The pic below I just stumbled on while poking around the internet. I have no idea who these people are, but it is a remarkable photograph. It inspired this short think that just sort of came pouring out of my head whole.
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Seventy-Five Dollars and Vivian Blaine
We got a man to take our picture at the railing, one for Charlotte's scrapbook. Then out of nowhere a kid in khakis ran up and tripped over Priscilla Mae's purse. He fell and got so mad at it that he picked it up and threw it over the rail with all the fury of a mad brat.
He had a pretty good pitching arm because it traveled quite a ways down and took a few tumbles before it stopped. I started fussing at the kid and his mom came by fussing at him too and then I saw that he wasn't a normal kid. Looked like he had some birth defect in his head; it had a funny slant to it on one side. His mom started apologizing, almost in tears.
We tried to assure her we understood and Charlotte said that she'd just read on some of the Grand Canyon literature that they had staff that might could help. So we used one of the park phones that were on poles all over the area, but the guy who answered was as much help as water bucket with no bottom. Apparently the park is "not responsible for losses of personal items." Government clucks not worth the dimes in their paychecks.
Priscilla Mae, soft-hearted lady that she is, told the kid's mom not to mind it at all, that she only had some old pictures and $75 in her purse.
I knew that wasn't true. I knew she had her car keys in there (she didn't trust Micky Jr. not to use her car while she was gone), AND the red rhinestone heart key ring that was the last Valentine's Day gift that Micky Sr gave her before he passed, AND one of those pictures was an autographed head shot of Vivian Blaine, who everybody said she resembled in the right light, AND and unopened pack of Dentyne, AND 75 smackers is nothing to just write off like it was chump change.
So the afflicted kid and his mom went off and there we were looking down to where the purse had landed, 9 or maybe 10 yards down. Before you know it, a girl about 25 or 26 in a tee shirt and blue jeans sauntered up with a rope around her shoulders.
She introduced herself as Lee and she and the woman with her witnessed the whole thing. Her idea was to rappel down her rope and retrieve Priscilla Mae's purse for us. She was a girls' gym teacher from New York City, she said, and did a little mountain climbing in the Adirondacks as a hobby.
The lady she was with was her mom, I thought. She was quite a looker, about my age with a yellow gauzy kerchief in her hair. "Be careful, baby," she said as Lee tied the rope around one pole of the railing with the neatest prusik friction hitch you ever saw.
"At least it looks like she knows what she's doing," I said to nobody in particular. It didn't matter anyway, because Lee was not wavering. She shimmied down the rope, got Priscilla Mae's purse, and tossed it up with ease. When she got back up, we were all pretty amazed and Charlotte and Priscilla Mae were hugging her and thanking her to beat the band.
She refused to take a single penny for her efforts. I told her that I had heard a lot of rumors about how standoffish New Yorkers were, but she sure did make me rethink my ideas.
"Shouldn't judge a book ..." she said.
We all went to Pancake Chalet for coffee, the five of us, I, Priscilla Mae, Lee, Rachel (who was not Lee's mom, but just a friend). I treated.
Lee and Priscilla Mae exchanged addresses and phone numbers and started up the nicest friendship you ever saw. Priscilla Mae would spend weeks at a time visiting her in "the Big Apple" like they call it ... she thought she saw Henry Fonda once, but they were in an automat across the room and it might not've been him.
Lee came down to visit us in Austin a few times, stayed for a week or so during the summer. We let Micky Jr sleep in Byron's old room while she stayed over at Priscilla Mae's. Once I asked about Rachel, and Lee said they didn't see each other much. She and Priscilla Mae exchanged sour looks, so I figured they must've had a falling out and I didn't mention Rachel again.
After Micky Jr graduated from college and got a job in Dallas, Priscilla Mae sold her house and moved up to New York next door to Lee in a skyscraper. Pretty soon she had a bevvy of spinster women friends and she would write and call Charlotte at least twice a month.
And to think such a strong friendship all started when a little afflicted boy got mad at Charlotte's purse and tossed in into the Grand Canyon.
Funny how life turns out, huh?
*
Seventy-Five Dollars and Vivian Blaine
After I got my settlement from the lawsuit against Armand's Rent-a-Tool, Charlotte and I decided to splurge a little and drive all the way out to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. And well, of course we invited Priscilla Mae for all the help she'd given us through the years.
We got a man to take our picture at the railing, one for Charlotte's scrapbook. Then out of nowhere a kid in khakis ran up and tripped over Priscilla Mae's purse. He fell and got so mad at it that he picked it up and threw it over the rail with all the fury of a mad brat.
He had a pretty good pitching arm because it traveled quite a ways down and took a few tumbles before it stopped. I started fussing at the kid and his mom came by fussing at him too and then I saw that he wasn't a normal kid. Looked like he had some birth defect in his head; it had a funny slant to it on one side. His mom started apologizing, almost in tears.
We tried to assure her we understood and Charlotte said that she'd just read on some of the Grand Canyon literature that they had staff that might could help. So we used one of the park phones that were on poles all over the area, but the guy who answered was as much help as water bucket with no bottom. Apparently the park is "not responsible for losses of personal items." Government clucks not worth the dimes in their paychecks.
Priscilla Mae, soft-hearted lady that she is, told the kid's mom not to mind it at all, that she only had some old pictures and $75 in her purse.
I knew that wasn't true. I knew she had her car keys in there (she didn't trust Micky Jr. not to use her car while she was gone), AND the red rhinestone heart key ring that was the last Valentine's Day gift that Micky Sr gave her before he passed, AND one of those pictures was an autographed head shot of Vivian Blaine, who everybody said she resembled in the right light, AND and unopened pack of Dentyne, AND 75 smackers is nothing to just write off like it was chump change.
So the afflicted kid and his mom went off and there we were looking down to where the purse had landed, 9 or maybe 10 yards down. Before you know it, a girl about 25 or 26 in a tee shirt and blue jeans sauntered up with a rope around her shoulders.
She introduced herself as Lee and she and the woman with her witnessed the whole thing. Her idea was to rappel down her rope and retrieve Priscilla Mae's purse for us. She was a girls' gym teacher from New York City, she said, and did a little mountain climbing in the Adirondacks as a hobby.
Naturally we were aghast and couldn't let this pretty young girl to endanger her life for a purse, nevermind $75 and Vivian Blaine. I told her I appreciated it but I absolutely couldn't allow it.
The lady she was with was her mom, I thought. She was quite a looker, about my age with a yellow gauzy kerchief in her hair. "Be careful, baby," she said as Lee tied the rope around one pole of the railing with the neatest prusik friction hitch you ever saw.
"At least it looks like she knows what she's doing," I said to nobody in particular. It didn't matter anyway, because Lee was not wavering. She shimmied down the rope, got Priscilla Mae's purse, and tossed it up with ease. When she got back up, we were all pretty amazed and Charlotte and Priscilla Mae were hugging her and thanking her to beat the band.
She refused to take a single penny for her efforts. I told her that I had heard a lot of rumors about how standoffish New Yorkers were, but she sure did make me rethink my ideas.
"Shouldn't judge a book ..." she said.
We all went to Pancake Chalet for coffee, the five of us, I, Priscilla Mae, Lee, Rachel (who was not Lee's mom, but just a friend). I treated.
Lee and Priscilla Mae exchanged addresses and phone numbers and started up the nicest friendship you ever saw. Priscilla Mae would spend weeks at a time visiting her in "the Big Apple" like they call it ... she thought she saw Henry Fonda once, but they were in an automat across the room and it might not've been him.
Lee came down to visit us in Austin a few times, stayed for a week or so during the summer. We let Micky Jr sleep in Byron's old room while she stayed over at Priscilla Mae's. Once I asked about Rachel, and Lee said they didn't see each other much. She and Priscilla Mae exchanged sour looks, so I figured they must've had a falling out and I didn't mention Rachel again.
After Micky Jr graduated from college and got a job in Dallas, Priscilla Mae sold her house and moved up to New York next door to Lee in a skyscraper. Pretty soon she had a bevvy of spinster women friends and she would write and call Charlotte at least twice a month.
And to think such a strong friendship all started when a little afflicted boy got mad at Charlotte's purse and tossed in into the Grand Canyon.
Funny how life turns out, huh?
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