Springle... The House

It is now early fall…late September-ish of 1972. Today is Saturday, and it is about 5:30 pm. A different group is at The House this evening. Although it has been a typical day (the usual morning mental abuse coupled with a Cinderella day), this evening is a bit more mellow. Most of the drinking group is here, but for some reason they are doing more talking than drinking. It has turned into a night of tall tales and “remember the time when” stories, a competition of who could tell the most exaggerated and outlandish versions of how something had happened. Lots of laughter, and boisterous outbursts ensued. They are actually quite lovely sounds. It lends an atmosphere of fun to the usually tense air.

Poncho is spread out in his usual spot between the living room and dining room, totally blocking the path to the rest of the house. Every now and then he twitches and whimpers as if he is having the most adventurous dream, and looks as if he is in a deep, doggy sleep (or at least we thought so). Stephen and I are in the dining room listening. I keep having to shush him, because he wants to giggle at some of the stories being told. We were not allowed to be in the same room as the adults because “children should be seen and not heard.” We really were not supposed to be listening in on grown-ups’ conversations, but they were so fully engrossed in their tale telling that we went unnoticed. As the night wore on and the tales got taller, debates arose. Accounts of bad dates, awful mates, and childhood fates were shared. A few of the recounts included songs, and physical demonstrations. As most of the people present had grown up together, the stories were about each other. My mother was the only one who had not been with them as kids, so the stories did not include her. She was just, like us, an enthralled listener. We were hugely appreciative of mom’s attention being distracted from us. It gave us some rare down time, a chance to relax a bit. The story telling went on for about two hours.

Bill Calloway, who had yet to tell a tall tale, had been sitting, drinking, and thinking. He had been incredibly quiet and listening quite carefully. It seemed that he was finely crafting his story before it was ready to present to the group. Then Bill told a story that was so far-fetched that everybody groaned and called bullshit!! I do not recall the subject of his parable, but it was fantastic and included grand details. Bill’s version of this tall tale included all of the tactics of embellishment everyone else had used in their stories. It had songs, and physical enactments. At some point he even asked for pen and paper to draw a little diagram. It was gripping, and everyone listened until the end. He should have been a script writer, or fairytale author. In the account of the event that he reported, Bill let his imagination run wild and free. He always had to top everybody else (That is probably why he got hit so often, but we will explore those events in other episodes). Poncho suddenly sat straight up, looked at Bill, snorted, shook his head, and began to walk away. As he was walking away, he stopped, looked at Bill again, shook his head once more and continued to walk away. All the talking in the room ceased for about two seconds and then everybody exploded in laughter (even Stephen and I). Bill had told a tale so ridiculous, so grandiose, and outlandish that even the dog could not stand it. At this point, I wished I could have spoken dog. Bill kept trying to validate his story, but the laughter was too loud, and he could not get a word in. Everybody was roaring and gasping for air. We laughed so much and for so long that Bill finally gave up, hung his head, and slunk away. He left the house and I think we did not see him again for at least a week. At least we can say, unbeknownst to him, and without a doubt, that he had won the tall tale contest.