We finally get to where Pappy Fitzwizzle lives, where the bovines outnumber the people, and the smell of fertilizer is sometimes replaced by the smell of sulfur water. Yet something of a relief after hours of smelling my dad's wafting aftershave. Pappy always greets us on the front porch, saying, "Thought you'd never git here." Pappy has a way with words. The same way, the same words, over and over. Like every time he tells the story of why my dad growing up always had a clipped haircut. "So's he wouldn't stick to the fly strips. Always bumpin' into 'em and gettin' stuck to his head."
Pappy always musses up my hair and says, "How ya doin' young fella? Nice head a hair ya got there, not like your dad. Chasin' away the fillies yet? Or don'tcha like girls?" Yuk yuk. He offers some jelly beans, heaped up in a glass ashtray, all stuck together. "Got this new contraption. Called a VCR. Know what it does? It shows movies!"
Oh, boy. I can hardly contain my excitement. Like the time he showed us his other contraption, the microwave. "Know what it does? It heats up stuff!" Then he boiled a glass of water. That tickled him.
Sitting in front of Pappy's television console, which is about seven feet long with a nineteen-inch screen, is never a happy experience. Last time, I had to endure several episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. Longest three years of my life. What could it be this time? I was filled with dread, like before a dentist visit, or whenever Mom tries out a new recipe. No, Mom, pork chops with caramel sauce does not sound like a good idea.
This was all made worse by Pappy's obvious excitement. "Found this at a flea market," he said, holding up a VCR tape. "Although I never figgered out why it was called that. Can't buy no fleas there, and fleas don't shop there." I chuckled politely, hoping Pappy was trying to be funny. With him you never know.
"This sure was a good movie, sure worth the ten cents I paid for it. It starts off kinda ruff, with everybody talkin' funny. It throwed me at first, til I realized they was talkin' English. It's a picture called Deadly Strangers. Don't wanna tell ya no more, it might ruin it. But it sure is a pig snorter." I took this to mean a good thing.
In spite of his not wanting to tell us more, he continued. "Stars a gal called Haley Mills. Sure had quite a yen for her back in them days. Plucky, we called her. And cute as a baby possum. She was quite a worm tickler." I think I gathered his meaning. "Back in them days, you could go to the pictures, get yourself some popcorn, a Coke, maybe a big box o' Jujubes that'd yank out your molars. Those were the days. And all for four bits." Four bits of what? I wondered.
"And she's all growed up in this picture, if you know what I mean" he said, with a wink and another mussing of my beautiful hair. "But just wait til the ending, which I ain't gonna tell ya about."
Thanks, Pappy. Turns out, Deadly Strangers (1974) was made in England, which accounts for everybody talkin' funny, because, to us, they all have English accents. To Pappy, everyone in the movies should sound like Henry Fonda.
Briefly, two people (Haley Mills, Simon Ward) meet at a truck stop, and eventually decide to travel together, unaware (or are they?) there's a homicidal crazy person on the loose. There's a pretty good ending, but I don't know if I'd call it a pig snorter. And Haley Mills is awfully cute, and all growed up.
Funny thing, on the long ride home, I start doing some figgerin' in my head, and it turns out when Pappy is watching plucky little fourteen-year old Haley Mills
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| Haley Mills, all growed up. |
Ewwww.
