My Father the Failed Coyote

A beautiful day in Anchorage today.  Not going to last though...the clouds are already rolling-in and I see showers on the hillside.

Dad was in good spirits today. He sat-up for almost three hours and I wheeled him down to the atrium where he could enjoy the sun.  We did exercises.  He watched a Mariners vs. Yankees game while I read a book.  He was not happy with the outcome of today's game although he waxed enthusisastic about yesterday's game where the Mariners gave the hated Yanks a serious pounding.  Dad's two most hateful things in life at this point are the New York Yankees and a wrinkle on the sheets under his butt.

The ol' coot's mind is pretty good - although narcotics do throw him off his stride and if he is given a pain killer at night he has some mighty interesting observations the next day.  More on that shortly.

The tale I wish to tell, however, I believe to be a more-or-less accurate historical account.  And it is one I had never heard before.  He related it yesterday while undergoing physical therapy.  The young lady therapist was hugely amused. 

It seems that back in the 1930's dad, "Stick" Sturrock, and another gentleman whose name I had not heard before and have already forgotten took a trip to Tijuana, Mexico.  The unremembered gentleman had worked at the Alaska-Juneau mine for several years; but his home was Seattle and "Stick" and dad accompanied him home.  The gentleman had a car in Seattle and all three lads drove down the coast to San Diego.

From San Diego they took a cab to Tijuana.  Dad's eyes lit up at the recollection of the dance halls with their associated female hangers-on.  They danced 'till hell wouldn't have it.  And after an undisclosed period of time - hours days or weeks - they returned to San Diego.

However it seems that at least one of the dance hall babes had not had nearly enough of the young Alaskans and hitched along. Dad said they "couldn't get rid of her."  He did not elaborate as to whom the young lady was particularly attached and I did not press him on the subject.  In any event, the dance hall gal was unceremoniously ejected at the border by the authorities.  So endeth dad's brief career as a smuggler of undocumented aliens - I suspect the term "coyote" had not yet been invented.

By way of contrast, this morning when I walked into the hospital room he launched on his adventures of the previous night.  It seems that two nurses came into the room about 2:30 AM and took all the covers off of his bed.  He thought they were drunk or on drugs.  He said there were "wild goings-on in the hospital."

The day before the doc had changed his pain meds from morphine or oxycodone to vicadin.  He had been given some vicadin at 10:00 PM.  When I suggested that the big party last night MAY have been a figment of his imagination he seemed half-willing to believe I may be correct.  But only half...

The vicadin seems much less long-lasting than the other narcotics.  He was able to function today...which is not the case if he has been loaded-up on the other stuff during the night.

Now...it may be the case that both of these stories are the product of drug-induced hallucinations or dreams.  But the first one strikes me as authentic.  And regardless, it is so charming that I am filing it away as part of family history.

So there you have it!