All those fantasy e-comments about cops and fireman sparked this tiny ember from one of my recent holiday jaunts. On a mid-July weekend near Tacoma, Washington, I went to the annual clambake of a family I've known for a long time (40 years since the first party I ever attended at their beach house). (The family's ancestral chocolate factory is still doing well in Tacoma, partly because of sweet-tooths like me, who continue to buy and eat chocolate while attempting a healthier lifestyle.) We're all slowly becoming the elders instead of the wild youth of yesteryear, some preferring inside beds instead of a bivouac on the beach by the totem pole, some leaving on Saturday for the comfort of home. But one of the fun and relaxing parts of this particular event is the ritual Sunday brunch for those of us who stay for the sleepover.
Brunch fare always centers around coffee and Krusteaz instant pancake mix (just add water and blueberries) and other potluck contributions (Mocha Roca, fruit salad, herbed potatoes, Cashew Roca, eggs, Macadamia Roca, fruit salad, Dark Roca, bacon, orange juice, Peanut Butter Mountain Bars, fruit salad, Almond Roca...). No matter how many clams we dig on Saturday, there are never any seafood leftovers.
Anyway, one of the fellows around the brunch table, a guy I'd never met before, is a recently retired firefighter from Tacoma. He's still fit and trim, blond and tanned, with sinewy arms and a huge smile, a really nice guy, named John. He told us funny anecdotes about a regular Tacoma troublemaker named Cecil.
Evidently firemen have to contend with regulars like Cecil all too often. This guy Cecil would get all drugged out and then pitch a fit to get attention. He'd lie on the street writhing with epilepsy. On purpose. So that someone would have to call the fire department, and then he'd get hauled off to the hospital or jail. It was a real frustration for the firefighters, because they kept having to waste precious resources dealing with this repeat offender. John said he'd finally had enough, so one day when Cecil was in the middle of an "epileptic fit", and said his leg hurt, John cut off one of his pant-legs to check on the leg. When Cecil came out of his drug-induced haze later, he was annoyed to find his pants were ruined. The next time Cecil pitched a fit and John was called in to deal with it, he bent down and whispered in Cecil's ear: "Does your leg hurt, Cecil?" and he cut off his pant leg again. Eventually it got to where all John had to do was ask "Does your leg hurt, Cecil?" and Cecil would suddenly come to and make tracks out of there, not wanting to lose another pair of pants. John taught some other firefighters this trick, and it probably saved the city of Tacoma thousands of dollars.
I'm not sure I got the story exactly right, but it was entertaining and at least somewhat true. Firefighters don't only look handsome and act like heroes, they tell good stories, too.
Shopping Tips: Forty years ago these same friends introduced me to Krusteaz instant "just add water" pancake mix, which we could take on mountain hikes. Krusteaz mix is still good. In Canada the only place to buy it is Costco, $7.99 for a big blue sack. The same flour mill makes the easy and excellent "Ghirardelli Chocolate Brownie Mix" but Costco was out of it last time I went looking for it. The factory outlet for Almond Roca is in Fife (east Tacoma), exit 136A off I-5; any Brown & Haley product can also be ordered online for a price.
Sweet dreams!
Jennifer Getsinger
July 22, 2014
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