Posted: Jun 12, 08 9:26pm

Since Fathers Day is coming up, a lady at my church has asked me to read something about my dad this Sunday. I am thinking about relaying this story, which is true and one of the best and most vivid times I can remember as a kid. If you guys think it's inappropriate, let me know and I'll come up with something else...but this is the real me.

Thanks.

Dewey’s Fish Market

by Amy McCollom

As soon as we got out of the car, we could smell it. It wasn’t from the brown Wabash river just down the hill, this stench was coming from the little gray shack known as Dewey’s Fish Market. It wasn’t much to look at, there were shingles missing and the building leaned to one side, as if it were a palm tree in a hurricane. It reminded me of Dewey himself, old, tired, gray, and ugly. A weather-worn sign was nailed flush against the building with a nail that stuck out nearly the width of my hand. I touched the nail. It was thick and dark orange, and holding tight. I thought for a moment of Jesus hanging on the cross, of the nails they used. I pulled my hand back, but my fingers were covered in brownish dust. I slid my hands in my back pockets.

The ground was wet and muddy, and we stepped carefully.

I looked at the dark pools forming on the uneven ground.

“Is that oil, Dad?” I asked.

“No, it’s not oil.” he said with more words waiting to come out. He gave me a look that said, “don’t ask”, so I took his hint and shut up.

Inside, the small building was dark even though it was mid-day.

“Is this somebody’s garage?” my little brother blurted out.

I slugged him in the stomach hoping he would get my hint, and shut up.

He frowned, then pointed to a bucket of fish heads at the end of the counter.

“Hey Dewey! Ya here?” Dad called.

From an adjoining room we heard a muffled yell, then a cough. The door opened and Dewey hobbled out into the open. He was bent over, and took small baby steps toward the counter. He barely had any hair, but his nose was enormous. My brother and I backed away from the counter, hoping he wouldn’t notice us, and look us in the eyes. Dewey had evil eyes, so light blue they glowed, and one turned in until white was about all you could see.

“Hey Charley, what’cha need?” he said with a toothless grin.

“Well, got some bait for ya Dewey, if ya got some catfish?”

Dad had a bucket in his hands of the small fish us kids had caught that day. I was disappointed. Dad seemed so pleased when we caught ‘em, he even made comments about how we would eat good tonight. Now I knew what he meant.

“Come over here, Charley, take a look at these!” Dewey said, then cackled loudly.

We followed Dad behind the counter to a huge refrigerator. Dewey opened the door to reveal stacks of whole fish, wrapped in clear plastic wrap.

“You’ve been busy, Dewey.” said Dad.

Dewey cackled again.

“This one here’s a 9 pounder!” Dewey said as he heaved a cold fish onto the counter.

“This one here’s about a 6 pounder.” Dewey grabbed another one.

“That’ll be about it, Dewey.” Dad said with approval.

Dewey pulled a sheet of newspaper out from under the counter, and began to wrap the fish. He then reached back in the refrigerator and grabbed another couple of fish and laid them with the others.

“These are for them!” Dewey cackled and pointed with his bent finger.

I looked away just in time to escape his evil eye. My brother wasn’t so lucky.

“Where you want these?” Dad asked as he held up the bucket.

“Put ‘em in here with the others.” Dewey said and lifted the lid off a plastic garbage can. Inside were flopping fish of all kinds, and I got an eyeful of fish water.

I rubbed my eyes, then noticed the brown rust stains still on my fingers. I pulled the sleeve of my jacket down over my hand and continued rubbing, but lost my balance on the slick wet concrete floor and started to fall. Dewey reached out and grabbed the nap of my neck, like I was a pup.

“She don’t wanna fall in that, does she Charley.” said Dewey

I looked down at a bucket of guts at my feet.

“Nope. I’d just have to get a new kid.” said Dad.

Later that evening the adults sat around the fire and talked and drank beer. My brother and I sat on a blanket eating fried fish and grilled corn, getting our fill of good food and wild fish stories.

“Ya know Dewey can’t swim, don’t ‘cha”, I heard Dad say.

“He sews his nets by hand, too. Crazy ole Dewey.”

My eyes were getting heavy. We rolled up in the blanket and dreamed dreams you can only have along the banks of the Wabash River.