The Crux Blog: Fond Memories of My Father, the Arsonist

Dad in later years

When summertime came and I was out of school, Dad would take me with him on one of his sales trips to get me out of Mom's hair. It was always a fun time of practical jokes, eating on the road and general bonding.

Once Dad and I took an extended trip which inevitably required doing a load of laundry. Fortunately, the motel we were in had a coin-operated washer and dryer.

Unfortunately, it was Dad's first experience at starting potentially dangerous fires.

Dad was a traveling salesman who sold advertising space in trade magazines. No...Wait. Actually, he worked for US Naval Intelligence collecting intel on the Soviets from people who monitored their radio transmissions. But that's another story.

One morning as I was getting ready, Dad entered our motel room trying desperately to keep from laughing.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Some chowderhead left their clothes in the dryer overnight, so I stuck them on its top where there was about two inches of dust and lint," he smirked.

About ten minutes later, we first heard the sirens. Being the middle of the city, we didn't think much of it and waited for Doppler's lowering tone as the vehicles passed by.

We waited. The sirens only got louder. Dad finally opened up the curtains to reveal two firetrucks pulling into the motel parking lot. He suddenly looked panicked and raced out the door towards the laundry room.

Standing in front was the motel manager. "What's going on?" Dad asked.

"Some bastard stuck some clothes on the top of the dryer and they caught fire," the manager complained, "but I'm going to wait here and when they come back, I'm calling the police!"

"If I were you, I wouldn't move an inch," Dad exclaimed, "...Well, gotta go!!!"

Dad burst into our room as I was running the "razor slalom"--over the peach-fuzz and around the pimples.

"Pack your stuff NOW, son, we gotta go!"

"What is it?"

"I'll explain in the car," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"To the state's biggest K-Mart to buy some underwear!" Dad cried.

As sheer dumb-luck would have it, the moment we walked through the doors and gazed upon the acreage of the box-store, we heard it announced: "Attention K-Mart shoppers! There's just one minute left on our blue-light special: 50% off men's underwear!"

Our mission was on! Our eyes quickly scanned the horizon...

There it stood a blinking
Clear across the store
Like a tiny, little lighthouse
On a far and distant shore

Feel free to hit play on the "Chariots of Fire" theme, because when Dad ran, it was always slow motion.

"Blue-light special; Blue-light special;" Dad sang as if it were a veritable license to the right of way.

"I just might have enjoyed that!"

Carts were shoved. Babies were crying. Old women squealed as if their hindquarters just felt the crop. Perhaps it was father researching a lead role in "50 Shades of the Old Gray Mare." But that's another story.

We ran the obstacle course of people, pushcarts and end-cap displays and finally navigated our way to the underwear. Dad found his size, but had trouble pulling the package out of the spring-loaded rack.

Just then, the timer ran out and the flashing blue-light quit. The sale was officially over.

Horrified, and breaching all concept of common civil protocol, Dad reached over and turned the blue-light BACK ON!

"Blue-light special! Blue-light special!" he was now heard to roar.

To emphasize his point:

He waved his product proudly
High above his head
And all that I could wish for
Was to be in the car instead!

Thankfully, he did get his boxers at half price and needless to say, we left for the next town with hurried expedience.

I like to remember it as "The Great Boxer Fire Escapade."

Then there was that time when Dad purchased some property for us to camp on. He once let a campfire get away from him and burned the place up. As we drove home nearly gagging on the smell of soot, Dad tried to convince us that somehow he MEANT to do that!

I suppose that in the end, Dad wasn't so much an arsonist in the criminal sense as he was an arsonist in the cuddly sense; sort of like Smokey the Bear's black-sheep brother.

But as the years melt into decades and the trees grow noticeably thicker on Walton's Mountain, I often sit and ponder which is the lessor of two evils: burning up your campsite by accident or burning up your campsite on purpose???

But that's another story. Goodnight, John-Boy!

ALSO BY Drew: The Death of Mangas Colorado: "The Greatest Wrong Ever Done to the Indians"

#Dad #Father #FathersDay #Humor

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