Pipemen I Have Known
Ted Woodley
encounters with pipes and pipemen over the years which I suppose must
have contributed to my late-flowering interest.
For example, about 10 years ago to celebrate my 25th wedding
anniversary I took a short Caribbean cruise (my wife, being in
hospital at the time, was unable to accompany me as originally
planned). Stopping one day at Grand Cayman I went ashore and within
five minutes had exhausted the small cluster of shops selling black
coral, reproduction cutlasses, and t-shirts with amusing though
slightly off-colour slogans. For want of anything better to do, and
lured by the offer of free food and drink, but mostly drink, I took up
the offer of a passing sandwich-board man to attend a "time-share
presentation" in a local resort. Subsequent events are hazy in my
mind, but I emerged blinking into the daylight three hours later the
proud owner of the first two weeks in October at a villa at Rum Point.
Subsequent years have taught me that the expense of getting there from
Falkirk is only exceeded by the boredom levels when one does. However,
I am hopeful that the salesman's assurance that I could easily re-sell
this prize will eventually bear fruit, possibly even before the heat
death of the universe.
Anyway, one year to liven up the local scene, while waiting for the
next October hurricane to breeze in, one of the local bars hired
someone to portray a character called "Pirate Jack" - he would pose
for photographs, pretend to decapitate the children, and generally
make a thorough nuisance of himself. But (and I get finally to my
point) he came equipped with a real live parrot called "Captain Bob"
perched on his shoulder and this bird, for no sane reason I could see,
had its own little corncob pipe on a ribbon round its neck which it
would occasionally take into its beak and chew on in a contemplative
manner, punctuated with ear-splitting shrieks. When he did this,
Pirate Jack - already labouring under the burden of wearing a thick
woollen navy blue jacket in the tropical heat - would wince slightly
and say "Will you be quiet Captain Bob ?" adding as an afterthought
"... matey !".
The next year Pirate Jack was absent, but the bar was selling "Pirate
Jack t-shirts" - these were navy blue with dark patches under the arms
and streaks of white and green down the back. The first sighting of
post-modern humour West of Cardiff.
Happy Days.
Many Thanks,
Ted Woodley.
Sailorman Jack
Now tell us about the pipemen you have known.
Jack
Fair winds,
Sailorman Jack
Port of New York
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"There ain't no such thing as a free lunch." Professor Bernardo De La Paz in
Robert Heinlein's "The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress"
buck12ga
>
> Happy Days.
>
> Many Thanks,
>
> Ted Woodley.
>
buck
Harry Pipehead
have run across Captain's Jack and Bob numerous times. Ironically I
happened to be there on Bob's last day. To make a long story short,
Jack had tired of imploring Bob the parrot to shut up and after a
brief scuffle, Bob got loose and ran flapping wildly across the
ground's, inadvertantly ending up in the cage with the large and
poorly fed iguana, who dispatched the noisy parrot with surprising
alacrity. After a brief chuckle, I returned to my island punch and
meerschaum.
In keeping with your theme, I noticed the grumpy French barmaid at Rum
Point smoked the pipe. Did you run across her during your visit there?
HP
Ted Woodley
> Okay, Ted.
>
> Now tell us about the pipemen you have known.
>
> Jack
>
>
Yes, sorry, you are right, I should have used the header "Smoking
Animals" for that one - sorry if you were disappointed. Incidentally,
I know that this would be a wild coincidence, but you weren't Pirate
Jack were you ? (I am going from your name). If so, well done, you
brought a lot of harmless pleasure to hundreds.
Ted Woodley
are still there). I heard once that one crazed local - driven out of
his mind by boredom -once raided the cage and catpured one and had it
made into a pair of shoes. I doubt this is true as the necessary
cobbling skills are not readily available on the islands. Also, this
is not really a smoking story so I should not post it here - maybe he
ate the smoked meat of the iguana. Maybe not. Who knows ? Or cares.
Is Harry your real name, or a pseudonym ?
Many Thanks,
Ted Woodley.
Sailorman Jack
>you weren't Pirate
>Jack were you ? (I am going from your name).
It's always been Sailorman Jack. Well, not always, just since 1978.
>If so, well done, you
>brought a lot of harmless pleasure to hundreds.
Thanks. I thought it was somewhat more.
Jack
Harry Pipehead
more fax machines per capita there than anywhere else on earth? The
same cannot however be said for pipe smokers, of whom there seem to be
few. The only other person I saw there who was a pipe smoker was some
old musician who lit up between sets in Fidel Murphys- can't recall
his name, was it Tyrell?
The iguana angle at Rum Point is interesting, eh? I mean, what are
they doing out there in the first place? I do not think they are
indigenous to the islands, yet there they are, hunkered down in that
caged off area near the bar. Do you think they swam across the
Caribbean from Miami? As for a guy making shoes out of one of them,
this is a true story. Apparently, the guy who did it became a minor
celebrity of sorts because he made 4 or 5 pairs of shoes which he
ended up selling to the tour boat people for $1000 per pair.
Regarding my name, my given name is Harold, but most people call me
Harry, so I use that. I come from the original Pipehead clan in
Cambrigde Mass. In fact, it is my last name which is responsible for
my entry into the world of the pipe. My friend's in university were
constantly telling me that with a name like that, I should have a pipe
in my head, not a very funny joke, I thought at the time. After weeks
of needling, and in a fit of pique, I went to Van's the local smoke
shop and bought my first pipe, bright blue-colored (I admit it!) with
a large bowl. I've been smoking ever since.
HP