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Wooly Bully

Judge Santiago Burdon

    I was on a fishing trip with the Old Man and my Uncle Johnny when I was eleven and was beginning to think for myself. Uncle Johnny wasn’t really my uncle but was the husband of my mother’s cousin. I was told to call him Uncle Johnny, so I did as I was told. He was a good natured guy who told hilarious stories from his days as a “bag man” for the Chicago Mob. He also had incredibly large ears which is why I believe he inherited the nickname “Eavesdropper” which was shortened to just “Dropper”.
    We had stopped at a roadside cafe on our way to the Wisconsin Fishing Hole, which was unusual because the Old Man hated to stop or take a break from driving. Once we were on the road that was it, express from start to finish. Memories of family vacations driving long distances always included having to pee in a plastic bottle. He wouldn’t even stop for my mother, when she needed to go, making her wait for a gas station. She later got a bedpan from “Pretty Kaye”, her friend that worked at the hospital. My younger sister always wet her pants on vacation road trips . Then he’d start hollering at my mother, saying it was her fault for letting my sister drink too much.

    My older brother was quite an inventor and devised a device made from a piece of hose. It had a metal funnel on one end to pee into and the other end he hung out the window. In thought it was brilliant but unfortunately if you didn’t piss down the hose it would flush back. And when he did succeed in pissing downward the piss was swept up by the wind and got my Old Man’s arm hanging out the window all wet. That was the end of the”Easy Pisser”. Anyway uncle Johnny wanted to get some lunch and liked the rhubarb pie at this particular cafe near Janesville. So the Old Man gave into his request after arguing about it for twenty minutes.
    Johnny gave me fifty cents for the jukebox and the Old Man matched his donation.

    “What do you want me to play?” I asked.
    “Play whatever you want! I don’t care.” Johnny answered.
    “Ya whatever you want.” The Old Man begrudgingly agreed.
    I knew better and I don’t know what made me think I could actually play whatever I wanted, but I gave it a shot. My Old Man
was a racist down to his Catholic soul and hated Blacks. I never found out the reason why.


    He always used the derogatory term racists called black people.
    I made the mistake of playing “Wooly Bully” which pissed the Old Man off. He thought Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs were all black musicians, when actually they were all white guys.
    “What the fuck you wasting my money on? Wooly Bully what is that shit? You’re not supporting a bunch of niggers with my fucking money.” He not only hollered drawing attention to us but also got up and pulled the plug on the jukebox. Then he slapped me on the back of the head.
    “What the hell are you thinking? Dumbshit!”
    “Hey take it easy on the kid. He didn’t do anything wrong. You said he could play whatever he wanted. What’s wrong with you?” Uncle Johnny screamed.
    I’d never seen anyone stand up to the Old Man before and was even more surprised by his reaction.
    “Ya, well he knows better than to play that shit.”
    “Relax, take it easy. This is a fishing trip to get away from all the stress. Come on, give the kid a break.”
    Now I believe the reason my Old Man didn’t give it to Uncle Johnny is because he was connected, a “made man” and you don’t want to be screwing around with the Italians.
    I ordered a cheeseburger which pissed the Old Man off more because they charged an extra fifteen cents for a single slice of cheese. After my Old Man bitching about the overpriced cheeseburger my Uncle Johnny bought me a piece of rhubarb pie, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. It was excellent.

    After finishing, Uncle Johnny lit up a cigar which caused the Old Man to start bitching about the smell and laying down the law about smoking it in the car. The Old Man chain smoked cigarettes like a convict never considering anyone else’s feelings.

    “Come’on John, let’s get on the road.”

    “Right behind you. Come on Santi.”
    “Why do you call him that? His name is Judge. He’s going to be a Big Shot Lawyer someday.”

    Unfortunately he had no idea I would end up appearing before so many Judges during my lifetime.


    We stood at the counter waiting for the waitress to come with our bill and I could feel the tension stretching thinner and thinner like a rubber band getting ready to snap. Johnny was eyeing some Payday, Hersheys and Milky Way candy bars while the old man grew more impatient. Then I heard Johnny quietly humming then suddenly start singing and dancing around all nutty and crazy like; “Wooly Bully, Wooly Bully Wooly Bully. I kinda like that song. It sticks with you, huh Santiago.”
    “I guess so?” He had me laughing, causing me to forget about the jukebox incident.
    “Excuse me miss, I’d like to pay the bill and get on the road, if you don’t mind?” He screamed at the waitress.
    She walked over glaring at the Old Man then slapped the bill down on the counter.
    “Guess she doesn’t want a tip, acting like that.” He said to the cashier.
    She never said a word, just handed him the change. He walked out in front of us as we followed, but before exiting I saw Uncle Johnny throw a five spot on the counter.
    On the side of the Restaurant sat an old black man with a guitar playing and singing some gospel music. I have always been attracted to music. Any type of music. I ran over to the raggedy old man and he grinned at me with a wide smile. I had seventy-five cents left that I didn’t put in the jukebox and threw it in the hat he had sitting next to him.
    “Now you’re trying to piss me off. Why are you giving that bum money? He’s probably a drunk and will spend it on booze.” The Old Man screamed as he grabbed my arm dragging me back to the car.
    I hope so. I wanted to say but knew better.
    I never wanted to go on this fishing trip in the first place but Uncle Johnny thought it would be nice to spend time together. He liked me and always gave me a Christmas and Birthday present. So I thought it was the right thing to do.
    “Now check the boat trailer and the shit in the boat. Make sure everything is ok. Go on ya little shit!” The Old Man ordered.
    I don’t know what got into me. It was my first act of retaliation against the Old Man. I walked around the back of the car while he was checking under the hood. I unlocked the latch on the boat trailer.

    “Looks good Dad!” I yelled as I got in the car.
    “Here, got us some candy bars. They were free just sitting there.” Uncle Johnny said while handing me three Milky Way bars.
    “Uncle Johnny, did you pay for these? “
    “Believe me Santiago I’ve paid. I’ve paid.”
    He gave me his signature wink and a smile rubbing the top of my head affectionately.
    It was a few miles north of Madison when the boat and trailer went off the side of the road. It crashed into the trees, ending up flipped over. The fiberglass body shattered in two pieces laying in the woods.
    We ended up fishing from the shore and surprisingly caught a large amount of Walleyes and Crappies. The Old Man never confronted me about the boat. And I never offered an explanation.

    Whenever Uncle Johnny saw me after that trip, he gave me a secret wink and then he’d start singing, “Wooly Bully Wooly Bully Wooly Bully.”
    I think he knew.

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