I Am Lucius van Dyke III

Phwap. A snowball glanced off the back of my head. I turned around to see Molly standing with another snowball in hand ready to throw. Thwack. She hit me in the center of the chest.

“Oh,” I said, “so that’s how you’re going to be?”

I grabbed some snow from the pile alongside the driveway and quickly packed a snowball and threw it towards Molly who was now running and giggling her way across the front yard. Swish. I missed her completely. Read the rest of this entry »

please note: this entry is a continuation of the December 12, 2005 storyline (click for link). The entries in between now and then should be disregarded for now. They may show up again in the future. This is a work in progress and readers will see some editing happening as I discover the story right along with you.

“What the hell was that?” asked Noel.

“Some bum. Wanted a buck,” I said as I tossed the pack of Sixlets to Noel who was laying on the air mattress on the floor, our sole piece of furniture.

I laid down next to Noel and turned on our thirteen inch black and white TV with the vertical hold problem. I gave the television a good whack on the right side and the picture of news anchor Paul Moyer stabilized. Read the rest of this entry »

This post is not currently part of the “I am Lucius van Dyke story,” but is being retained for archival purposes. If you are following the story through-line, you should jump forward to this link: Off to work

My father pulled the new to us Chevy Impala up next to the table where my mother, Scooter, and I were enjoying our ice cream. He rolled down the window.

“Let’s go for a ride down to Tomahawk.”

My brother and I cheered at the idea, we loved going down to Tomahawk Lake. My grandmother, Margaret Noonan Van Dyke, had been talked into buying property there in a visit the lake, get a free television, no commitment necessary deals. It was a small lot, on a steep hill, that was not a very good location for building. But, it entitled us to enter the otherwise private lake. Read the rest of this entry »

This post is not currently part of the “I am Lucius van Dyke story,” but is being retained for archival purposes. If you are following the story through-line, you should jump forward to this link: Off to work

Scooter and I sat on the couch nibbling at the sugar cookies as Mrs. Baker sat sipping tea while admiring the shrine to her son, purveyor of Ricky Baker’s Auto Action.

“Ricky sold a car to Tip O’Neil yesterday boys. Imagine, my little Ricky selling a car to the Speaker of the House himself,” said Mrs. Baker.

Scooter and I rolled our eyes. The likelihood of Mr. O’Neil visiting Youngstown let alone buying a car from Ricky Baker was infinitesimally small. Read the rest of this entry »

“That’s too bad, hun,” said Carnal Carrie.
“Yep,” I said, taking another swig of my drink.

The three of us sat in silence watching the smoke rise from Carrie’s cigarette. An elderly man poked at a video card game back in the corner as the beer cooler wheezed and rasped. Read the rest of this entry »

While the busload of us were waiting for the police to arrive, Gary made everyone all kinds of balloon animals. I got a giraffe and Noel got a particularly fetching dachshund made from a blue and white striped balloon. The cops got a really good chuckle out of seeing greasy little Stevie writhing on the floor, tied up with a clown’s trick handkerchiefs. They hauled little Stevie out of the bus and into the back of their Crown Vic. Finally, we were back on the road.

We rolled into Vegas at about two in the morning, past the bright lights of the casinos, past the late night wedding chapels, and on in to the Greyhound bus station. Read the rest of this entry »

My father, Lucius Van Dyke II, took my brother Scooter and I fishing once. Scooter’s name wasn’t really Scooter, of course, it was Peter. He was christened with that unfortunate nickname due to a childhood malady that for a time left him with what my mother called “the scoots.”

My father woke us early. He stumbled into the bedroom and flicked on the light.

“C’mon boys, we’re going fishing.” Read the rest of this entry »