The Native Iowan

I had a fun, memory spawning incident today, but first I got a story…

Years back, as a young stand up comedian-in-life, I had a routine that started…

There is nothing funnier than a grown man shitting in his drawers. I should know! And… I’d tell my story and make people laugh… My story was about underwear (all ways funny), and shitting in your drawers (all ways sad – and very funny). My story was about a one-piece thermal underwear suit I wore as a young man being a nomadic fool…

My routine continued…

Those cold weather, one-piece long under wear known as a “union suit”, are a communist plot to make you shit in your drawers…

A Union Suit:

Doesn’t look communist until you learn the back-door is a slit you use when the need arises… You’re suppose to unbutton the flap, stick yer arse out the slit and do your business. Thats what you’re suppose to do… The slits are not cooperative… The suits are evil…

As a young fool, living nomadic and wild, I spent a winter climbing telephone poles. It was a cold winter. I’d spent the summer riding my motorcycle and needed work and climbing poles in subzero weather was an easy job to get, but not do.

It was a cold winter.

The work paid well, was demanding, both physically and mentally. The conditions gruelling. If it’s freezing at ambient, you better not expose much skin. We’d put a layer of vaseline on our faces. Everyone had thick beards. Wore multiple layers of insulation.

Its part of The Long Story of a Young Fool…

I knew how to work. An Iowa-boy in the later 70s knew hard work. Knew what Winter was… when a guy in my Dad’s Bar n Grill that gave me a number to call I got to learn to climb poles.

Climbing poles was something I learned on the job. I liked it. Not every day was sub-sub-zero. There were good times, good jobs, good experiences. Some of the jobs sucked…

Once I got recruited, got into the system… I’d get a call and be offered a job in, say, Joplin MO. 2 weeks max, 6-man crew. Starts Monday.

I’d drive to the site, meet the other guys. There would always be a Lineman. Normally, depending on size of the job, there would be a Journeyman (or two) and a couple labourers. There was always a supervisor who only talked with the foreman. There was always a tel-Company-Man telling what was what and where was where.

I’d show up do THE JOB, get paid and go wait for the next phone call. We’d all share cheap hotel rooms. Eat together. The jobs didn’t do days off. You accepted the job, worked the job to completion then went home. Some jobs had big crews. Some of the guys were real cool. Some total jerks. I did one job was just me and a Lineman. Shorty Williamson was an interesting guy.

It suited my foolish lifestyle. Being young and strong and foolish worked, then…

One day… the supervisor, after a confused start to the day… Big truck wouldn’t start. Nothing happening. Time being wasted. Everyone waiting around in the cold. Getting paid but not happy, just waiting. And it was cold.

One guy decided to quit and go home. Conditions were not good.

The Supervisor walked up to a group of us “labourers” and asked, “Who has a strong back and a weak mind?” He pointed to me and said, “You’ll do.”

I’d never climbed a pole but he strapped me up, gave me abridged instructions, and sent me up to do a job. My first and only climb-with-hooks lesson. Its not rocket science but it is high-wire work. And pretty cool. I climbed the pole. Tool harness’d up, ditty bags full of fittings, wrenches and spanners hanging and banging, ropes, lots of weight hanging. Hump up the pole, harness in, do the job, climb down… I’d seen it done. Knew what was happening. Had never done it before. I liked it.

When the Super told me to do it again, I said I wanted Journeyman’s pay for Journeyman’s work.

I became a Journeyman. I was the guy that climbed the poles. Drove the big truck. Told the labourers what to do. I’d only been at it all for a short while.

My first on-the-job promotion… Not because I was skilled and magnificent. More like it, because anyone with any skills and any brains had worked all summer and didn’t need a job in such foul conditions. Nooooo…. they were sitting home, warm n toasty. It was the fools who’d lived a glorious summer on two wheelz, chased girls, living in a tent, not worried about tomorrow that ended up working in the freezing cold.

Competition for promotion (or even the job) was minimal. I climbed the “ladder” / pole quickly.

My friend, Jan, had given me a union-suit for Cmas. It was mostly a joke, but very welcome. They did not come cheap and were a great tool to possess working outdoors in the Iowa winter.

It was on the Iowa/ Missouri border that I learned how evil the union-suit could be. What do you do when you just shat in the 2nd Layer of your 6 layer outfit? 1 was undies and long sleeve shirt. 2 was the union-suit. 3 was a general pair of long-johns, legs an upper. 4 was jeans with a thick flannel shirt with a hooded sweatshirt. 5 was full-body insulated coveralls. 6 was a waist length fur lined parka. I wore a pair of wool (army) glove liners with a monster pair of 3-finger fur lined mits. And a thick wool navy surplus watch cap. I wore 2 pair of thick wool socks with my “line-mans boots”.

I was always cold.

So, what do you do when… We know it’s going to be funny. Laughable. And sad. A grown man shitting in his drawers is funny and laughable and very sad. What do you do… when…

There are many variables. Location, nearness to amenities, distance to home and clean clothes, sooo many variables… who is watching… Once you have made the “mistake”, had your “accident”, it all must be managed. It’s all past tense.

I do have my sad, and un-tellable tale. About the time I filled my union suit in the most inopportune situation. I managed it all then, just like today…

I like to visit a local baker, in our small village. I have a coffee with one of their apple turnovers. The apple pastry reminds me of my mother’s baking. I must have a bad memory because a while back I took Gracie in for a coffee and turnover, she said it wasn’t very nice.

Must be the dim memory of moms baking that takes me back time and again.

Normally, when placing my order, I get asked if I want cream on my turnover. I always say no. Today I got one “with”. Without requesting it. A nice flaky piece of pastry… with about a pound of creme. 500grams, half a kilo (I do exaggerate) of thick, rich, sugary creme.

At first I considered my self perversely lucky. I quickly regretted it… the heavy dairy, the extra sugar, not what I normally consume. The ill feeling started as I did my shopping. The ill feeling stayed… For maybe a couple hours… I drove home…. did what I needed to do. All was kinda OK… but…

My son, Paul, is working on the farm with me. Lots of rain = lots of mowing. Paul was mowing while I was in town…

The rains are coming (again) so we’re putting the machines away… thats when it started… spasms, reflex, mitigation… then a strange infant like warm satisfaction… Yep… first instinct is to look to see who is watching… I wasn’t far from amenities and clean up, it wasn’t a catastrophe. All was managed without too much hassle… And I got the memory spawning event.

All ways and always good.

More later