THE
TREASURE OF JANITORS Throughout
my teaching days, Janitors have had a powerful influence. That sort
of came as a surprise, because a couple of the janitors I had known
back in my grade-school days at Fairmount were not very student friendly.
If you tracked in mud or snow, Hank Cuddus would give you a stare like
to turn you to stone, and there were other boiler-room dwellers that
way too, though now I see in retrospect they had good reason for trying
to civilize some of us young barbarians. But when I got out teaching,
suddenly the janitors turned out to be just the people new teachers
needed to get to know. It
started with my first job at Walcott Public High where I got to know
Jim Parsley. The first time I talked to him I realized he was dealing
with quite a stutter—especially when trying to say words that
began with T or Ch. Jim would wind up and finally explode the word out
and then he could speak right along. Mel Tillis, the excellent country-western
singer, had the same type of stutter. Anyway one memorable story Jim
told me was about the time he and a buddy pulled “si si si
sixty hibernating sk sk sk skunks out of a haystack.” They
would grab a skunk, break its neck and stuff it in a gunny sack. But
there were a catch: some of them sk sk sk skunks were not fully asleep,
and a number of them let fly. Jim said his coat and pants were literally
green with essence of Pepe La Pew. Later, walking through down-town
Fargo Jim couldn't see why people gave them such a wide birth. And when
they tried to get in to the 5 Spot nightclub, Bill Fortune, the owner,
wouldn't let them in. “But boy, said Jim, at five to eight bucks
a skunk, we made some good money! And heck, we got used to the smell.” Jim
and I fished the Sheyenne River quite a bit and also the Hickson and
Christine dams, and we had some memorably spooky rat hunts nights at
the Walcott dump. We would stand quietly by our car and wait. Soon we
would hear the cans start rattling as rats rattled and scratched around
among the garbage. Then we switched on our flashlights and looked for
the orange eyes of a rummaging rat. Shooting them was great sport, but
when a big rogue rat started coming at you blinded by the light, it
seemed like you were emptying your automatic at them in self defense.
Not that one ever made me run for my life, but I had my skin crawl and
my hair stand on end more than once. But if you haven't faced an African
Cape Buffalo, a charging rat ain't a bad substitute. Another
time, walking with Jim down Broadway in Fargo we found ourselves following
two rather interesting women. One was classic Hollywood curvaceous and
the other built more along the lines of some of the strong farm gals
that can throw a bail if needed. “Boy,
I sh sh sh sure like the way that one moves.” said Jim. “Well,
she's a little too Hollywood for my taste,” I answered. Later
I finally got to meet Jim's really great wife. Guess what; she was shaped
very much along the very “lotta woman” lines that Jim preferred.
And that, my friends is why it takes all kinds. It brings to mind John
Donne's rakish lines, “I can love both fair and brown/ She
whom abundance melts,/ And she whom want betrays.” I've
already mentioned in this column my beloved departed buddy, Lathan West,
the mandolin plucking custodian at NDSCS, and will speak more of him
again, as well of the wonderful Irish janitor I got to know my one year
at Pillager High School near Brainerd. His name was Elmore Dally, another
fishing pal long gone and greatly missed. I bet by now They've been
out walking/ Out over the hill:/ Young Elmore, young Lathan, young Jim.
I bet they had a lot to talk about.
edited html update
08-15-2021
“No, not the little one, I like that other one—Now sh sh
she's a lot of woman!”
Gene Pinkney – 1/18/20
- For the Daily News