JAMM: Memories of Huck Williams

  (1) Mr. Williams had a white curly-furred dog, Polly,  who followed him everywhere. For several years, I couldn't imagine him without her by his side.  One summer, she had a large wound on her flank that was the size of my outspread hand.  Polly had gotten caught under a snowmobile.  It took a couple years for that injury to pucker up and heal. For one full summer, it looked like well-charred bacon.

(2) Two of Mr. Williams' grandchildren were Valerie and Debbie.  Debbie is my sister's age and Valerie was my age.  Each of those wonderful summers on the lake, Val and Debbie would stay with Mr. and Mrs. Williams in their cabin so we all could play together.  Sometimes, I would spend the night with Val at Mr and Mrs Williams' place.  One morning, Val and I woke to the smell of bacon.  I love bacon.  I ate my share, then he cooked up more. He cooked 2 pounds of bacon for me that morning, chuckling the whole time. My parents were embarrassed.  Valerie was strikingly beautiful; a boy our age summered at the far end of the beach and one day reported to me that he was going to be playing with Valerie and not me because she was beautiful.  I left the beach with my head down. Valerie was shot by her husband in front of their children before she reached thirty years of age. 

(3) During our summers on the lake, Mr. Williams would take us exploring nearby places: Angel Falls, up mountains, and to the cellar-hole of the house where he was born (by Mt. Blue, on the left side of the dirt road as you travel to the trailhead), to name a few. He also liked loading us kids up in a motor boat and taking us around the lake.  I remember his leather shoes, the socks he wore, the khaki pants, and his t-shirts. I remember his crooked omnipresent smile and how his teeth made an angle.  I remember that belly -- that belly protruding firm and large and round over his belt. I can still hear his voice. I was between 2 and 8 years old when we rented from him. 

Many times, he took me up the Chimney Trail, to the Tumbledown lake, then down the loop, telling stories, smiling, and laughing the whole way.  I marveled at how he shimmied through the Fat Man's Misery, especially with that firm rotund belly. 

I drove in his truck with him and my mom up the dirt road towards Mt. Blue.  He pulled off to the left somewhere, and we went walking in the forest.  He identified the cellar hole of the home where he was born; my mom noticed the flowers (Sweet William) his mom had planted still grew.  He described how the land was cleared for cattle and farming. I couldn't believe the thick forest had once -- and recently -- been farm land. 

Every Friday night, he'd get lobsters for people who rented his cabins.  He'd boil up this pot over a fire on the beach, and ask folks to throw their lobsters in the water.  He and Mrs. Williams would gather the picnic tables all together in one long line, and everyone would gather around to eat their meal together.  I liked sitting next to Mr. Williams so I could hear his stories, so wherever he was, I'd just squish in next to him.  Renters would bring potato salad, chips, and if we were lucky, there would be some fresh peas just picked from the farm on the lake side of the road to town.  For young un's like me, there was also hot dogs.  This thrilled me; I would spend a long time dressing my dog with condiments and all these delightful fixin's.   After perfecting my hotdog one night, I turned to get some chips or maybe a pickle, then I looked down and my perfectly-dressed hot dog was gone.  Horror-stricken, I looked around and saw the last of it disappear into Mr. Williams' mouth.  I put my hands on my hips and said, "You stole my hot-dog!"  In the re-telling of this story, he'd always say, "You have it wrong. you took MY hot-dog."  It became a joke between us for the rest of his life.  

(4)  One winter, my family visited Mr. and Mrs. Williams in their home in Wilton.  We all stayed tightly packed in the small house, sharing nearly everything together in the cozy warm space.  Val and I played games inside for one day, when Mr. Williams took Debbie, my sister (Carol), and my parents up Tumbledown, I believe, on snowmobiles.  The next day, he took Val and me and my parents to the cabins on the lake to see all the snow and the lake in Winter.  My mom's hat blew off at the beginning of the trip; it was the only time I saw him riled up about something.  My parents took some time to adjust to driving snowmobiles -- my dad remembers borrowing Wally Baccus's snow machine. 

Their house with the coop in the back had the kitchen and living room on the bottom floor and all the bedrooms in the second floor.  In the evenings, after dinner, we all got ready for bed in the living room, changing in the same space, brushing teeth together in the kitchen sink.  Someone went upstairs to turn on the electric blankets (there was no heat upstairs) on the beds -- likely Mrs. Williams did that.  We'd run upstairs in our long underwear and climb into the warm double beds we shared, breathing out clouds as we giggled together and touched toes. 

Now, I drive by where their home was across from Baccus's Garage and I'm sad it's not there anymore.  But I still remember having so much fun with Mr. and Mrs. Williams there.  

--Jean Anne Miller Mariner