When I accepted the second's invitation to crank up a podcast as a feature of the Little White Cabin, I figured it'd be a gag of a gig, you know, tell some of the crazy stories I've gathered over the years, have a few yucks. And I know I've done only three, but I tellya, it's been a wonderful experience. When you go digging into your memory for stories you realize you're digging into your heart and soul, too, and when you pull it all out, you find yourself coming to terms with all kinds of sleeping dogs and snoring dragons.
And it feels good. Damn good. You let the sunshine and the fresh breeze in when you let the old stories out. I love a good story. Always have. And I've got a whole locker full of'em. And you know what? I'll bet you do, too. So listen, here's what you do. Sign up so you can drop a comment on these blog posts, and engage. Let us know if you've got a story to tell or if you've got a question for ol' Oscar and I'll see if I can dredge up some wisdom from the bilges or the kitchen or the poker table to lay on you. I'm looking forward to it.
My most recent episode (#3) is a gem of a story given to me by Manny Conrad, who lived it back in the day. It can be hard for people raised on the smart-phone tether to understand and appreciate the kind of bare knuckle lives people like Manny and Wiper John lived--not to mention the captain who was running so hard from his tobacco road childhood, or Mary from Tanzania, who so wanted her baby to be safe and free that she was willing to stow away on some foreign ship and give birth to it in the bilges. It's one of Manny's stories that leaves me in awe of those good, hard people.