The wordsmiths
Last week, it was a lot of fun remembering good times spent with Patrick McManus, “world class” storyteller. Since then, a couple of readers have asked about him. Needless to say, they were both young. At least one said she was going to get something of his right away.
Thankfully, for the world’s sanity, there are different types of word wizards, i.e, yarn spinners. A short time ago, I wrote here about famed packer Bill Yenne, and before that, Plato. You never know where one will pop up with an unforgettable phrase.
Last Saturday, while I watched a PGA golf tournament, one of the announcers tried to describe the difficulty of creating a world-class course in New Orleans, on nothing but flat land. That course is apparently considered a great challenge, even to the most skilled players. It took years to build. The announcer eventually found words to fit the situation. Filled with awe and wonder, he said. “The designer of this course had an unlimited talent for creating ‘visual intimidation.’”
I have always felt golf courses are planned by people with a talent for cruelty and evil. Now, a highly paid professional expert has admitted it is true.
Back to McManus for a moment. Much joy of reading his stories comes from his portrayal of the backwards people he grew up with. Gave them all names to fit their characteristics. I can’t remember now if it was Rancid Crabtree or Retch Sweeney who avoided bathing in order to maintain his “protective crust.” Crazy Eddie Muldoon was his closest friend and most of their outdoor “activities” were haunted by the eerie presence of the game warden, “Smee.”
In his wonderful autobiography, part of the book, “Whatcha Got Stew,” Patrick admits, “Sticking to unembellishing the truth for too long makes me tense and can cause a rash.”
A column like this has to mention Bill Yenne again. He had a yarn where he modestly told of winning a big contest among government wranglers and packers to see who could “mate” with the tallest girl. This was done to have taller packers who could lift packs up on the bigger mules the Park Service and Forest Service had started buying.
When questioned by listeners about how tall the girl he mated was, Bill said her mother had a contract with the Great Northern to inspect the roofs of tunnels and examine high trestles. With so many details from him, the story tended to drag out and people would start asking, “BILL! How tall was that girl you mated with?”
He would then tell where her dad came from and how many brothers he had. When pressured again, he admitted he never actually observed it, then said “It was well known around Whitefish that he was so tall he had to get up on a chair to put his hat on.”
“BILL! HOW TALL WAS THE GIRL?”
“Well, nobody ever actually measured her, but every fall, she would go down by Flathead Lake and hunt geese with a rake.”
Life is good.
G.George Ostrom is an award-winning columnist from Kalispell.