Consecutive Nights and Other Stories

By Christopher G. Bremicker

Taverns, hunting, fishing, downhill skiing, and each other made our lives bearable in northern Wisconsin. We tended bar, waited tables, pounded nails, or cleaned other people's houses to "keep the wolf away from the door." Life was rich as we gossiped and looked out for each other. When someone was in trouble, we gathered around them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher G. Bremicker
• Release date: Mar 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310121913

Christopher G. Bremicker

Special Forces medic, 1968 to 1970, stationed at Ft. Bragg, NC; BA in English and MBA from University of Minnesota and course work in business education at University of Wisconsin-Superior; fisherman, grouse hunter, downhill skier, handball player; customer service at Walgreen's, hometown: Cable, Wisconsin.

Book preview

Consecutive Nights

And Other Stories

A Novella

By Christopher G. Bremicker

Copyright 1989 by Christopher G. Bremicker

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design by: Miss Mae

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

JACKSON HOLE

A college road trip to a ski area ended in a fight.

JACKSON HOLE II

Three boys skied the mountain nonstop.

ROCK GARDEN

A young man skied a difficult run on the day he left for the Army.

THE JUMP

I described my first parachute jump.

A LIFE LIKE HEMINGWAY’S

A young man blew a chance at a go-go girl because he was too polite.

NORTHERN FLIGHT

A duck hunt in a blizzard was memorable.

BIG NORTHERN PIKE

Two brothers caught a trophy fish.

THE NAMEKAGON

I described the river that flowed through my home town.

BORN TO BOOZE

A baby was born to a family that frequented a bar.

HAIRCUTS

A barber gave bowl cuts.

TEHERAN

I rewrote the history of a military fiasco.

WOMEN’S LIBERATION

The love of two people for each other defied politics.

ON RETURNING HOME UNEMPLOYED

My hometown felt good after the dream world of a job I disliked.

THE MEANEST CAT IN THE WORLD

My father subdued my grandmother’s Angora.

THE SWAMP

A maintenance crew dug a drainage ditch on a golf course.

CONSECUTIVE NIGHTS

A friend’s son was abused and a single mother and her daughter had a cheap night out.

MADISON SQUARE GARDEN

An alcoholic ex-boxer relived his past.

MULLIGAN CREEK TRAIL

On a road trip, I walked for help to pull a pickup out of a ditch.

THE STORIES:

JACKSON HOLE

Eric was driving our big family station wagon with the skis on the roof and all of us piled inside. We pulled up alongside the classroom building of the university. Buds were on the big trees. We waited for Hetzel to come out of the building.

Hetzel better finish that final or we’re leaving without him, one of us said.

He’ll be out in a few minutes. We smoked and waited for Hetzel.

Look at that, Greg said and held up a Playboy centerfold. She’s from where we’re going.

Ha ha. Come on Hetzel. Get your butt out of there.

A few students came out of the classroom building. Hetzel appeared in the crowd and ran for the car. He threw his books in the back seat and jumped in.

Ho, Mama! Let’s roll.

Hetzel! Did you flunk?

Who cares? All I want to do is ski and meet some dollies.

Okay, I said. Eric’s driving. I’m navigating. Tim’s in charge of the radio. Greg and Hetzel handle the Playboys. And Bill, you just sit there and expound.

Eat me. Is that profound enough?

Quite.

Let’s go! Next stop, Jackson Hole.

We cut down to Iowa and through Nebraska, where we hooked up with the other boys in Tom’s car, and then entered Wyoming. Geese swam in creeks along the road. The mountains appeared far away.

We pulled into a restaurant for lunch. We put two tables together and ordered the special: spaghetti. A man went into a restroom which was near our table and we could hear him empty his bowels.

Pretty thin walls, Greg said. I think I just lost my appetite.

Might as well put the can in the dining room.

Or in the kitchen.

This spaghetti doesn’t look too good.

We were all in hysterics as we got back in the car. Greg gave Tom the highball sign. We were on the last stretch to Jackson.

We arrived in the afternoon. Jackson Hole had just opened that year. The ski area was not the large collection of condominiums and townhouses it is today. Then there was only a hotel, restaurant, bar, and a few other establishments.

We stayed the first night at Jackson Hole Inn and the next day decided to find cheaper lodging. It had snowed all day and we couldn’t ski because of the poor visibility. As soon as we moved into the motel near town the sun came out and stayed out.

The motel was billed as the biggest in the United States. One morning I saw a man walking carefully along its length. The desk clerk said the man was Lowell Thomas. He was pacing off the motel to test its claim.

The French and Canadian ski racing teams were staying at the motel also. They ate at the counter and played grab ass with Nancy Green. One day she would win an Olympic gold medal in the downhill.

We ate at a big table near a window and it was always sunny in the restaurant. One of the French racers, Erica Shineger, looked like she needed a shave.

How come she has a zipper on the side of her stretch pants? Bill asked. With that beard, she should have it in front.

A ski group from our college was staying at the motel also. Marg was with them. Marg was a pretty, blond, freckled, well-built girl