Hangin' with the Dummies

Somewhere in the 1970s, my dad and a few of his friends were christened Dummies. They had been out clamming on a dark January afternoon (with the help of blackberry brandy to maintain circulation to the extremeties), and the wife of one of these guys called them Dummy No. 1, Dummy No. 2, Dummy No. 3, and Dummy No. 4 upon their return to her warm kitchen in Norwalk. The name stuck. Dad was second through the door, so he is Dummy No. 2.

Dummy No. 1 was the man of the house and a character beyond compare. The adventures of the Dummies figured large in our social life at the time. I think the carefree spirit of these men and their disinterest in and disregard for anything but exactly what they were doing--boating, fishing, eating, sitting around a campfire, laughing out loud--went a long way in teaching me to go my own road in life.

The Dummy camping trips rate high among my childhood memories. Part of the pleasure of the adventure was Mr. D's devil-may-care attitude--thought it would be more accurate to say the devil-may-care-to-join-us (and if he does, give him a beer) attitude.

In his company, everything was funny--tents that didn't want to stand up, motorboats that beached at low tide, strandings on sand bars...Mr. D. taught us how to float around on a Sunfish, how to catch shiners for bait, how to go crabbing, how to live off the land and sea for exactly three hours, how to make up outlandish stories around a campfire and make them last for years. He saw the humor in everything and he'd laugh out loud even if--or especially to--wound our pride. He was essential to a good time.

He and my dad loved Long Island Sound. We enjoyed a tremendous sense of freedom skimming the top of that old grey water in our motorboats. The noise was deafening, but the feeling of being part of that great body of water was a feeling of combined freedom and safety because it was wide open but we were very much at home there. Being on the water was everything. Somewhere along the way I learned that catching fish when you go fishing isn't everything and it might not even be desirable because then you had to do something with the fish

But we caught fish--mackeral, flounder, and blue. And we caught snappers by the dozen with our bamboo poles, and we ate them off our campfire. And we stank of smoke and salt and sweat at the end of every good day.

Mr. D. was a cameraman, too. He had a way of taking pictures that made people feel very good in the way that it feels good when somone cares enough about you to want your picture. He always had that camera. I take my camera just about everywhere, too, and I think I'm beginning to understand something people with cameras share. That is a love of the story, a certain belief that every story is worthwhile, and that if you look for the beauty in it, you will find it. Or it will find you because you want it. That goodness is not to be trifled with but embraced.

Mr. D. is receiving Hospice care now, and this makes me very angry. Mr. D. should live forever. The world needs this man who loosens everyone up, says "relax" in a way that makes you laugh out loud, and who will try anything just because--just because why not?

If you go looking for fun, you'll find it. And you'll live well, somehow. Every Dummy knows that.

Thank you, Mr. D.