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Boneyard Bill's thread brought a memory... a story I think I should share. A bit wordy, but a story that brings more hope that certain politicians!

 

Sgt Mac's Cancer Battle

 

Back about ’94 or ’95 or so, the family and I (that would’ve been my son, the then-future Sassparilla Kid (SASS #8968L “Gee, Dad! It’s the same upside-down”) and his mom, the future Ex-Mrs Hardpan took a road trip. Now, the purpose of this trip was two-fold; first, I was gonna hang out with the Chorro Valley bunch and participate in the John Wayne Shootout, and second, hang out after shootin’ hours with Half-Breed Pete and his kin.

 

I could go on quite a bit about the shoot and all the fine pards there, but that ain’t the point of this particular story. Well… there was one point of interest at the shoot: that danged li’l stagecoach they used to have. Fun, and a neat prop, but it was kinda crowded inside, to the point where you had to leave yer hat OUTside. But the innerestin’ part was the shooting in the cramped quarters, made much more innerestin’ when a freshly ejected .45 case spit outta my Rossi ricochet’d off the ceiling and, having no hat to protect my haid, successfully lodged itself between my eyeglass lens and eyelid. I set a personal best record in emptying that carbine as I listened to the hot brass sizzling my ‘lid…. Man, but that do smart.

 

But I digress…!

 

We were campin’ out with Half-Breed Pete and his gal friend at her abode, which was somewhat more comfortable than his for the womenfolk and chillun’s. So Sunday morning, Pete and were the first ones up, havin’ coffee and enjoyin’ the early hours, when we decided we needed to make a run to town and stock up on pastries for breakfast. A capital idea, and off we went. But, of course, bein’ us (and especially Pete bein’ Pete), we took a rather circuitous route to the bakery. One that happened to take us right past his brother’s house, in fact. And, since we were right in the vicinity, we natcherly had to stop in and share Mark’s coffee with ‘im.

 

As we walked through his front door, Mark looked up at us and grinned. “Hey, Pop!” he said into the phone in his hand, “Guess who just walked in!! It’s Hardpan!!”

 

I walked over to shake his hand, and Mark handed me the phone. “Here – Pop wants to talk at ya!”

 

Oh, Cool! One of my favorite things in life was talkin’ to Sgt McDermott – “Papa Mac” to us. An absolutely delightful gentleman, full of good humor, always with a smile and story to share… and could the man tell a story! A genuine war hero, I’d listened for many hours to his tales of Italy during the Big War. And as sobering a topic as that was, Papa Mac always managed to spin a bit of humor into even the most tragic tale. Not quite on a Hogan’s Heroes or McHale’s Navy level, but still would leave the listener smiling. I can still picture him, the embodiment of “Mr Clean,” bald head, bulging muscles, and the twinklingest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

 

So there I was, enjoying a talk with one of my favoritist people on the planet, when, without preamble, Papa Mac’s voice went from jovial to somber.

 

“Well Rod,” he said… “I got some bad news the other day.”

 

“Uh oh, Papa Mac…. What’s up?” I asked.

 

“Well,” he explained, “The doc sez I got cancer.”

 

My heart froze for an instant. Suddenly, the world stopped and I felt my blood turn to ice water.

 

“Papa Mac…. What does the doctor tell you?”

 

“Well… the doc sez I got prostate cancer.”

 

“Okay…. Go on….”

 

“Well… this is the part I wanna ask you about, Rod. The doc sez that normally with a man my age [‘bout 73 or 74 or so] he wouldn’t do anything, He sez that with men my age usually somethin’ else will get ‘em before the cancer would.

 

“But check this out! The doc sez that I’m such a prime physical specimen [and he chuckled at this point] that he thinks it’s worth treating!

 

“So that’s what I want to ask you: Do you think it’s worth goin’ through the treatment??”

 

Without hesitation, I replied “Papa Mac… You know, I have this young son here that you haven’t seen since he was a baby. Not much older now! But I’d like the kid to have a chance to know you…. And you gotta be here for him to be able to!”

 

Like changing channels on a TV, Papa Mac popped back into his old form: “All Right! Ya talked me into it… I’m gonna do it!” he belted out with a voice rich with cheer and hope – and immediately started laughing and telling the tale of his latest squirrel shooting session.

 

Okay, jumping ahead a couple of weeks – The family and I are back home, and I’m talking to Half-Breed Pete on the phone. Long discussion about shooting, guns, reloading and such. As we wound down, I asked “So Pete – How’s Papa Mac?”

 

Pete chuckled, and I could hear the smile on his face as he said “Hey! I had dinner with Mom and Pop this evening. Dad’s been taking the treatments, but when we were sitting at the table, he looked at me, got all serious, and said ‘Son, you know me. I don’t consider myself an overly brave man, but really, there aren’t many things in life that frighten me. The safety of my wife and sons… the future of our country… I’ve been in a war, faced death many times, but accepted it. I’ve made my peace with God, and truly, I don’t fear dying. But Son… the one thing about this whole ordeal that terrifies me is… what’s it gonna do to my sex life!’”

 

At age 74!!

 

Pete stopped and chuckled again…. Then said, “And when Pop said that, Mom just rolled her eyes and blurted out ‘Sex and guns! Sex and guns! That’s all that man’s ever thought about since nineteen hundred and forty one!’”

 

Over the next few months we spoke often…. I’d ask about Papa Mac, and the reports were always encouraging – treatments were progressing, and the outlook was promising…

 

And then came the day.

 

I’d called Pete to talk about a gun project. And as usual, at the end of our conversation, I asked, “Well… what’s the word on Papa Mac?”

 

This time there wasn’t a chuckle. Rather, Pete let loose with a hearty guffaw!

 

“Hey! Pop’s CURED!!”

 

“What?? Are you serious?”

 

“Yup! The doctor sez there’s no sign of cancer – Pop’s cured!!

 

“I was over for dinner last night to celebrate! And check this! There we were, havin’ a great meal of deer steaks and all the trimmings, when Pop looked at me. His eyes were twinkling…. he smiled…. then grinned…. and said ‘Son? Ya remember how worried I was about the treatments….?

 

‘Well! Guess What!!

 

‘I ain’t got a THING to worry about with my sex life!’”

 

Then Pete added….

 

“And when Pop said that, Mom turned beet red, leaped outta her chair, and ran outta the room giggling down the hall!”

 

We’ve lost both Papa and Mama Mac, but they enjoyed another ten years or so. And on their sixtieth anniversary, they were as close and devoted to each other as the day the dashing soldier married the pretty farm girl before going off to war.

 

And on a closing note…

 

When they were gone, their boys cleared out the old house. I happened to call Half-Breed Pete one day just to chat… and caught him at the old homestead, working on packing up a lifetime of memories. While we were talking, Pete suddenly burst out laughing.

 

“Uh… What’s so funny, Pete?” I asked

 

Between laughs, Pete managed to explain: “We just found where Mom hid Pop’s Viagra!”

 

Papa and Mama Mac...

 

Papa and Mama Mac - 60th Anniversary

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That there is a funny story! Sounds like they were really special people, and the part about them being together for 60 years and still being in love is wonderful. Buick and I are coming up on 25, don't think either of us will live long enough to make it to 60, but I sure hope our kids will still be able to say the same thing about us when we're gone!

 

 

(Don't blame the lady for hiding the Viagra though! :lol: )

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Hahahahahaha.

Thanks for sharing that story, Hardpan. It is always great to read or hear about real people with everyday

issues. Enjoyed it very much and regret that I did not have an opportunity to meet these two fine people.

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Ya know what, Allie? It was actually Hank hisself who first dubbed 'em Mama and Papa Mac...! :)

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