It was such a privilege to visit the home of Dick Macleod in Bradford a couple of Sundays back, to sit with him and his daughter and daughter-in-law in a warm kitchen, eat scones, drink tea and share stories.
Dick is one of the founders of the famous (and huge) Loon Mountain Scottish Festival. He once painted the shutters on his house in the tartan plaid of his clan. When asked how he made all those stripes, he explained that instead of shaking the can to mix the paint, he held it very still, straight up and down, and the paint striped on its own.
He says he drew his way through school. When asked for a thousand-word theme on the bombing of Pearl Harbor, he drew a picture instead. And when asked to explain called upon the old adage, “A picture is worth . . . ” and got an A.
He spent a lot of time in the principal’s office -- playing cribbage with Mr. Hancock, the principal. Both enjoyed the game. And were good at it.
Sometimes instead of waiting for the school bus in front of the big rock, he waited behind the big rock -- and the bus would sail right on by. This gave him a day to himself. So long as he remembered to get home by 3:00, he was all set. (The little devil!) It was kind of a family tradition, his daughter said: “My mother never went to school on a Friday.” Dick said: “I took off every Monday.”
Here are a couple of my favorites from that afternoon of stories:
The city slicker couldn’t believe his luck, buying a pie for $3.50. What a stupid bumpkin the local was for selling a blueberry pie so cheap.
The local, meanwhile, couldn’t believe the city slicker was so stupid to pay $3.50 for a pie.
When Dick was a kid, there was a doctor in Henniker who’d make the Bradford rounds, when needed. The roads were dirt and in mud season, the doctor and the local farmers had a system. The doctor would let each farmer along the way know approximately when he’d be passing through. If he was passing Dick’s parent’s farm at 10:30, say, he’d beep to let them know he was ok. If time passed and the doc didn’t beep, Dad would harness up Prince the horse, head down the road and pull the doc’s car out of the mud. On he’d go to the next farm, toot toot.
Thanks for the stories, Dick. And the hospitality. More Dick Macleod stories to come in future blogs.
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