Heck, I Don't Know... I Just Make Donuts: Tales From Behind the Bakery Door, #1

By Joe DeRozier

  Joe DeRozier sits at a big table in his bakery. The sheeter's over there. There are racks with trays of donuts. A police officer stops in. His kids come by. Someone up front wants a particular pastry--does he have it? His mother-in-law visits there. She's beautiful. Joe thinks a lot and writes it down. Those thoughts draw portraits of his mother-in-law, the police officer, and the town he loves. He says he just makes donuts, but he does more. Much more. Welcome to DeRozier's. Enjoy the visit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe DeRozier
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393229292

Book preview

HECK, I DON’T KNOW…

HECK, I DON’T KNOW…

I JUST MAKE DONUTS

Joe DeRozier

Heck, I Don’t Know… I Just Make Donuts

Copyright © 2020 by Joe DeRozier

Cover art by Mellanie Szereto

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Dedicated to my friends in Peru, Indiana, who were delusional enough to suggest I write a book.

---

This book is a series of short stories about my life, those I’ve been privileged to meet, and from my rich imagination. If I did a good job, these stories should make you smile, laugh, cry, and think.

Contents

Introduction

Get Up, Get Dressed… Joe DeRozier’s Here

Most Ordinary Men

Remember When

A Different Feeling

I Talked to A Lady Today…

The Donut Man and Led Zeppelin

Magic Time

Set ’Em Up, Joe

Her Soul Is Always Beautiful

On the Road to Lazy Swayzee

Places to Go, People to See, and Girls to Chase

Kathy, the Vegan

Teacher Talk

A Day on the Farm…

An Anniversary

It was October 20, 1933

Preparing for a Blizzard…or a Flurry

The Eye-Roll and Other Important Points

Phone Numbers and Passwords

Legacies

Slammer and Me

I Must Have Fallen Asleep…

You Learn Something New Every Day…

We Forget

The Bakery

Appreciation

Fate and Jim Belleau

Lessons

Gifts

Missing My Wife

Lessons Learned

I Have a Lot in My Head

I Was Just Thinking...

The Eye of the Beholder

A Day in the Life…

Things Joe DeRozier Would Never Say

Elmo Torrence

Synchronicity

The Greek Princess

Legacies…Redux

Legends

We Train Our Replacements

It Happens All the Time

A Boy and His Dog

The Heroes of Thanksgiving

The Middle of the Night

What You Can Do With a Crew of Two

A Moment in Time

The History of Food and Other… Things

When a Donut Man Has Too Much Time on His Hands

Mental Triage

The Memory Bank

Dennis

Mustering In

Spelling

Lifting Weights

Notes from a Presidential Run

Self-Employed People

The Greatest Generation

Making a Difference

A Treasure of the Town

Tradition

The First Week

Adventures in Shopping in Kathy’s Absence

Girl Food

The List

Gladys

The Guy On the Left

More About Legacy

Trials and Technology

About Business…

A Beautiful Week In the Neighborhood

I’m Perplexed

I Was 17

Everyone Has a Story

Kathy, the Vampire

What a Community!

And Then…

Dirty Paws

Unconditional Love

Duck, duck… duck

To Remind You…

Fate

Memories on Wheels

Success

Changes

Heroes

The Glass

Ruminations…

Dad’s Last Day

Odd Traditions

Conversations with God

Surprises

Too-Much-Time Reflections

Life Lessons

About Listening

Next Generation

Norm Dunn

Kathy and My Heart

If the Shoe Fits…

Ed Orpurt

Dos and Don’ts

The Garretsons and Swinfords

They’re All Good Days

About the Author

Joe DeRozier sits at a big table in his bakery. The sheeter's over there. There are racks with trays of donuts. A police officer stops in. His kids come by. Someone up front wants a particular pastry--does he have it? His mother-in-law visits there. She's beautiful. Joe thinks a lot and writes it down. Those thoughts draw portraits of his mother-in-law, the police officer, and the town he loves. He says he just makes donuts, but he does more. Much more. Welcome to DeRozier's. Enjoy the visit.

~Liz Flaherty

Get Up, Get Dressed… Joe DeRozier’s Here

I’m in bed by 8:00 p.m.

My alarm goes off at 12:01 a.m.

Why 12:01? I refuse to get up for work the same day that I went to bed. I get up, hit snooze, get back in bed. My puppy growls at me. I wonder for a second whose bed it really is.

I swear I just laid my head on the pillow. My alarm goes off, again. I hear my pup give a loud sigh. That makes me laugh. My right ear is bad now. Too many years of hearing the mixer on my right side. Whap, whap, whap. If I lie on my good ear, I can’t hear the buzzer. I should have slept on the good ear.

I wonder if I could set my Keurig in the bedroom. I could hit a button and have coffee before I get up. Kathy said no. I don’t know why I don’t insist. I bet I can beat her arm wrestling...well, two out of three anyway.

I get up and navigate the stairs. I’m still not real sure since the stroke. Kathy calls it my episode.

Episode? When did I turn 100 years old?

I get ready for work...I should say, my loose interpretation of the word work. I get to go to the bakery!

I drive down East Fifth. I’ll be moving soon, so this very familiar drive will change. That will be sad. I get to the stop sign and come to a stop. Why do I completely stop? It’s 1:00 a.m. I don’t know...I just always do. I get to the light on Fifth and Broadway and get ready to turn right. The light is always red. I look both ways. No one is out...no one is ever out.

Sometimes I feel alone.

I turn, then go down my alley. My alley...ha-ha. It should be my alley by now. I’ve driven here so so many times. I go to park. I see life! They’ve been drinking. I keep my head down and get inside.

There’s this feeling in here. I can neither explain it nor define how it makes me feel. Almost a completion...or sigh of relief...but that’s not it. Not entirely.

What will I ever do in my life when I can’t do this? I get a bit choked up thinking about it. My friends talk about retirement and what they want to do.

…but I want to do this.

Most Ordinary Men

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. What is that? Whomp…whomp... I’m trying to sleep. Whomp...whomp. It’s so early. I can’t be mad because people are out. Whomp… whomp. It sounds so...happy.

I’m smiling. Whomp. Whomp. My dad used to play basketball with me in all weather. Cold northern Wisconsin mornings below zero. Snow. We had three basketballs. When it was really cold, the ball would freeze and not bounce. I would run inside, grab a fresh ball that was sitting on the heat vent, and we’d keep playing. Whomp...whomp.

It would be dark and Dad and I would still shoot. Hook shot from the free throw line while looking at the garage. I can’t see the hoop, but it sounds like it went in.

Your shot, Dad.

Whomp…whomp.

It’s pouring rain. Mom is mad because we look silly. I can’t look up at the basket because of the water. Dad is drenched. His glasses look like an unwiped windshield. He’s laughing.

Whomp. Whomp. One more shot, Joe Joe. Then we have to go in. But you have to make it!

Whomp...whomp.

I miss my dad. I’m glad I can hear Mr. Dawalt playing basketball with his grandson.

Whomp...whomp.

Remember When

The year, 1962. The place, Green Bay, Wisconsin. A young man was bowling with a few of his buddies. He was a good bowler with a great hook and a flawless delivery. A girl was bowling in the adjoining lane. She was very beautiful and a very good bowler herself.

The beautiful young lady first noticed the handsome young man because of the slight pop that he made when he released his ball. The handsome man noticed the beautiful girl because...well, because she was a beautiful girl.

Because the pretty girl was a good bowler, the man saw an opportunity to ask her how long she had been honing her skill. When she told him how long, he looked incredulously at her and said she isn’t old enough to have been bowling that long. He proceeded to ask her to prove her age via her driver’s license.

After their brief encounter, the fair young lady returned home, wondering if she’d ever see the strapping young man again. To her surprise, the good-looking gentleman gave her a call not long after their chance meeting.

You see, the young man only queried her about her age so he could get a look at her full name and address. After scouring the Green Bay phonebook, he was able to get her phone number.

They married on October 5, 1963. They had two very good-looking and intelligent children. And me. They remained married until the young man’s passing, a few years ago. They were together in good times, in bad times, in hard times, in trying times. Though they are apart for now, they will forever be a team…the team.

Their anniversary will soon be here, all thanks to a pop, a beautiful girl, and a wily young man.

A Different Feeling

Mom.

You get a whole different feeling when someone mentions her name, don’t you?

I talk a lot about Dad. Maybe because I feel my life has been a series of failed attempts to be like him. But Dad couldn’t have been Dad without Mom. Mom is her name. Isn’t weird when someone calls her by her first name?

Mom and Dad together are a formidable team.

While Dad’s status as Exalted Grand King Poo Bah was never in question, Mom was the Radar O’Reilly of the home. Dad may have been president, but Mom was the House and the Senate―except she wasn’t lazy and corrupt―but you understand.

Dad didn’t anger often, but when he did, Mom was the only one that could calm him. Had she done it the same way each time, we kids would have caught on. I suppose it depended on why he was mad, but Mom always knew how to disarm him.

She never got mad...well, not screaming mad―more Clint Eastwood mad. Quiet, and she looked you in the eye. Do you feel lucky? Well, do you, punk? That kind of mad.

When Dad disciplined us, he could get a little crazy.

Dad: Joey, you’re late, again! You’re grounded until you’re 75.

Me: Maintain silence...don’t poke the bear!

After an hour or so, Mom would triumphantly enter my room and let me know it was for a week. I just had to let her work her magic.

When Dad didn’t feel we did a good job, he redid it. We knew it. He left traces of evidence showing that we’d dropped the ball. Mom did the same thing, but left no evidence. I noticed, though.

Mom is an observer. I don’t remember her teaching us to be like that, or maybe I’m more like Mom than I know, but I would notice that the carpet was vacuumed a different way, or the cushions were set up differently. Then the question was, did she really not want me to know she redid my job, did she really want me to know, or did she really want to see if I was observant enough to figure it out?

Mom was an early riser. I’d get up at 5:00 a.m., and she was already up doing exercises. She was the last one in bed.

Her profession was nursing. She went back to it once we kids were older. Nurses were just starting to wear scrubs, but Mom insisted on wearing her nurse’s uniform. I was really proud of that. That was cool.

Mom broke her back at work. Twice. She has had approximately six million surgeries and most of her body parts are not original. She should have died a few times, but I fully believe her will to take care of Dad always kept her with us.

Moms, for those of us born so long ago, always took a backseat to Dad. But Dad could have never been Dad without Mom.

I Talked to A Lady Today…

Alzheimer’s is a thief. It is a lowly thief that steals beautiful minds.

I know a strong, vibrant, intelligent, and outgoing woman. This woman speaks several languages. She is an amazing chef. She is a terrific hostess. She