Hal Dygert, Writer
Several of Ray’s more prosperous friends frequent one of Portland’s better restaurants. Ray, as is the case now and again, joins them on a winter evening. He is tasked with tasting the well-reviewed red they’ve selected from the wine list. The sommelier uncorks the bottle and pours a taste which Ray approves. The sommelier wonders whether, pending service of the gentlemen’s entrees, he should leave the wine to breathe. Ray fields the question. No, he…
Sports-wise, Ray is all football. He pictures himself a quarterback like Roman Gabriel who pilots his favorite team, the Los Angeles Rams, and throws the long bomb. The seventh-grade school year nears its end. Coach Schierman diagrams a dozen plays on two mimeo stencils and hands reproduced copies to next year’s prospects. Ray recruits Larry to help him practice plays. He favors two: the long bomb and the quarterback keeper. In the fall Ray suits…
Larry and Ray, needing lunch, found themselves at McDonalds, a lazy choice that Larry soon regretted. The lights hurt his eyes. He felt the clown’s ominous presence. The more he searched the menu for a bargain, the more confused he became. An older woman, in uniform, surely somebody’s grandmother, approached the counter. “May I take your order?” Larry felt as if he had waded into a swift-flowing stream, into current, out of his depth. He…
Walker Percy won the National Book Award for The Moviegoer originally published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1961. It concerns a young New Orleanian at existential loose ends who finds solace in going to the movies. Percy subsequently published five more novels, none as polished or successful in sustaining a mood as the first. For more than fifty years Stanley Kaufmann reviewed movies for The New Republic. I remembered him as the critic who never…
From our kayak, we monitor a man fishing, seemingly without success, from a pontoon boat on the north side of the lake. He is at the ramp packing up his gear when we arrive. It seems the two of us are alone when he asks, “What catches ‘em here?” “Worms!” The emphatic answer rattles the side of a Porta-Potty set back in the trees. We look about, puzzled. No third vehicle. No fishing gear laying…
Ray is driving at night when an opossum waddles out in front of his car. Ray slams on the brakes.
Ray’s mother is seeing a man who sometimes takes her away for the weekend. Into the vacuum rush friends, friends of friends, and beer by the case.
Heck Harper hosted an afternoon cartoon show on Portland TV. He wore full cowboy regalia, yet his habitual reserve brought to mind the phrase, “Still waters run deep.” He was Larry’s favorite, Mr. Moon a distant second.
