I remember sitting in my grandparent’s living room one day, grandpa was in his usual place in the oversized, avocado-green recliner, that nobody else had ever sat in. Even once. To have the full picture, you have to understand that grandpa was a giant man of pure Bohemian ancestry (don’t call him a Czech!), enormous strength, and a short fuse. He had both the gift for language and the essentially fatalistic world view of a people who have spent the past thousand years or so waiting for bad things to happen and then colorfully complaining about them when they did.
Grandpa was the grain elevator manager in town and as such he was better known than the mayor and held considerably more sway.
So there I was, sitting there reading Fins & Feathers and grandpa was watching the Twins game and they were trying to cling to a 3-2 lead in the 7th and there were 2 men on as the starting pitcher was replaced.
Suddenly, the ol’ RCA went “WHAP!” and a blue flash lit up the room. I looked up just in time to see a puff of smoke rise in a mini-mushroom cloud from the back of the RCA as the picture collapsed into a white dot and disappeared, leaving only the black screen.
“Grandpa, what happened?” I asked.
“How the hell should I know?” he replied. “The only thing I can tell you for sure is it’s going to take more than a gawddamned screwdriver to fix it.”
Then he yelled, “Helen! Call the priest and the appliance store. We need the last rites and new damned RCA and we need them both delivered NOW.”
I swear a half-hour did not pass before two men in coveralls appeared in their official van, entered the house, and reverently removed the dearly departed. They then emerged from the van with a brand new RCA console model and quickly positioned it and switched it on. All without making eye contact or speaking.
“Dammnit!” grandpa roared, making both Appliance Men jump. “You fellas took your sweet-ass time. The blessed game is over for chrissake!”
Grouse
