A profile of Minnesota poet and writer Paul Grukow. Program is a presentation of his work “The Tramp."It also includes commentary and music elements.

 This program was made possible in part with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts and part of Joe and Nancy Paddock’s Poets-in-Residence Series.

Transcript:

(00:00:19) Paul Grupo grew up in Montevideo Minnesota and is now managing editor of the Worthington Daily Globe in his relatively short life. He has also been a farmhand a stock car race announcer a Washington political aide a funeral home worker and the news and public affairs director for Minnesota Public Radio. He is also a writer as he is a human being of rare wit and Imagination.
(00:00:45) Well, it's piece that I read had it's just bracing really in a little town in Northwest Iowa fascinating fascinating little town when you first come upon it. It really seems to be abandoned come down the main street of it and they're being they're weeds growing out of the cracks in the sidewalk and they
(00:01:06) said
(00:01:08) boarded up Windows and unpainted false storefronts and it looks like something it was and in the hundred years ago on the Western frontier and then as you move around the table that he realized that these places are actually occupied by people and you go in and you discover things like an old General store, which really is a general store and there's a pot-bellied stove in the middle, which is the source of heat for the store and the man at the back butchers the meet you by himself and the hands sorts in the barrels of fruits, and there's none of the cell A faint stuff there and
(00:01:45) ladders them on the walls
(00:01:48) stocked High you could still get a you could still get a plastic collar for your shirt there. If you were determined to buy one because they have some in stock and good selection of union suits.
(00:01:58) And so wonderful
(00:02:00) place. There's a fascinating man. I met their who runs the what's now become a kind of Museum in town
(00:02:10) and
(00:02:11) In a way, I was inspired by him. I got to thinking about the midwestern habit of collecting things when I was rummaging through his vast collection. He was a man who was was just gradually accumulated large portions of the town as buildings have become old and abandoned these bought them up. He's turned the opera house there into a into a party room and he bought the school. He bought he was kicked out. Out of the school and when he was a kid and never returned and with great Glee when it became available, he bought the thing and made his office in the principal's office and held Court there for many years until he finally sold it. He ran a Furniture business out of it for a
(00:02:56) while. Now
(00:02:59) Town itself is just seem to attract fascinating characters among other things. It was the first
(00:03:05) place
(00:03:07) in the world where a successful quadruple amputation was performed. and Going their separate of thinking about life in the Midwest and I
(00:03:19) ended up
(00:03:21) writing this little
(00:03:21) story.
(00:03:35) Sweet had been fishing in the creek for pickerel the day his mother died. It was a day clear and crispy as winter the water bugs skim the water is if they were skidding on Ice sweet had just secured another Fat angleworm onto his hook and was about to dangle it into the hole by his great-grandfather's pole when he was propelled as if on a string pulled taut around his neck toward home. There seemed to be a fog little Tufts of grass Tangled his toes bumble bees swarmed about his head a snake play sunning in the path. It was in the fall. His mother was in bed. She was looking out her window at the black walnut in the backyard. It was the oldest tree in town. She treasured it for that. You know, I don't like pickerel. She said I'm sorry Ma. I'll catch you some eels in the spring. He said there won't be any spring. She said he didn't answer. There was no use arguing. I want you to have this house in my things. She said you and nobody else if you don't want them burn them. Do you understand what I'm saying? He had never loved his mother more than just that you never do what I say. She said he went and sat down in the library. A cricket chirped among the books and the lonely sound of it made him cry. These things are all mine. Now. He said to
(00:05:03) himself.
(00:05:06) She died her eyes fixed on the walnut tree The Undertaker came later and pulled the eyelids Down Sweet was still sitting in the library. After his mother died, the locusts came one more summer one could hear them from a distance approaching with a roar like a freight train when they got close they made clouds and blotted out the sun. It was like an eclipse people watched with the past floating in their heads and were silent afterwards. They went and prayed in churches. The next summer the Locust didn't come and after that they never did again. It was a miracle the meaning and cause of which nobody knew the train was running regularly. There was plenty of rain in the summer claims were being proved everywhere sod Huts in which the men went rheumatoid in the women crazy. We're torn apart and Cast Away a new wooden houses were raised up in their places find dwellings with Gingerbread France and porches. Enough to be slept out on in the summer many windmills were also raised most of these were the work of sweet sweet took pride in his work. He used only the best grade of galvanized steel in the scaffolds only oil to Oak in the shafts. He personally inspected each windmill when it was finished while he was up on the high platform clutching onto the gearbox with White Knuckles. He always etched his initials into the tip of the Weathervane with a nail his ambition was Known by someone not born within his own lifetime. They got married one morning before the do had dried the JP solicited their vows on the steps of City Hall which was downstairs from the dance. Hall. Sweet took Sarah's hand walked her to the house have to do it over the transom and kissed a good day. He went off to build windmills somewhere among the lilacs a meadowlark saying Sara sat for a long time on the high stool in the kitchen, she peeled onions and potatoes and carrots and started the In the big cast iron pot. The smell is sweets mother was everywhere in the house Sarah took down the curtains and crack the windows open. She could hear the Meadowlark asking. How do you do? How do you do the question sounded accusatory? The Meadowlark had moved to the walnut tree. Sarah had had her hair bobbed it seemed to her that even when one lived in a Country Village one owed it to oneself to keep up with the times. She called her dresses frocks. There was no way mother's face hung like a frown from every Victorian adornment. There was an aroma of dust in the corners of the curves of the house. In any case the furniture wasn't fashionable Sarah began to run wildly through the place slapping at things with a feather duster in her frenzy. She broke the glass over a picture of sweet as a small boy. She stops short. First we can't imagine that our elders have also been children later. We are appalled to think that they have ever been adult. Sarah was still incapable of believing a child in sweet her feather duster twittered. She picked up the rhythm again began flying again in and out of rooms flinging her feathers here and there it became a dance. She knew that she was behaving oddly. She remembered that it was her wedding day the stew boiled over at dinner both of them felt as if they had dirty hair. They were too tired to do it, but they didn't dare not to we must make this a habit. He whispered when it was over. We'll see about the furniture. She said neither of the mentioned the impasse to which they had come again. They both put on weight the neighbors began to talk about why they weren't any children. This is ridiculous. He said one afternoon in May. Well, if 14 years don't convince you you're the one who's ridiculous. She said I've made myself perfectly clear about the furniture. In other respects, they have an entirely happy marriage people talk still about what a lovely Couple live head. Well, alright, I'll take it as far as the garage. He said garage Smurf Raj. She said Sarah I'm warning you. He said one of these days. I'm going to lose my patience.
(00:10:46) For
(00:10:46) the first time in their marriage, she had no reply. He had never spoken to her that way before she took to bed with a high fever. It was inexplicable to the doctor. But so were most things her fever broke the morning the walnut tree buds burst Sarah took this as a sign she made icebox cheesecake for dessert at supper from the recipe sweet like so much that he had gotten for her at the wool worse. Sweet ground his Fork around at his plate to pick up the last morsel of the graham cracker crust. She told him that she was giving in. He stayed home from work the next day and they moved all of his mother's sayings into the garage. He waxed them while she went downtown and shows some art deco things and had them set up the house. They made love in their new Chrome bed that night. But neither of them liked it as much as Woolworths icebox
(00:11:37) cheesecake.
(00:12:10) Sweet began to see his mother's face and things looking out from store Windows nesting in the crooks of trees lying among the Pebbles of the bottom of the creek. She would have looked just as she always did if her face had not appeared in some pastel a color of cookie frosting made with artificial coloring some lime green or faint pink or pale yellow. He knew that she would never have liked Sarah once while he was driving down the highway he thought the sign said no crying on shoulders. Only later did he realize that the word was driving a tramp came to the door on an early Saturday morning traps did that just happened off boxcars and came drifting in like the topsoil some of the village thought they were as dangerous as Carnival people others disregarded them like dandelions in the grass. It was the fearful who gave the tramps sucker and comfort. Sweet did not fear actual things neither. Could he like the others disregard them the Trap knock twice three times politely on the rear door sweet was sitting at breakfast in his office pants. He was too busy with orders in the counts and such to do much building anymore. Although he still made inspections his suspenders work buttoned. He folded up the journal and strapped himself in with his suspenders and went forward with resignation to meet this. Force which would violate it is morning tentacles of pink were clawing up to pull the sun over interview. The man he faced at the open door was round as a toy fat man and seemed to glisten all over in the low angle of the light with the stubbles many hairs. He had large black eyes which were swimming in something which leaked over at the rims. And the top of the morning to you. He said his dark voice bounced like a ball sweet stood with his hands in his pockets playing with small change. It'll be a fine day. He said his eyes were studying the milk bottles in the basket. I was just stopping by the Trap said on my way to Omaha. I traveled don't you know, I can see yes sweets said That wouldn't be I shouldn't suppose a bit of labor for an honest, man. No, I'm sorry. No nothing. Well, it's just as I thought don't you know, the man said they stood together in the doorway neither seemed about to make another move. There was so little space and such a vast quantity of Silence. Well, it's just as I thought the stranger finally said at the top of the day to you. He winked and waddled off down the Garden Path. There was the breadth of a whistle on his lips sweet shut the door hard and went back to his newspaper, but the writing and it had gone flat before he could assemble his thoughts to think why there was the same apologetic knocking at the rear door. He snapped his suspenders against his chest and allowed the possibility that it might not be the Tramp knocking again. My abject apologies sir, the Trap was saying but the thought entered my mind that you might have a cup of Brew for a Wayfaring Stranger don't you know he held his fingertips to the brim of his hat. He might have been seeking greater shade or support for his back which had a tendency to list. I'm quite certain. I don't not today. Thank you. Sweet said it was a larger number of words and they normally
(00:15:34) spoke all at once in the morning.
(00:15:37) Just as I thought the Trap said he extracted from one of his front pockets is somewhat Brown stained, but otherwise quite substantial Muslim tea bag. Perhaps bless your soul. You could spare it out of the grounds for a traveling man. He seems so humble about it and sweet had been so unexpectedly unbalanced by the insinuation that he was behaving as he was expected to that. He received the muslin bag and scooped into it. The residue of the morning's coffee much obliged don't you see the Trap said he gave the brim of his hat a little tug don't be thanking me sweets said when he went out early to the office through the garden, he noticed the missing milk bottle. It shamed him to think that he had played the fool along the creek a Milky strand of smoke waved from the coffee fire to him. On the way through the garden every morning sweet walked because he could not help it past the garage in which his mother's wax. Things were kept. It was always about to go in and have a look at them. But at the last moment he found himself every time passing on by it was too curious to look in other ways. However, those sticks of furniture took possession of him. He would be sitting in the office with his door closed because he didn't want Mabel who was his stenographer receptionist and bookkeeper to see that he had Thing to do any longer he would be unbending a paper clip and turning it back into shape again. He would put his feet up on the desk and then remembering that it wasn't the sort of thing people in offices do they would put them down as quick as he had put them up. It was all a string of ifs if he had realized that there would be success in windmills if it realized that success would bring money if he had realized that with money his whims would become more important to other people than his skills including himself. I only thought I was sometimes another person if he had realized what difficult work. It would be to manage his whims full-time. He would not trigger his time and ifs it would take out his account books and calculate again the some of his annual income at the current rate of business. But it took up so little of his day it done it so many times before he was suddenly overtaken by a whim. He would not control. I'll be out for the morning Mabel. He said as he passed briskly through the outer office, he went the back way into the garage hoping Sarah wouldn't notice found length of string and a packet of hooks. He set out on foot. He almost dared to whistle, but it would have been silly him and his fine gray wool jacket. Grasshoppers left at his Advanced and plopped into the grass like stones on the water. The water itself was shallower and muddier than he had remembered and appeared altogether incapable of sustaining Pickerel. And anyway, just as he was swallowing his sensation of sinking the Tramp came up and passed by on the opposite bank. And then there was no question of fishing. It was not something he could do in public during business hours. But it was Unthinkable to go back to the office. So soon after he committed himself to being out for the morning either. It was difficult enough to fill the day. So he went home and have another cup of coffee and stayed through lunch after that. He often found reasons to be away in the morning. He began to nap after lunch. One morning he woke up and realized that he couldn't remember exactly when he had last been at the office. He sold the business and seizing upon his mother's Furniture as a pretext began to devote himself to collecting Victorian artifacts for a museum the artifacts began to appreciate in value. He started charging admission with the prophets. He expanded he expanded perversely in discriminately. He bought junk the more junkie bought the more notice his Museum attracted. He was certain he could spend his way out of it. He bought collections buttons and samples in barbed wire. Steam engines and milk cans farm implements and Penny postcards. He hated everything. There was nothing he could bear any longer to part with he wished. His mother was still alive so that he could strangle her. Sarah returned from a long vacation in Florida. She had all the furniture redone and blond they decided to move into separate rooms one morning at breakfast. She began to cry. Oh, what is it now? He said it had taken her so many years. It's the Meadowlark. She said they sing such a beautiful song. There was a meadow Larks singing in the walnut tree. How do you do it set? How do you do? Sweet kissed her and went to stand among his things Sarah went up to bed. She was awakened by the sound of something Terry it was the walnut tree which workmen were felling. She got dressed and made a nice box cheesecake sweet was nowhere to be seen when the cheesecake was firms. He went out after him. He was where she knew he would be it was a secret. He no longer bothered to keep he had changed it to his old overalls and wore a bandana around his neck. The high weeds sheltered them a little smoke was rising from his coffee fire. He offered her some in the tin can one of these days I'm headed for all my heart don't you know he said he might not have had a thing to his name. The trains didn't run anymore. They went back up past the fallen tree. We needed better light don't you know he said Anyway, she said
(00:21:58) Landscaping is more fashionable. This story the Tramp by Paul grew Co is part of Joe and Nancy paddocks poetry residents with Minnesota Public Radio Station K. RS W. The Voice. You heard was Paul grew Coes music was from Aaron Copland Appalachian Spring whistling was by Mark style produced in the Worthington Studios of care is W by Nancy pack and Vicki sturgeon. This program was made possible in part with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts.