Ted's Tales Two

Ted’s Tales Two

Ted Delgrosso

Copyright © 2023, Theodore Delgrosso

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written consent of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-962624-15-2

Dedication

To my family, my reason for everything.

Preface

Tell Me A Story

It all started when I was a little boy.

When my parents brought my younger brother Jimmy and me to our grandparents’ house in western New Jersey, we would all enjoy the day or the weekend in a much different way than at home. They lived in a rural setting with more woods and fields than neighbors, and this allowed Jimmy and I to experience nature much more than in our own grassy backyard. Exploring our grandparents’ two-acre property gave us much insight into the natural world.

And it did not end there. During the afternoon, especially if rain kept us inside, we would ask our grandfather to tell us a story, and he did. My brother and I would sit on the floor in front of his chair as he would tell his tales. Grandpa would always start out by pointing to something in the living room where we all sat or refer to something else in a house filled with interesting things.

There was an antelope display on the wall above the television set. In one of his first stories to us, Grandpa spoke of his trip to Wyoming one year in the 1950s when he and two friends took a guided hunt for the fast-running animal, of how he had practiced long-range shooting for weeks before they left and how he learned the hard way how good an antelope’s vision is. Success came after two failed attempts to get within range, but in the end, he prevailed.

The tell me a story part of the many visits to our grandparents’ house had a huge influence on me as I grew older. Early on, as our parents were driving us home, I even asked Dad, who was a fireman, and Mom, who was the homemaker for our family, to share their stories. Most of the time, we would hear interesting tales of their lives, how they thought about things, and the experiences they had.

Mom told us about her labor of love as she prepared for Thanksgiving, a very big deal in our house. We were not allowed in the dining room from Monday to Thanksgiving Day, and we never knew why until Mom told us her tale. She explained everything, from cleaning the room from floor to ceiling, taking the fancy serving set out of the hutch, doing all the cooking and preparation all the way through to the five separate sittings at the table on Thanksgiving itself.

As I went through my teen years, I tried to make it a point to ask people I encountered to tell me a story, anything they wanted. Most who did so told their tales in unorganized, choppy ways, and I had to think a lot to get the meaning of what they were saying. Some, however, displayed well-organized, well-sequenced orations filled with details and actions that made their stories come alive and were quite interesting.

And so, as I decided to become a storyteller myself, I followed the best examples I had heard from others. I thought about what I wanted to say, organized a logical progression, and practiced telling the stories out loud to myself and to captive audiences like our cat Jingles (no feedback there). Jimmy suffered through many of my rehearsals but did give me an opportunity to refine my craft. At first, when my parents heard me wandering around the house mumbling to myself, they thought I was crazy, but then approved once I explained the what and the why.

As for the why, while in the Boy Scouts, my troop did a lot of camping, and I had many opportunities to peddle my wares around the campfire at night. This expanded to party situations and any time I was with others waiting for something or other. I would usually invite someone else to tell a story first and then take my turn. I learned that storytelling is an art form with a rich history. It must be learned, improved upon, rehearsed, and, above all else, enjoyed. The joy in telling often allows an audience some level of joy in listening. I have found this art to be a device that serves to bring friends and even strangers together in a positive way, if only for a few minutes. It is a good thing.

Now that I am more of a writer, I try to bring all these storytelling factors to my written work. Besides telling stories, I have been writing stories for many years and am now a published author. Writing does not allow any do-overs as the reader reads the piece, so all the elements need to be in place once the final rewrite is submitted. A different challenge for sure, but one I embrace with all my heart.

Table Of Contents

Dedication

Preface

Part One: Contemporary Fiction

Close Call

Tall

Interview: Fireman

Blown Away

The Competition

Right Off the Bat

The Man at the Door

Proceed and Persist

Pheasanting

Today’s the Day

Sniper Thoughts

Full Circle

Swim Call

Cousins

Porch Chair

Part Two:

Traveling Through Torrey Pines

The Rock

The White Lady

Felony Stop

Yearbook

Sharing

The Offer

Our Blue Book

Skin

Henry Oak

Charon’s Surprise

Hi Mickey!

Swimming on Ence

Uptown Girl

The Carnival

Acknowledgment

About the Author

Part One:

Contemporary Fiction

Close Call

My cousin Raymond lives in a cabin up in Maine, not far from Long Pond, a remote lake in the middle of a vast forest. He is part of a small community that values independence above all other things. He lives a simple life but is quite happy with it.

While visiting with Ray last summer, I had an occasion where I took a hike along one of the trails that passed by his property. Ray couldn’t join me that day but made sure I armed myself with a handgun before I departed. We mapped out the area, and he told me my hike would take about three hours. I left after breakfast.

Walking through the woods in Maine is a lot different than the hikes I was used to taking in New Jersey. There, you were never too far from civilization in case of an emergency, as the state is densely populated, even in the outlying areas. But here, in Maine, it is true wilderness. And the wildlife up here is a lot more unpredictable. Coyotes, black bears, and even wolves roam here, hence the firearm.

After about an hour on the trail, I broke the cover of the woods and found myself on a lakefront beach. It was a clearing just off Long Pond that was mostly sandy soil and loose rocks. Several pieces of driftwood lay about, and I saw an old fisherman’s net entangled in one of them. It looked like it had been there for some time since part of it was buried in the sand.

It was then I noticed a movement in the net. As I approached, I discovered a small dog, not more than a puppy, caught up in the net. It was hopelessly ensnared and, from its weak motion, was near exhaustion. Getting closer, I saw that this was not a domesticated dog. Its fur was rough and matted. It had no collar and looked wild. It looked mostly like a German Shepherd with a bit of Pit Bull mixed in. When it noticed me, the puppy showed its teeth and tried to growl, but I felt pity rather than fear.

I squatted down next to the puppy, careful to approach it from the rear to avoid its teeth, and saw that part of the net had cut into his left ear, deep enough to cause bleeding, though now dried up. I therefore named the puppy Clefty in my mind.

I took out my knife and, moving slowly, started to cut through the netting that had entangled Clefty’s rear legs. Though the netting parted quickly, I took my time as I wanted to ensure that it did not appear threatening. Clefty was a bit restless at first but soon relaxed and settled down.

Finally, I reached the point where I had to clear the area around his head. Here, the netting was at its worst as it was layered quite thickly around Clefty’s head. Poor dog. He must have struggled for some time, only to get more and more entangled. I moved slowly, from the back, to both avoid his teeth and to also be careful not to cut my new friend. Clefty seemed to know somehow that I meant no harm and remained still as I worked. I was especially careful around his eyes and snout, and the last thing I did was lift the net out of his injured ear.

Finally free, the puppy stood up and slowly started to walk toward the woods, shaky on his feet.

It was only then that I noticed what had to be Clefty’s mother. It was a full-grown version of the puppy itself, with mangy hair, long ears, and that same feral look. Next to her were two other puppies, most likely Clefty’s siblings. But what I noticed most of all were her eyes, fixed on me. I realized she had been watching me the entire time from when I first came onto the lakeshore, just watching.

I stood up very slowly at this point and backed up a step, keeping my eyes steady on hers. Clefty, during this time, was slowly making his way back to the mother. Her eyes quickly looked at him, only to snap back to me less than a second later.

Then I saw another adult dog in the woods, behind and off to the side, closer to me than the mother. A quick scan revealed two others in the woods, now forming a crescent around me. I realized then that I was in a bit of trouble, surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. There were probably other members of the pack that I had not seen, and they were all now focused on me.

I was terrified but knew I couldn’t show it. At this point, as I looked back at the mother, I saw that Clefty had just about reached her. She stepped forward and lowered her head toward the pup. She gave Clefty a few short licks, then raised her head and once again looked at me. I remained frozen, knife still in hand and gun still at my hip, but I had no idea what was coming.

The mother continued to look at me and started a slow walk toward me along the sand. I knew that running away or even stepping back again would trigger a chase response, so I just remained still even as she continued her approach.

What happened next was amazing. The mother, a hulking wild dog that must have weighed nearly a hundred pounds, came within five feet of me. In desperation, I stuck my left hand out toward her, the one without the knife, and offered it to her, fingers down, half expecting it to be bitten. But instead, she slowly closed the remaining space between us and licked my hand, not once but twice. Her eyes then held mine for a moment, and then, very quickly, she turned and went back to her pups.

As startled by this as I was, I also felt enormous relief. It was clear that I had been thanked by a feral dog, probably the alpha of a pack of wild dogs. The fact that this had happened, as opposed to me being torn to shreds, was a miracle. And I was grateful.

But just as I was celebrating, the final act took place. The mother, after moving her three pups back into the woods, started to follow them. But before the mother herself disappeared into the thickets, she turned once more to me, and as our eyes met for the last time, she bared her teeth and growled at me in a threatening manner. Then she was gone, and as I looked around, all the other dogs departed as well.

Walking back to the cabin, my hike now over, I considered all that had happened. I could have fired the pistol into the air in the hope that it may have scared the dogs away. But, given the strong maternal instincts of the mother, it could have had the opposite effect, triggering aggression by the entire pack. That would have quickly overwhelmed any of my abilities. So, in a world of uncertainty, what actually occurred turned out to be the best outcome for all involved. The fact that my actions to save the puppy ended up saving my own life will never be lost on me. Kindness begets kindness, sometimes even across different species.

Tall

Land ho! shouted Genaro from the crow’s nest. Two points off the starboard bow. He had found an island, once again proving his value to the ship.

Genaro Mastroianni was a crewman on a ship in the days of wood and sail. He lived a better-than-average life in a coastal home just south of the wharves of San Francisco. His wife and children enjoyed a life of riches far beyond the average family of the day and even had a few servants to take care of their needs. This was all because Genaro had a special gift: his extraordinary eyesight. He could see clearer and further than most people and even bested some with a spyglass. This made him quite valuable to all of the sea captains, and there was great competition for his services as a lookout. As a result, he was always given an officer’s status on board a ship and a very large share of the ship’s profits.

On this particular cruise, Genaro was on the Marybelle, a three-masted clipper that had gone to the South Pacific to secure a cargo of vegetable oils, coconuts, and spices. Such journeys, though profitable in the end, were fraught with dangers. Violent storms at sea could sink a ship of the day very quickly. An attack at sea by ships of other nations or even pirates was a real possibility. However, the threat that challenged Marybelle at this time was the lack of critical supplies, water, and fresh fruits. Fresh water, in particular, was running low, and it became essential that they make landfall anywhere to replenish.

It wasn’t long before the ship lay at anchor offshore, and a small boat was launched. The boat carried seven men and a quantity of empty water barrels and burlap sacks. Each man was armed with a pistol and the makings of five shots, as it was known that many of these islands hosted hostile natives. Shortly after landing the boat, they quickly disappeared into the jungle that bordered the small, sandy beach.

Several hours passed before Genaro spotted a lone sailor as he stumbled back out of the forest, took a few steps onto the sand, and fell down face-first onto the beach. Genaro notified the captain, and shortly afterward, another boat was launched to rescue the man, this time with Genaro aboard.

When they finally got to Kacy, the fallen man, he was barely alive. As two others held him up to a sitting position, Genaro gave Kacy a drink of water and drew near to him as it became apparent Kacy was trying to speak. As Genaro put his ear close to the man’s mouth, he heard Kacy utter one word, tall, and then he fell over, dead. Since there was no sign of any other crewmen, the officer in charge ordered the sailors to recover the other boat and bring both back to