My dad used to tell me that no matter how good you are at something, or how good you think you are, there is always someone better. My dad was a smart man.

A Traction Company bus passed just as I got to the canal. I've got a mule and her name is Sal... wait. Traction Company? United Traction Company? Didn't they get replaced by the CDTA like, fifty years ago? The bus was that muted red and cream color of a Traction Company bus. As it passed, it belched black sooty exhaust from its diesel engine. It went up to St. Mary's around the island, and stopped on the canal bridge. That's where we always caught the bus to go to downtown Troy. Can you imagine that? Kids, ten or twelve years old, walking down a busy road to the village, and hopping on a bus to go to Troy? Parents today would never allow such a thing.

Troy was a fun destination for us kids. That was before shopping malls. Everyone went to downtown Troy to shop. There were department stores everywhere. Stores you don't hear of anymore. Denby's, Woolworths, Grants, Frears, Green's... Tom Bombard and I would take the bus to downtown Troy to wander about. Was it Green's we went to? On one of the upper floors was a soda fountain. We'd order banana splits. There were balloons hung overhead. You'd pick a balloon and the lady would pop it. Inside was a slip of paper with a price on it. Whatever the price was is what you would pay for your banana split. I don't remember the top price, but the lowest was a penny. I got that once. All those stores are gone. Stores just come and go. There are only a few big ones left today, and they're closing as online shopping becomes more and more popular. I shop online. But you can't get a banana split for a penny from Amazon.

Times sure have changed. Cripe, now I'm thinking like my grandmother. Do you know what I paid for a loaf of bread yesterday, Bobby? My dad would answer along the lines of I dunno ma. Thirty cents! For a loaf of bread! Can you imagine? Cripe grandma. It's only thirty cents, I'd think. I'm never going to be like that when I get old, I told myself. But the last time I bought a loaf of bread it was three bucks. Three bucks! Can you imagine? I got to the canal. I've got a mule...

Richie pulled up along side of me. This is getting weird. He's always giving me rides. He was driving a Chevy coupe. About a '60, I'd guess. Don't look surprised. Baker Act. Think Baker Act.

“Hey mister! Out for a walk?” he asked.

“Sort of. I was doing research for a book,” I answered.

“Want a lift?”

“Sure, thanks Richie,” I answered.

“Van Schoonhoven?”

“Yes, please. And thank you.”

I got in. Easily, I might add. Richie pulled away from the curb and took a right at St. Mary's. We quickly got to Van Schoonhoven.

“You can just drop me off here,” I said.

“I'll drop you off right at the door,” said Richie. “We aim to please.”

Richie took a left into the long driveway. We aim to please? Who is we? Just an expression, I suppose. Richie stopped the car at the door. The front door was in the back where the parking lot is. Like North Side is in the south part of Waterford. Maybe there's something in the drinking water? I wonder if Waterford still gets its water from the Hudson River?

“Thanks Richie,” I said. “I really appreciate the rides.”

“Anytime man.”

I got out and walked around the front of the car and shuffled up to the front door. I noticed that Richie waited. Why? To make sure I didn't forget my key? I'm not that old. Yet. Well, seventy. Maybe I am that old. I fumbled for my keys and put the door key in the lock. I turned it and yanked on the door. It didn't open. I turned it the wrong way. I always do. I turned it the other way and pulled on the door and this time it opened. I stuck my foot between the door and the jam while I tried to get the key out. It always comes out hard. I better tell Bill the maintenance guy the next time I see him. I yanked on the key, turned it this way and that as I did so. Richie was still waiting. Finally it came out. I stuck the keys in my right front pocket. That is their place. Everything must have a place. That way you can find things when you need them. I learned that on boats. I turned to Richie and waved. He tooted his horn and drove off. Geez Richie, there are all old people here. They might be taking naps. I can see a nap in my future.

As I walked down the hallway to my apartment, I saw Miss Clara. She's ninety-five.

“Good Afternoon, Miss Clara.”

She turned slowly and looked at me. She smiled and said... something. I can't understand a word she says. Between my difficulty hearing and her advanced age and difficulty talking, we don't have conversations.

“You have a good day ma'am.”

It is important to respect your elders. I don't know why that is, but that's how I was raised. If all the seats in a room are taken and someone older than you enters, you give up your seat. Same if a lady walks in even younger than you, you give up your seat. I've given up a lot of seats in my day. I turned the door key and the door opened easily.

I'm glad because I have to pee like a race horse. I got that phrase by my buddy Vic. Vic played the horses. Saratoga has the flat track and the harness track. The locals preferred the harness track, especially at the end of the season. They all know who is going to win. And the winning horses are drug tested. They're given something to make them pee, which is where the phrase comes from.

I tried to get Vic to quit smoking when I quit in 1975. He laughed and kept smoking. He died of lung cancer in his early 40s.