To me, Doug was a fabulous, fearless, rule breaker.
He was the only person I know who was quite so silly,
yet so pointed, so creative. ...so Doug. I struggle to
find the right words. Perhaps if you’re reading this,
you already know what I am talking about.
Dr. Iron did what occured to him, whether it was
making a bronze casting of a Missouri horsefly or
someone’s severed thumb, or throwing puckey at
my sometimes stiff-backed mother and me, a
10-year-old suburban kid loving every second of
our summer visits to Lesterville. Don’t forget how
he labled miraculous water from the slack tub in
his blacksmith shop and bravely tasted the hottest
of hot sauce.
I have a lot to thank him for. I learned from him
that life is worth exploring -- and for Pete’s sake,
do it with a smile on your face. He took me on my
first cab ride. Turned me on to music from chanting
monks and crooning throaty broads. He valued my
childhood, and honored my growing up. He was a
mentor and a dear friend to my father, Al Stephens.
The road to their house is magic. You dive off the
pavement, follow the crooked and peeling signs for
this rafting enterprise or that. You turn here, then
there, slowly, don’t raise the dust. Wait at the end
of a long bridge over the Black River. Watch the
swimmers on the river shore below. There is only room
for one car, so when the people leaving (poor suckers!)
go by, you can make your way across. Then the driveway,
how fun I thought it was to splash across the creek. And
see that old pickup truck waiting by the shop, the only
one I knew of with custom, hand-forged bed racks –
squiqqly something or others and the infamous
dodecahedron.
(I remember how Doug mercilessly hacked off parts of
that truck adornment one February when he made his
annual trip to Philadelphia for the wholesale show. It was
too tall to fit in the parking garage, so “Vaya con
dios” and off with its head! That same trip, we all wore
necklaces and earrings Doug made from baby doll arms
and legs, and looked in every nook and cranny for silver
milagros that he thought might help his blacksmith’s
elbow.)
I’m sure I could write for hours about all the times
he made me laugh and what I will carry with me always:
Give your restaurant leftovers to homeless people. Ask
questions. Tell jokes.
Here’s one he told me:
What does a snail say riding on the back of a turtle?
Weeeee!
Thanks, Doug.
