One Photo: One Story; Moe's Hole.
Moe was family. He was my Dad’s best
friend. He knew us all, he was my sister’s godfather, and
my grandmother loved him like a son. He called her “Ma”.
He was always at our home. My Dad and Moe were union
brothers in the Brotherhood of Railroad Signalmen.
Several times a month they would sit and talk at the
kitchen table. Moe would grab two beers, hand one
to my Dad and they would talk all night.
They dialogued about one thing - union strategy.
They talked union benefits, negotiations,
medical insurance and saving jobs for the guys who would
do stupid things like fire a gun at work. They would talk
for hours and agree and disagree. Moe would smoke and they
would drink beer and the hours would fly by.
In every home we ever lived, wherever Moe sat, he burned
cigarette holes in my mother’s tablecloths. My Grandmother
always sat where Moe’s Hole
was. When mom would call us for dinner, Nana would
shuffle out and ask, “Where do I sit, Marie?”
“Just sit by Moe’s Hole”, she’d yell. There was a Moe’s
Hole in every plastic, lace, and Irish Linen tablecloth my
Mother owned.
Every family dinner, birthday, holiday and important
family meeting was around Moe’s Hole.
Moe and my Father were philosophers of railroad business.
They were hard working men, serious about railroading and
protecting the working man.
Someone once said to Moe, “You guys sure
talk a lot about railroad stuff, but do you ever talk about
important stuff like girls?” To which he answered, “Why
would we do something like that?”
Moe called my Dad, “Willie”. It always sounded like
“WOOLLEY”.
Once they got into a loud argument. It got louder and
louder until Moe said something that became legendary in my
house.
We where all gathered in front of the TV just before our
bedtime. When Moe shouted, “You’re a Liar,
Woolley, A God Damned Liar.” Moe had just broken the circle
of trust.
We sat in front of the TV stunned.
Waiting to see what my Father would do or say, we sat.
It seemed like forever.
My Father’s hurt response came from
the kitchen. “Get out of my house, Moe. I don’t lie and you
need to leave my home. Get out of my house Moe.”
Moe knew my Dad and he left quietly. He wished a polite
goodbye to my Mother, said goodnight to us kids and left.
My father never remained angry for long. If you could
handle the initial loud bombastic, foot stomping, song and
dance, you’d be okay. Moe was okay.
A few days later he was back arguing with my Dad and
drinking beer. He was forgiven and perhaps misunderstood.
They were like brothers and soon they were
laughing and slapping each other on the back.
Moe was a lot of laughs. What happened
next became a legendary story in my house.
My Father and Moe drank beer and argued for a few more
hours. Moe not only burned holes in all of the tablecloths,
he urinated wherever he felt the need.
Maybe he just couldn’t hold it.
On that same day, My Dad had a carpenter coming to give him
an estimate on work he was doing in our attic. Moe took it
as his cue to go home.
He said goodbye and walked outside,
opened the door to his car and proceeded to urinate right
there on the street. In between his open door and the front
seat of his car, he peed and peed and peed leaving a large
puddle on the ground. He pulled up his zipper, said,
“Goodbye Woolley”, got in his car and drove off.
Minutes later the carpenter pulled up in
front of our house. His van was parked exactly where the
puddle was. The carpenter did his measurements and
gave my Father an estimate.
He walked from the house and up to van and noticed a puddle
under the front end. He may have been expecting
antifreeze, oil, water or gasoline. He bent down, put his
finger in the puddle, looked at it and dabbed it on his
tongue.
He shot up spitting. “What the hell is that? It tastes like
piss”!
Dad calmly answered, “Piss, that would be piss.
Don’t touch it”.
Classic Moe.
Moe left us a few years back and we miss him
very much. I know Dad does and the legend of Moe’s Hole
lives with us forever.
