RUDIMENTS, pt.1,247
('the branch office')
I guess it could be said that
I've been in enough mixed
up situations to make a
good storyline be always
active : Mostly out of
control, I just let a lot
happen and as the pieces
fell around me I 'took
what I had gathered
from coincidence.' These
things have ranged in
any number of odd places
and locations; no places of
any real value, and certainly
not in any of the stylish
vacationlands of travel
brochures and grand
islands of rum and beach
pleasure. My Disneylands
have always been poor
ghettos, and I enjoyed
them much better for
that factor.
-
One time, I can recall, in the
mid-1980's I had rented a
car - some little Dodge car,
sporty and popular but I
have forgotten the name.
We'd high-tailed way up to
New York State, deciding on
talking the young son to the
baseball museum and Hall of
Fame in Cooperstown as an
end-site. We meandered
everywhere and, ending up
at the end with over 1900
miles clocked. Having gotten
'lost' one night, in the deep
darkness, needing rest and
a place to stay, we were too
late for searching - and we
did not know where any of the
'big' roads were - the kinds
would have motels and such,
such. We ended up in a small
town along the roadway, one
dumpy little place called
'Sheds, NY.' It was like a
bad dream in many ways,
but the kind that stay with
you and never fade. The place
consisted of maybe 12 houses,
and a sale lot, from which
were sold, yes, sheds. All sorts
and all sizes. At the center of
all this was a spot purporting
to be a bar, a tavern-rest, an
eatery and, apparently, the
local hang-out. There was
nowhere to sleep, and there
was nowhere to stay. Entering
that tavern roadhouse brought
every set of eyes there were
right on us. Bad feeling, not
a good scene. We skedaddled.
-
I look at a map now, in hindsight,
and it all seems so simple. But we
had none of that, and it was too
dark and late, and we were too tired,
to truly investigate where we were.
I see now that we really weren't
that far off from places I'd have
known - like Cortland, or Ithaca.
But, none of that worked in my
head that night.
-
Sometimes things get all mixed
up like that. You live with them,
you laugh about them, or you
just forget them - or try to. The
most bizarre or curious event of
this nature, and in the same vein,
involved us, on another trip, and
in a less reliable car, having a
breakdown, towards about 5pm,
on some roadside in Unadilla, NY.
Unadilla Silo Company was once
located there, a main employer
of the local townsfolk - [they no
longer manufacture silos, mainly
because farmers no longer use
silos and there's no demand for
new one. That company is now
called Unalam, and they make
wood trusses for roofs and
pedestrian walkways, bridges,
laminated wood products
and the like]. In any case, we
were headed up to Vermont,
and this time we had our dog
with us. I fooled around with
the car, trying to fix it, but
to no avail. A State Trooper
eventually came by, asked of
the problem, etc. I forget the
exact sequence, but with him
we explained the problem and
he arranged a tow and repair
facility, and told us that he'd
take us to the bus depot, where
we could get a bus back to
Elmira. Then he added that
the bus would not allow the
dog. Hmmm? What to do?
The trooper said he had two
dogs at home, and a dog-run
and kennel area and he'd be
happy to take our dog and
watch it for three or four days
until we returned for the car
after repairs. It took us a
minute to think about it, and
it was a weird feeling leaving
the dog in someone' else's
unknown care, but the guy
was on the level and he boarded
the dog and all was well when
we returned days later to wrap
the entire process up. I'll thus
always remember Unadilla, NY.
-
I'll probably always remember tht'
nice Trooper too; he seemed to be
extending himself, and in the
nicest manner. I'd always been
otherwise inclined, police of any
sort just always being trouble to
me. This worked out fine. Had I
stopped us into that roadhouse
in Sheds, however, I'm not sure
how any assistance there would
have ended up. Strange places,
commingling with the darkest
of night and a long day's travel
conjure up the easiest of horrid,
nightmare, scenarios. Like I've
always said to the wife, of that
night, jokingly, 'They'd have twirled
you on a swivel stick and laughed
about it.' It's always been our
private memory-joke.
-
When I lived in Elmira, just up
the road and over a RR bridge, a
stone's throw from the college and
the street where we lived (all still
there), there was a biker bar that
used to rattle and hum pretty good.
Funny thing was, I never went in.
Having a young kid, a house and
all that family domestication stuff.
I never sensed the right fit. It was
a college-town, in that section
anyway, and these guys, back in
the early 1970's, when the new
deal on the block was still a Harley
Shovelhead, they never seemed
like the right bunch for my kind
of attitude, whatever they may
have been. Up on Washington
Street, near to the bowling alley
and the 7-11, was more my speed
at that time. The bar there was
more for the college types. It was
called The Branch Office, and the
funny thing was that if you sat
in your car, waiting for the light,
there were a few areas where,
with the other signs blocking their
own sign, all you'd see of their
vertically-stacked sign was 'The
Bra Off.' I guess that too became
another of our stupid in-jokes.
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