Remembering her first horse ride

Preface: This is a chapter from Al’s Bar: A Memoir, that spans the period from 1950 to 1964 when my parents, Bill and Anne Haug, owned a bar on Bigfork’s Electric Avenue. While some may remember these characters and events differently than I, this is my perception of the people and events that shaped my small life, not about facts that have no real meaning out of context.

Jack P., our garbage man, lived in a one-room shack out on the rutty old dump road.

In his younger years, he’d been married and worked for the railroad. But somewhere along the way he became a drunk, and his marriage broke up. He drove his old beat up pickup into town once a week, collecting garbage around the village, then stopped in one of the bars to wet his whistle. When we opened up our bar that next morning, we’d find his pickup parked in the alley behind our bar (Osborne Street). I climbed up on the running board and peeked through the window. If Jack wasn’t sleeping in the cab, I went on a hunt. I looked in George and Eva’s yard and the back porch of the Koffee Kup Café; under the stairs behind the barber shop, and the back door of the Mountain Lake Tavern.  

When I found him, his clothes were filthy and his pants were wet from pee. Sometimes his face was bruised. In the winter, he shivered in his worn-out old jacket.  

I ran back to the bar. “Daddy, Daddy!  I found Jack. Come on, you gotta help him!” I tugged on his sleeve and then pulled him by the hand ‘til we got to where Jack was sleeping. Dad shook him until he awakened, and talked him into coming back to the bar for a cup of hot coffee. I could tell Jack was sorry for his night of debauchery; his face was red and his puffy eyes damp with tears as he ran his fingers though his hair and down his shirt, trying to neaten up.

 “Oh, hell, Bill. Guess I kinda overdid it last night. Thanks for the coffee.”  Once he was warmed up inside and out, he started up his pickup and headed out to the dump, then home to his old shack.

Sometimes he stayed sober for several weeks, even months, but then one morning, there would be his pickup behind the bar. Poor Jack. All the kids in town made fun of him; some of the boys imitated him staggering around, and then fell to the ground overcome with laughter. I felt my heart break; I loved Jack. He always had a lollipop or Butterfinger in his pocket for me.

When a new family moved to town with a big garbage truck, they put Jack out of business. He went on a drunk that lasted weeks, until he broke his leg. His wife came from Kalispell and took him back to his shack where she stayed with him while he healed. After that, Jack was a new man. He didn’t come into town very often, only when he needed to stock up on groceries or to cash his disability check once a month. Then he came into the bar and drank coffee with Spike and Long George, before heading back home.

One day he told me about the palomino horse he’d bought.

“Daddy, can I go out to Jack’s and ride the horse?”  

Dad stroked his chin with his fingers while he thought about this.  “No, honey. Maybe when you’re older.”  

I hated that. I was never old enough for anything. But I didn’t give up asking, and one day he said, “Ask your Mother.”  

“Mom! Daddy says to ask you if I can go out to Jack’s to ride his horse. Can I? Oh, please, can I?”  

 “OK.”  

And we went out to Jack’s the next day. She watched as he helped me into the saddle, and then climbed up behind me. We rode along a trail through the woods of Eslick’s farm. I’d never been on a real horse before; such an easy gait! And the world looked so different from this new height.  

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When we got back to the shack, I jumped off and ran to Mom’s open arms, “Oh Mommy, that was so much fun!” I was so excited I could hardly contain my joy. We thanked Jack and drove back to the bar, and told Dad all about my adventure. After that, every Saturday during that summer and the next, I walked the mile from town, past Eva Gates’ log house, to Jack’s little shack and that wonderful horse.

But then Jack got really sick. His wife came to town and took him to the hospital. He got well, but it wasn’t long before he was back in the hospital. This went on for some time.  He had to sell the horse. And then one day the word came that Jack had died. “Oh, Daddy, he was such a nice man; how come he had to die?”  Daddy had no answer, just shook his head, then looked away.