Waltzing with Bears - 2. Part 2. Walter and Joseph

For an old guy, Eddie had a respectable appetite, and no problem with his teeth. We didn’t talk much until he had mostly finished his steak and I was about done with my fish and chips. Nibbling one last French fry, I said, “So, Eddie. You seemed to be hinting at a bigger story.”

Eddie searched the ceiling. “The bigger story is my Uncle Walter, Grandpa’s youngest son. He had moved away to Seattle to work in a bank, and my grandfather considered that a bit of a betrayal. Such a rebel, right? Working in a bank? Grandpa wanted all his sons to work in his lumber business. He built this big house for everyone and he expected loyalty. Then Walter got married in a civil ceremony, no church, only a couple of witnesses, and Grandpa didn’t like that. A wedding with no church? That was bordering on Bolshevism. After the labor troubles and then the general strike in Seattle in 1919 -- you know about that? -- Grandpa was always on about the ‘damn Bolsheviks.' by which he basically meant anyone who wanted the rich white men to share some power or money.

“I didn’t like Walter’s wife Betsy. I thought she bullied him. I don’t think Walter minded as much as I did. She was older than he was. They never had children. Betsy died in ’29, had some surgery that led to a runaway infection that the doctors couldn’t control. And the bank Walter was working for went under in ’30. So by the end of 1930 Uncle Walter moved back into the family mansion, everyone feeling sorry for the grieving young widower. He was only twenty-nine. My father gave him a job in the family lumber business’s office. But in the evening Uncle Walter took to going down to Pete’s Saloon quite a bit, and the family all clucked their tongues, but they didn’t stop him.

“It was difficult for my mother. She grew up poor, and marrying my father Archie was a big step up for her, socially. Grandpa didn’t approve of her. But she showed him. She was going to run a high-class household if it killed her and everyone around her. She had a lot of rules and expectations, and God help you if you disappointed her. And now here was this black sheep moving back in, just when construction was way down and demand for lumber was half of what it was and money was tight, and it was already getting hard to keep up a front of being a grand family.

“I liked having Uncle Walter move back. I’d always liked him. He read me The Arabian Nights and we listened to the radio and he always had a take on the newspaper that was very different from Grandpa’s. Sometimes we’d sabotage my mother’s cooking - deflate a cake that was baking, or on one great occasion we ruined a soufflé. Sometimes he’d ask me, 'Well, where shall we go tonight?' And I’d spin the globe and pick some exotic place and he’d spin a fantastic story on the spot. For a boy who had never even travelled to Seattle it was as good as the movies. And we even went to the movies a few times.

“But Walter had to have his time alone to go to Pete’s. Some of this I’m about to tell you I learned only later. Pete’s Saloon still kept up the old logging-camp tradition of the Saturday night men-only dance. It wasn’t so high-pressure as dancing with women. The men would clean up a little and maybe button the top button of their shirts, but they didn’t have women wanting them to shave or wear ties or wear city shoes instead of boots, and their dancing partners didn’t complain that their skin was getting scratched or that someone was holding them too tight and hurting them. It was like playing sports or wrestling. It passed the time and burned off some energy.

“Walter watched the dancing one Saturday night. The little band -- fiddle, accordion, bass, one guy who played a hand drum that was just a big hoop with a skin stretched over it -- had started a waltz. So a big bearded fella comes up to Walter, smiles, and says, ‘Hey there.’

“Walter says, ‘Hey yourself.’

“The guy says, ‘I’m Luther.’

“‘I’m Walter.’

“‘Can you waltz?’

“‘Sure, I can waltz.’

“‘Can you follow? ‘Cause I can only lead.’

“Walter says, ‘I can follow.’

“‘Care to take a spin around the floor?’

“‘Be glad to.’

“And that was the start of Uncle Walter dancing at Pete’s. As someone who was willing to follow, he was in demand. He liked the big bearded guys. If someone short or skinny or clean-shaven asked him, he’d most likely say, ‘I think I’ll sit this one out. Thank you, though.' And that’s the way it was every Saturday night.

“Now someone who stood mostly on the sidelines, nursing the ginger ale that was all he drank, was a big black fella from Baton Rouge named Joseph Gautier. When I say big, I mean six-five at least and broad-shouldered, big legs and arms, and when I say black, I mean pretty damn dark, with a big black beard that crawls up his cheeks and creeps down to the spirals of hair on his chest. So he watches Walter a few Saturdays and finally comes up and reaches out his hand and says to him in his quiet voice, smooth as silk, ‘Hello. My name is Joseph. May I have the honor of this dance?' And the way he looks at Walter is kind of pointed, and something about him seems to indicate that he’s looking for more than just to pass the time.

“The band is playing a two-step. Walter says, ‘I prefer a waltz.’

“Joseph looks to the side uncertainly, like he’s been given the brush-off. ‘I understand,' he says, and turns to go.

“But Walter says, ‘Come and sit down and we’ll wait till they play a waltz again.’

“So Joseph sits next to Walter and they talk and joke for a while until there’s a waltz. And then Walter and Joseph dance. They dance a few more times. By the last dance, Walter is laying his head on Joseph’s chest.

“And Walter keeps coming back to Pete’s every Saturday night, and drinking more than is good for him, and dancing with the big bearded guys there, but mostly with Joseph.

“And meanwhile, Pete introduces Walter to Blackie. And Walter and Blackie really hit it off. When Walter first sees Blackie through the bars, he says, ‘Blackie! Do you work for a bank, too? My teller’s cage looked just like this.' And Blackie sniffs Walter and rubs against the bars.

Pete says, ‘Blackie must like you. He doesn’t act like this with most people. Careful not to get too close, though.' And Walter ignores him and puts his hand right up to the cage, and Blackie goes straight for it -- and licks it. Licks Walter’s hand like he’s his long-lost friend.

“Walter starts visiting Blackie regular, at the end of his evening at Pete’s. He brings Blackie bouquets of wildflowers, which Blackie eats, and then Walter bows to Blackie and says, 'May I have this dance?' And damn if he doesn’t get in the cage with Blackie, and they sidle around each other and Blackie rubs his head against him, and then Walter scratches him and pets him and thanks him for the dance. Pete always stays with them at first, but when it’s clear how much Blackie loves Walter, Pete stops worrying about it and leaves them alone.

“So now Uncle Walter is going to Pete’s every Saturday night at least and usually a few more nights as well. I’m only eight or nine at this point. One Saturday night I stay up and catch Uncle Walter as he is sneaking down the back stairs. He looks kind of dressed up. ‘Uncle Walter!' I say. ‘Where are you going?’

“He smiles and whispers, ‘Dancing.’

“I wonder if this is just another tall tale of his, one of his flights of fancy. ‘Dancing!' I say. ‘Dancing with who?’

“‘Bears!' he says, and if anyone ever had a twinkle in his eye, Walter did that night. 'Waltzing with bears!’

“I giggle because that is so silly. 'Have a nice time,' I say.

“‘Thanks, Eddie, I will! Don’t wait up for me!' And out the back door he goes.

“And I stay up and draw a picture in crayon of Uncle Walter dancing with a bear. The bear is huge, standing on its hind legs, towering over Walter. I can’t wait to show it to him. But I’m already asleep when he gets home. No wonder Uncle Walter always falls asleep in church on Sunday morning.

“I show him the picture after church. He doesn’t laugh at it. He takes it seriously, like it’s something by a real artist. He says, 'Well, Eddie, I think you’ve really captured something there. Yep, that’s exactly how it is.’

“He tries to hand it back to me, but I say, 'It’s for you, Uncle Walter. You keep it.' And he looks so tickled, and he tacks it up on the wall in his room.

“But this idea has grabbed my attention, you might say, and I can’t let it go. I have to go see what Walter does. The next Saturday night I follow Uncle Walter and watch through the windows at Pete’s. I watch him dancing. I see him dancing with Joseph, laying his head on Joseph’s shoulder. It makes me feel funny, like I’m listening in on a conversation I shouldn’t. Like I’m witnessing a crime. And later I watch Walter dance with Blackie, and then it’s not a funny tall tale, it’s real and it’s weird. I start to worry about Walter.”