I enjoyed taking pictures of the squirrel that came to feast on the bird seed right outside my living room window. Amazed at the joy of fluttering birds, occasional rabbit and of course the squirrel..... The deer are looking - watching.
Smiley of the day!
"Why did the coach go to the bank?
To get his quarterback"
My story continues....
******
And then there was George. George was a hero in Pauingassi.
Because he spent time in prison, he was worldly wise, spoke fluent English, gained weight and wanted to go back to continue his education. He loved his drinking, often making his own home brew.
Like everyone in the community he was always eager for his welfare cheque. On the last day of the month when the mail came in he was lining up in the store early in the morning with others to pick up his cheque.
By the time he got to the counter I already knew, having gone through the pile that his check had not arrived. I knew he’d be disappointed, so in the friendliest manner possible I apologized, letting him know there was no letter for him on this day.
He was surprised saying he’d been told that it was supposed to come today and that it should be in the bag.
Without hesitation I went back to the postal bag laying on the counter and rummaged through it in front of him, of course not finding the letter he was wishing for. Never the less he accused me of hiding it from him!
Now warning bells began to ring in my head as I carefully explained that there was no reason for me to hide anything from him and that maybe would come next time - next day! He left accusing me of hiding it on purpose and would come back later!
This was not good, and his promise continued echoing through my mind all day!
Sure enough, that evening just as I was closing up after everyone had left he showed up, staggered in, demanding his mail. It was easy to see that he had gotten into his home brew and that he was now both drunk and angry! A combination I knew could only lead to trouble.
I was being very careful as we basically went through the same dialogue we’d had earlier in the day. But this time it just got him more upset.
Finally, he’d had enough. He surprised me by clumsily going to his belt and pulling a filleting knife out of it's sheath then grabbing me by my shirt and holding the knife to my throat, demanding his letter!
“That’s a very sharp knife!” my mind went racing as I tried to stay very still. “That thing will cut into me very easily I thought! Is this my time to die? Here in this place? What will he do to Wilma and Candace if he kills me here? Lord, I need someone, anyone to walk into this store right now...."
On the outside I was trying hard to look calm, like it was just another day.
Meanwhile, he was shaking me with his fistful of my shirt, yelling for me to get his letter NOW!
Muscles tense trying to stay as immobile as possible, my face angled, feeling the cold steel on my neck, I heard myself saying, “Hey, you can look for it yourself George, the bags right there, why don’t you take it and check it yourself?” I pointed at the bag, hoping against hope he’d do just that and put the knife down!
Meanwhile as I glanced down momentarily, I could see that the straps of the bag were just in reach, I stretched out my arm, grabbed the strap and pulled, sliding the bag between us.
He went for the bag, removing the knife from my neck, basically throwing it aside onto the counter. Relief washed over me as I make a mental note of where the knife slid to a stop.
George, completely absorbed with the bag of mail, gave me time to make my move. I grabbed the bottom of the bag and dumped everything on the counter in front of him. “There’s all of it!” I said.
In doing so I placed the bag, as casually and carelessly as possible, on top of his knife laying on the counter! A sleight of hand maneuver – something I had learned when I had worked at becoming an amateur magician.
I kept talking and pushing the bag and the knife under it out of the way – as I spread out the mail with my other hand! This is called “misdirection” another part of the any magic trick!
All the while talking as he’s shuffling through the mail.
We worked together there for a few moments, but I knew he wasn’t going to find it, then what? I needed a plan.
My mind went through the process, I’d have to somehow move from behind the counter, get past him, go through the short hallway and out the door to safety!
The fact that the knife was now invisible gave me courage.
I began dividing the mail into piles as I slowly inched my way around the counter to his side. He didn’t even notice.
Then when I was on his side of the counter, I told him “Here’s the rest of the mail to check. I have to go - just close the door when you find it!”
My back was tingling as I moved down the hallway! Then I heard him talking to himself, “Where’s my knife? Where’s my knife?”
I glanced back, watching him patting the empty knife sheath at his belt and pockets.
I quickly moved through the door, turning to close it gently.
Then, I released all my pent-up energy and ran for my life!
I ran in the direction of the community’s counselor’s house. It wasn’t long before I noticed George was running after me, cussing and yelling, stumbling through the snow.
Once inside the chief counselor’s house, I explained quickly what had happened. George stumbled into the house behind me and that’s when I realized he was part of their family. He was their son!
George was angry and violent and none of them tried to stop him. The mother tried but he hit her so hard she was incapacitated. The father didn’t even try – except to talk him down in Cree which I didn’t understand - and it wasn't working.
Meanwhile George started to go after me – trying to hit me. I had no trouble avoiding George’s boxing moves on me! Fortunately, he was both drunk and tired so I survived relatively unscathed.
Meanwhile, the community missionary Jake Funk came walking into the door coming for a prayer meeting scheduled for that night! Totally unaware, he walked towards George expecting a normal handshake greeting! Instead, he got a solid punch right into his solar-plexus, his Bible and notes flying into the air! The whole thing began to look like a slap stick comedy show.
Jake recovered quickly. Then the father and him decided we would take George back to his own cabin. So Jake and I left with George still angry and drunk, falling in the snow, getting up, cussing and angry.
George didn’t go willingly and was still trying to fight us all the way. He’d slow down, rest a bit and then take a run at one of us. He was so out of it by now that when he came at me, I just crouched and he’d just fall over me into the snow.
Finally, we got to his cabin and we went in; George first, Jake following him and me next. Jake following him suddenly yelled “Cliff stop!” as he lunged at George pushing him into the main area of the cabin. I stopped immediately only to see a pair of ice skate blades flash past my face hitting Jake in the seat of his pants!
Apparently, George had grabbed a pair of skates hanging on a nail in the narrow hallway and had wanted to use them as a knife to slice us if he could. Jake might have saved my life in that instant, It left me shaken.
Once all of us were in the cabin, George just went to his bed, sat down and wept. Jake, who had come to know him over the years went over to him and ended up getting him to lie down. In a few minutes George was asleep.
The problem was – George’s knife attack happened just before freeze up so that no planes could land in for weeks. Even though we reported the incident to the police via shortwave radio communication there was no way for police to come in and do an investigation or arrest George or even reprimand him for weeks!
So we lived in fear of George for about three weeks, waiting. And he did try to attack us again.
One evening late at night he tried to bash down the front door of our cabin we lived in.
He back off about 10 or so feet from our door and run at our door trying to bash it in. Inside Wilma and I were bracing it with boards and our bodies – feeling each violent thud. Because he was drunk again he did not have the actual skill to knock it down.
Prior to this, we had been given a two week stress leave a few months after the slush incident, but had returned to Pauingassi with a new resolved to make it work. All of that quickly disappeared with the George incident.
Being held up by knife point and then being threatened in our own house - was the last straw.
After that, we were done – we resigned in absolute defeat and moved out of Pauingassi a short time later when the ice had melted!
Smiley of the day!
"Why did the coach go to the bank?
To get his quarterback"
My story continues....
******
And then there was George. George was a hero in Pauingassi.
Because he spent time in prison, he was worldly wise, spoke fluent English, gained weight and wanted to go back to continue his education. He loved his drinking, often making his own home brew.
Like everyone in the community he was always eager for his welfare cheque. On the last day of the month when the mail came in he was lining up in the store early in the morning with others to pick up his cheque.
By the time he got to the counter I already knew, having gone through the pile that his check had not arrived. I knew he’d be disappointed, so in the friendliest manner possible I apologized, letting him know there was no letter for him on this day.
He was surprised saying he’d been told that it was supposed to come today and that it should be in the bag.
Without hesitation I went back to the postal bag laying on the counter and rummaged through it in front of him, of course not finding the letter he was wishing for. Never the less he accused me of hiding it from him!
Now warning bells began to ring in my head as I carefully explained that there was no reason for me to hide anything from him and that maybe would come next time - next day! He left accusing me of hiding it on purpose and would come back later!
This was not good, and his promise continued echoing through my mind all day!
Sure enough, that evening just as I was closing up after everyone had left he showed up, staggered in, demanding his mail. It was easy to see that he had gotten into his home brew and that he was now both drunk and angry! A combination I knew could only lead to trouble.
I was being very careful as we basically went through the same dialogue we’d had earlier in the day. But this time it just got him more upset.
Finally, he’d had enough. He surprised me by clumsily going to his belt and pulling a filleting knife out of it's sheath then grabbing me by my shirt and holding the knife to my throat, demanding his letter!
“That’s a very sharp knife!” my mind went racing as I tried to stay very still. “That thing will cut into me very easily I thought! Is this my time to die? Here in this place? What will he do to Wilma and Candace if he kills me here? Lord, I need someone, anyone to walk into this store right now...."
On the outside I was trying hard to look calm, like it was just another day.
Meanwhile, he was shaking me with his fistful of my shirt, yelling for me to get his letter NOW!
Muscles tense trying to stay as immobile as possible, my face angled, feeling the cold steel on my neck, I heard myself saying, “Hey, you can look for it yourself George, the bags right there, why don’t you take it and check it yourself?” I pointed at the bag, hoping against hope he’d do just that and put the knife down!
Meanwhile as I glanced down momentarily, I could see that the straps of the bag were just in reach, I stretched out my arm, grabbed the strap and pulled, sliding the bag between us.
He went for the bag, removing the knife from my neck, basically throwing it aside onto the counter. Relief washed over me as I make a mental note of where the knife slid to a stop.
George, completely absorbed with the bag of mail, gave me time to make my move. I grabbed the bottom of the bag and dumped everything on the counter in front of him. “There’s all of it!” I said.
In doing so I placed the bag, as casually and carelessly as possible, on top of his knife laying on the counter! A sleight of hand maneuver – something I had learned when I had worked at becoming an amateur magician.
I kept talking and pushing the bag and the knife under it out of the way – as I spread out the mail with my other hand! This is called “misdirection” another part of the any magic trick!
All the while talking as he’s shuffling through the mail.
We worked together there for a few moments, but I knew he wasn’t going to find it, then what? I needed a plan.
My mind went through the process, I’d have to somehow move from behind the counter, get past him, go through the short hallway and out the door to safety!
The fact that the knife was now invisible gave me courage.
I began dividing the mail into piles as I slowly inched my way around the counter to his side. He didn’t even notice.
Then when I was on his side of the counter, I told him “Here’s the rest of the mail to check. I have to go - just close the door when you find it!”
My back was tingling as I moved down the hallway! Then I heard him talking to himself, “Where’s my knife? Where’s my knife?”
I glanced back, watching him patting the empty knife sheath at his belt and pockets.
I quickly moved through the door, turning to close it gently.
Then, I released all my pent-up energy and ran for my life!
I ran in the direction of the community’s counselor’s house. It wasn’t long before I noticed George was running after me, cussing and yelling, stumbling through the snow.
Once inside the chief counselor’s house, I explained quickly what had happened. George stumbled into the house behind me and that’s when I realized he was part of their family. He was their son!
George was angry and violent and none of them tried to stop him. The mother tried but he hit her so hard she was incapacitated. The father didn’t even try – except to talk him down in Cree which I didn’t understand - and it wasn't working.
Meanwhile George started to go after me – trying to hit me. I had no trouble avoiding George’s boxing moves on me! Fortunately, he was both drunk and tired so I survived relatively unscathed.
Meanwhile, the community missionary Jake Funk came walking into the door coming for a prayer meeting scheduled for that night! Totally unaware, he walked towards George expecting a normal handshake greeting! Instead, he got a solid punch right into his solar-plexus, his Bible and notes flying into the air! The whole thing began to look like a slap stick comedy show.
Jake recovered quickly. Then the father and him decided we would take George back to his own cabin. So Jake and I left with George still angry and drunk, falling in the snow, getting up, cussing and angry.
George didn’t go willingly and was still trying to fight us all the way. He’d slow down, rest a bit and then take a run at one of us. He was so out of it by now that when he came at me, I just crouched and he’d just fall over me into the snow.
Finally, we got to his cabin and we went in; George first, Jake following him and me next. Jake following him suddenly yelled “Cliff stop!” as he lunged at George pushing him into the main area of the cabin. I stopped immediately only to see a pair of ice skate blades flash past my face hitting Jake in the seat of his pants!
Apparently, George had grabbed a pair of skates hanging on a nail in the narrow hallway and had wanted to use them as a knife to slice us if he could. Jake might have saved my life in that instant, It left me shaken.
Once all of us were in the cabin, George just went to his bed, sat down and wept. Jake, who had come to know him over the years went over to him and ended up getting him to lie down. In a few minutes George was asleep.
The problem was – George’s knife attack happened just before freeze up so that no planes could land in for weeks. Even though we reported the incident to the police via shortwave radio communication there was no way for police to come in and do an investigation or arrest George or even reprimand him for weeks!
So we lived in fear of George for about three weeks, waiting. And he did try to attack us again.
One evening late at night he tried to bash down the front door of our cabin we lived in.
He back off about 10 or so feet from our door and run at our door trying to bash it in. Inside Wilma and I were bracing it with boards and our bodies – feeling each violent thud. Because he was drunk again he did not have the actual skill to knock it down.
Prior to this, we had been given a two week stress leave a few months after the slush incident, but had returned to Pauingassi with a new resolved to make it work. All of that quickly disappeared with the George incident.
Being held up by knife point and then being threatened in our own house - was the last straw.
After that, we were done – we resigned in absolute defeat and moved out of Pauingassi a short time later when the ice had melted!
"The mass of men lead lives
of quiet desperation."
Henry David Thoreau
of quiet desperation."
Henry David Thoreau
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