Chicken or the Egg
Fuzzy moved in with Gary, Jim and I for our senior year. We moved into a honest to goodness apartment outside of campus. Fuzzy was with us for only part of the year, but it was memorable.
Jim’s girlfriend, Lynn, built an incubator, placed a fertile egg inside, and hatched a chicken as a part of her biology class. In her experiment, the egg very definitely came first.
She fed the chick and it continued to grow. Soon it was too large to remain in Lynn’s dorm room so Jim offered to house it in our apartment until it could be moved to a more suitable home. The bird only stayed with us for a day or two, but throughout its tenure Fuzzy toyed with the idea of making a fine meal from Lynn’s project.
Just for kicks, he let the bird out of its cage to wander the apartment. Fuzzy followed it around with hatchet in hand waiting for one false move(ment) that might provide an excuse for him to do the chicken in. Fortunately for both the chicken and our apartment carpeting, the chicken never took one. No movements of any kind emerged.
Jim and Lynn relocated the chicken to a farm before Fuzzy was able to strike.
Load and Reload
Fuzzy was an avid hunter. One of the things that he enjoyed as a part of the process was making his own bullets and loading his own shotgun shells. Our living room coffee table provided a perfect spot for him to set up his shop.
Loading shotgun shells was pretty straight forward. He loaded gun powder and buckshot into empty cartridges and used his tools to crimp the shell casings for future use.
Making bullets was more complicated. He located scrap lead and brought it home to melt. He melted the metal in our cast iron skillet, skimmed the non-melting material from the top, and poured the liquid lead into the bullet shaped molds. He used the same pan and kitchen utensils that we used for cooking. That was probably a poor idea. It’s a miracle that none of us became ill. His hobby could have led to our demise, but we all survived.
ROTC
The Vietnam War was being waged during our college years. During our four years we had deferments to attend college, but as the war escalated it became apparent that many of us were going to be called into service. Some volunteered so they could choose their preferred branch. Others, like Fuzzy, joined the local ROTC (Reserved Officers Training Corp).
ROTC required basic military training while still a student. After graduation members were inducted into the regular army.
Fuzzy arrived at Western with a thirst for beer and nothing changed during his time as a student. The night before Fuzzy reported for active duty, he was in Wisconsin celebrating his last night as a civilian. His favorite bar had a second story. As he was walking down from his perch above the other bar patrons, he fell down the stairs and injured his knee.
He reported for duty the next morning, but within a week or two he was given a medical discharge because of his damaged knee. The fall ended his military career before it began.
Our Final Visit
The last time that I saw Fuzzy he was hauling hay between Michigan and Wisconsin. There had been a drought in one state or the other, and he was hauling hay to feed the local cattle. Ruth and I were married. David was a baby.
I got a telephone call from Fuzzy letting me know that he was in town. He asked if he could stop in for a visit. We invited him to dinner. When we learned that he planned to sleep in his truck for the night we invited him to stay with us. He declined. It was winter and he planned to let the diesel truck idle all night because he wanted to be sure that the truck and “his load” were secure.
We visited through dinner and discussed old times. We exchanged colorful college tales and entertained Ruth with our banter. Near the end of the evening, he told us that he had applied and been approved to head north to work on the Alaskan Pipeline.
A few weeks later he set off on his new adventure. When I learned of his death, I was told that the last time anyone saw Fuzzy he had entered a munitions building alone. A few minutes later the building exploded and his remains were never located.
Knowing Fuzzy as I did, I believe that his curiosity got the best of him that day. He probably tried to take a peak at the explosives that were housed in the building. I expect that he tried to pry the top off of a box of dynamite to take a peak and it exploded.
He died the way he lived – having an adventure.
Wow!