Oh, cool.! The lemon-scented table lights came in. Yeah. Ruth-Anne rush ordered 'em.
Holling's been dying to try these.
Wow. Little glass fishes.
They're anchovies. Usually I don't like anchovies.
Well, not on pizza anyway.
You know, I've been looking for something just like that to film for my project.
A rare artist at his craft.
They're fishing lures. I got 'em over at the Bait and Tackle.
They have lots of kinds. Minnows, smelt - Oh, that won't work.
You see, I need something really rare.
Somebody who can make something nobody else can make...
or do something nobody else can do, like Holling's pies.
The lemon chiffon with crushed pineapple? And the graham cracker crust.
He got the recipe off the back of a box ofJell-O.
Shelly, order up. Oh.
Sorry.
Nice bag.
Unakhotana?
Bloomingdale's catalog.
Ed, I hate to be obstructionist.
The last thing I wanna do is stand between a person and his calling.
Do I really need to be captured in the act of making a tuna sandwich now?
I'm sorry, Dr. Fleischman. Thank you. Now, what are you doing?
You puttin' together another Cicely slice-of-life?
This is professional. I'm getting paid for this.
Who's paying you?
I answered this ad on the back of Filmmaker's Market Quarterly.
Right here. "Footage on the vanishing breed.
For more details, write Box 42039."
What's that? Like when they advertise ecological roach killers,
and you get back a block of wood?
Oh, no, this is strictly legitimate.
I get 50 bucks, and I get my name in the credits. Ed Chigliak.
Wait. Vanishing breed. You did say vanishing breed.
Yep. I'm not a vanishing breed.
Well, you'reJewish. That's pretty rare. No, it isn't.
In Cicely it is. Lots of things are rare in Cicely.
Box lunches, public transportation, victimless crimes. That doesn't mean they don't exist.
Ed, being the onlyJew in Cicely doesn't make me the last condor in captivity.
There's Jews everywhere. There's probably thousands of'em in Alaska.
Tens of thousands. Really?
Sure. Let's take a bigger town. North Tongass, for instance.
We'll look for Cohen. It's theJewish equivalent of Smith.
Yankee Doodle Dandy.
No, that's Cohan, with a "han."
This is Cohen, with a "hen."
Okay, let's see.
I mean, in Queens alone, there's probably some 300,000 listed Cohens.
Okay, we have "Coghill."
"Coldwell Banker."
Huh. They have a Coldwell Banker. They don't have a Cohen?
Fine. How many people could there be in Tongass?
2,044. All right. Fairbanks.
Major metropolitan area. They have deli, right?
Yep. Fairbanks, population 77,721.
Okay.
"Cohan, Cohan, Co-"
There's one Cohen in the entire greater Fairbanks area?
All right, wait a minute. How about Greenberg?
There's always a Greenberg.
Greenberg, Greenberg, Greenberg, Greenberg.
"Greenberg." Aha. See?
Three Greenbergs. Also "Greenberg's Florists."
Okay? I mean, there's plenty ofJews in Alaska, Ed. There's plenty.
Oh.
I don't believe this.
I'm looking at the entire list of the borough of Arrowhead County residents.
1,613 people. Not oneJew on here.
There's a "Brommel." There's a "Finnegan."
There's a "Tidewater."
Oh, a "Signorelli." I guess I should be grateful for that. An Italian.
Not one singleJew. Not one.
How do you know? What?
How do you know? Well, you can tell from the names.
How? There are certain givens.
Schwartz, Levine, Bloom, Meyer, Markovitz, Silverman,
Cliffner, Kirchner, Millner.
You know, anything with "ner."
"Ner"? Yeah. Or "berg" or "blatt."
Steinberg, Goldblatt.
"Blatt"? Here's a good one.
"Almquist." Almquist. No Yiddish spoken in that household.
Now, Almquistein, there you have a niceJewish name.
Now, look at this.
I'm marooned in a county the size of Wyoming.
I'm the single only person of the Hebr- Hebraic persuasion.
Wait a minute. I know this name.
"Velachiske."
Velachiske. Is that Indian? Uh-uh. Russian.
Russian. Of course. Velachiske.
The same name of the town my grandmother came from in Russia, I think.
Velachiske. Velachiske. Yeah, I'm certain.
I remember her talking about it. They all had sheep,
and the Cossacks came and hit people on the head.
This is very possible. There's a big Russian population in Alaska.
Velachiske. Boy, oh, boy.
What about Costner? Costner? What about it?
Is thatJewish?
Costner as in Kevin? No, I don't think so.
It has a "ner." Well, yeah, it does, but it-
I wonder if lightbulbs all last the same amount of time.
I don't know. Whenever one goes out, I know it always surprises me.
Hey, Ruth-Anne. How's my girl?
Ira Wingfeather. I haven't seen you in a coon's age.
I've been in Shageluk. Oh.
Say, have I got some duck flutes for you.
Wonderful. Yeah, I was sendin' them down to Tucson.
They were movin' as fast as I could make 'em. This whole Indian revival thing.
But now, with the recession- Oh, wow, too bad.
Oh, aren't they beautiful.
So delicate.
And look at the pinfeathers.
Won't see anything like them anywhere. Hand-carved, one of a kind.
I'll put them right beside the cash register, and they'll sell like hotcakes.
Same deal as always? 60-40.
40-60. 50-50.
Same as always.
I'll catch you later, Ruth-Anne.
Bye.
Mr. Wingfeather? Yes.
Hi, I'm Ed. Um, I saw your flutes, and they're really nice.
Well, thank you, Ed. Yeah. You're the only one that makes 'em?
It's a lost art, young man. A labor of love. Uh-huh.
Well, Mr. Wingfeather, I was wondering if it'd be possible sometime...
if I came out and filmed you making those flutes.
- Like when, Ed? - How 'bout this afternoon?
A self-starter. I like that.
You ever consider sales?
Touch of menthol in the towels today.
Put some camphor in the soak.
Very pleasant. Quite bracing.
I think there's pomade and butch wax in here.
My whole airplane smelled like a high school study hall.
Thank you, Maggie. Just put it down anywhere. Okay.
Phew.
Is that you underneath there, Holling? In the flesh.
Got a letter for you. Not from the I.R.S. is it?
Mmm, no.
Quebec. Oh, well, I'll be.
Do you mind reading it to me, Maggie?
No, no. It's from my Cousin Celeste.
I haven't heard from her in a long time.
"Dear Holling. How are you? We are fine.
I write to tell you sad news. Uncle Charlie finally bit the dust."
Uh-
"He was playing backup for Aaron Neville at Tipitina's in New Orleans,
"and he just k-keeled over.
The funeral was Tuesday. They bury them above the ground there, you know."
Uncle Charlie, dead?
He was my father's brother. Taught me to tie a tie.
- Sorry, Holling. - It's hard to believe the man is gone.
I was down in Hollywood.
I had a good thing goin'.
Little bungalow on Sunset Boulevard.
Couple palm trees, birds of paradise.
You should see this plant. It looks exactly like a flamingo.
Did you ever work with John Ford?
No, but I saw him once at the Copacabana, with the Duke.
John Wayne? Snider.
Center fielder for Brooklyn, when they were called the Bums.
But you know Hollywood, it's a fickle business.
One minute, it's cowboys and Indians.
Next thing you know, Dr. Kildare.
Should I start filming now? No. This one's not right.
Why not? I don't know. Just doesn't grab me.
Not that I didn't make money in Hollywood. There's a lot of work for extras.
And I had a good time.
Here's one.
Hey, that's a nice tomahawk.
An ax or a saw might be more practical.
This belonged to my father-
and his father before him.
Yeah, perfect.
Let's go back.
You know who was a decent fella, Ed? Who's that?
Matt Dillon. Gunsmoke.
Give you the shirt off his back.
I was sittin' between takes, he comes over,
shoots the breeze just like one of the guys.
Well, here we are.
So, um, now you're gonna carve the flute?
Now I take a nap.
Plus, it's good to let the wood rest.
Come tomorrow, we'll make a flute.
See ya. See ya.
Holling?
Yes, Shelly? What's the matter, hon?
Can't sleep? Nope.
We must've done it a million times tonight.
I would think you'd be all tuckered out.
Fraid not. You're bummed about your uncle.
Yeah. One minute you're playin' the fiddle,
the next you're feeding the worms.
Death is so crummy.
How old was he? Uncle Charlie?
110.
Wow. That's pretty old.
Doesn't make him any less dead.
What are you looking for? My silver shot glass.
What's this? My puppets.
They look like kings or something. Look at all this stuff.
This is yours? Yeah. Here it is.
You used to play with puppets? When I was a boy.
Neat.
What are you doing with the good stuff, hon? I'm gonna drink it.
You uncorked that jug the first night we fooled around.
You told me you loved me.
Then you drank me a toast.
Tonight I feel like I oughta lift a glass to Uncle Charlie.
Uh-oh.
I know. Coffee.
Oops. Excuse me. One breakfast special,
reindeer patties, eggs scrambled easy.
Perfect. Here you go, Susan. Oh, it was decaf, right?
Thanks. Shel, what's this rice doin' here?
We ran out of potatoes. I hate rice too.
The little kernels look like old rabbit pellets.
No, you know what? Leave that. I wanna eat that rice.
Rice is good, rice is fine. In fact, I'm glad this rice is here.
You know, in India, in China, rice with the morning meal,
it's a- it's a common practice.
This is just a very good lesson in how culturally habituated we've become.
You know, I'm used to seeing hash browns.
I see this here rice, and I withdraw.
Just for my own information though. Why not any potatoes? Holling took 'em with him.
He took the potatoes. Uh-huh.
Wait a second. Holling took all the potatoes?
I woke up this morning. Holling was gone.
So were the Idahos, the frozen spiral fries, even the tater tots.
Was he depressed?
Whoa, was he. Yeah. This thing with his Uncle Charlie.
We were snatching life out of the jaws of death all night, and even all that hanky-panky didn't help.
You don't think he'll do something stupid, do you?
No, no, no. Don't worry. I think I know where to find him.
She's pretty.
Wagon Train, 1957.
My tribe scalped her entire family.
Sweet girl.
Unfortunately, my wife didn't think so.
You were married? Four times.
Three times too many.
Okay, let's make a flute.
Right.
Speed.
My name is Ira Wingfeather.
I'm 68 years old, and these are my tools.
The hatchet you saw yesterday.
The wood poker I heat on the stove...
to burn the pulp from the center of the branch.
Heat the poker, pressing it in,
repeating the process again and again.
It takes a long time.
To begin with, I strip the bark.
Then I carve. The branch will tell me how to carve it.
- The branch will tell you? - In so many words.
Each piece of wood has its own shape, which you must respect.
My father used to say...
that in each alder branch lies a flute.
Your job is to find it.
They used to say-
that the spirit voice of the wood...
would sing through the mouth of the duck.
See how the blade rides along the grain,
like so, and so?
Hello! Anybody home?
Hey, I thought I'd find you here, Holling.
- Hand me that sack of spuds over there, will you, Chris? - Yeah, sure.
Makin' up some of the good stuff, huh?
I had one last bottle hid behind the still.
Aha, for emergencies. Yeah. Care for a taste?
Sure.
Whoo!
Man, I better strap my head on. That's intense.
Yeah. It's one of the few things in life that a man can depend on.
Sorry about your Uncle Charlie, Holling.
It's passing me by, Chris. What is?
Life. Moving on without me, leaving me here in the dust.
Oh, Holling, you got a great life.
A big fat zero.
That's not how I see it. You should've known my Uncle Charlie.
Now there was a man who lived his life. He partook.
Yeah, we'd- we'd get postcards from...
Istanbul, Hong Kong.
Shipped off on a steamer. Saw the world.
Hmm. You know, some people they're on the run, Holling.
They're trying to outrun their demons.
I didn't have the intestinal fortitude, Chris.
I didn't have the stuff.
Yeah, the train stopped for me, but I let it go on without me.
Care for another snort?
I was 17 years old.
I was loadin' a sack of oats in my old man's flatbed.
This fella sees me lookin' at his license plate.
I say, "California."
He says, "Come on, hop in. If you don't like it, you can come on back home.
- What have you got to lose?" - The path not taken.
Yeah. I didn't go out and meet life, Chris.
I didn't take it by the horns.
It took me.
You know, Fleischman,
you Hebraic people may not be drawn...
to our rugged existence up here in Alaska,
but what ones of you there are sure leave your mark.
Meaning? Mountains.
Mountains? Yeah.
There's a lot of mountains up here named forJews. Check your map.
Mount Ripinski over in the Brooks Range.
Mount Goldberg over by Kaiakak.
Mount Goldberg? You're kidding. No, no. God's honest truth.
There's a Mount Applebaum too.
MoreJewish mountains in Alaska than Jews.
Hey, Maurice, that was it. We're entering Velachiske.
This is it?
This is Velachiske?
They call this a town?
There's nobody here.
Hasn't been anybody here for some time, by the looks of things.
What's in here?
Well, lot of dust.
Somebody left a pair of shoes.
Must've been a real hotbed of civilization. A regular cultural mecca.
Kind of makes you stop and think, doesn't it?
No, it doesn't, Maurice.
It makes me feel alone.
Alone like a stone.
Like a what?
Something my grandfather said when my grandma died.
That he was alone like a stone in the New World.
Hmm.
Mmm. It's too late.
Hmm? I'm 63 years old- 63.
My life is half over.
This must be what folks mean by a midlife crisis.
Males in your family don't make it much past 40, do they, Chris?
No, sir. How did you handle it?
Huh? The midlife thing.
Oh. Not very well, I'm afraid.
How's that?
I was 22.
One day, I was 23.
Lost a whole year, Holling.
365 days down the drain.
Well, what'd you do?
Haven't the slightest idea.
Hope I had fun. Hmm.
You don't recollect any part of it?
Not a thing.
I have been able to piece together a few small fragments of my lost year...
from the recollections of friends and kind strangers.
I just got out of the joint and was tryin' to put something together.
You know, workin' in the steel mill back home.
Then my dad died.
Then my Uncle Roy Bower-
42 and 43, respectively.
Then my back went out.
Oh, needless to say, I freaked.
Been told I spent some time with...
a hostess down in Macon, Georgia.
Lived for a couple of months naked in a cave,
down in the Jemez Mountains, New Mexico.
Naked? Yeah.
Nobody around, so what the hell, you know.
They had this natural hot spring...
with watercress just growin' up all around it.
I just got down on all fours,
and I just grazed.
You think slower when you graze.
2,000 Jews in the entire state of Alaska.
Half a million people, 2,000 Jews.
551,000 people, according to the '85 census.
Yeah, well, of those 2,000, 1,500 are in Anchorage.
There's only 50 in Juneau. One single Jewish cemetery in the whole state.
One. In Fairbanks, and it's full.
- You've been reading the phone book. - No, I haven't been reading the phone books, Ed.
I've been looking through them, which is an entirely different exercise.
Oh, I read 'em once. They're pretty good.
I found a Fleischman in Chugiak.
A family of Fleischenhauers in Anchorage, but, I mean, they could be German.
Ira used to live in Anchorage. He sold plumbing fixtures.
- Ira? Who's Ira? - Ira Wingfeather. He's my vanishing breed.
He makes these great little duck flutes out of alder tree branches.
I shot 1,500 feet of him yesterday.
Well, that's, uh, a fitting subject. Oh, it is.
He's perfect. He's the last of his line.
Well, he has children in Fort Lauderdale. That's in Florida.
Yeah, I know where Fort Lauderdale is, Ed.
Yeah. Well, they don't talk to him much now,
on account of he had a faithfulness problem with his wives- their mothers.
Your friend, Mr., uh- No. Uh, Wingfeather.
So he's all alone up here?
With his flutes. And when he dies, his craft will die with him.
But I will have preserved it for all posterity.
- And I'll be a professional. - What's his name?
- Mr. Wingfeather. - No, the other part. You said Ira?
There has to be a Jew involved in there somewhere.
Ira isn't an Indian name, at least not where I come from.
His mother named him after Ira Gershwin.
Ira Gershwin. Right. Of course.
- Holling! You're home. - Yes. I am here in the flesh.
I was worried about you, babe. The fryer went out, the number three beer pump quit - Everybody go home.
Holling? Go home.
You heard me. Everybody out.
Holling, get over here.
Holling Vincoeur, you are creeping me out.
Your breath smells like diesel fuel. How much of the good stuff did you drink?
I happen to be fine, and I've never seen more clearly in my life.
I'm gonna die, Shelly.
I'm gonna die and you want me to worry about a Fria-now-or-lator.
I'm sorry you're having a midlife crisis, babe.
But, Holling, you still have all your hair and your same teeth.
So what if we only have 63 more years together?
We can still live each and every hour of each and every day.
What do you know about it?
What?
Miss Northwest Passage.
Miss Perfect Little Buns that all the guys wanna grope after the game.
How old are you anyway? What, 19?
Old enough to know when somebody's being a jerk.
Well, la-di-da. Hey!
I'm not your whipping post, Holling Vincoeur. I am not your board to bang.
If you wanna slide down the slippery slope, fine. Go right ahead.
But you're not dragging me down with you. Fine.
I just came back to get something to eat, and then I'm out of here.
What are you looking at?
Dr. Fleischman? Yeah?
I've got a problem, Dr. Fleischman.
Well, it's not me. It's Holling.
- What's up? - I've never seen him like this.
He's so wild and mean and- and yucky.
Holling? His Uncle Charlie died, and now he's run away from home.
He's drinkin' too much of the good stuff. Good stuff?
He's sliding down the slippery slope, Dr. Fleischman.
Chris says he's havin' a midlife crisis.
- Holling's having a midlife crisis? - Yeah.
- The man's 63. - Yeah.
Well, wait. Actually, it sort of makes sense with, uh, the longevity in his family.
- You've got to talk to him, Dr. Fleischman. - All righty. Where is he?
- In the woods at the still. - The still?
- Uh-huh. - Still. All right.
Hey, Holling. Joel?
What're you doin' here? Gettin' wood.
Yeah, well, I can see that. I was talking about more of an existential sense.
Wow. It's a- a still. It's a real still.
l- I don't think I've ever seen one before.
I mean, where would I see one? West 4th Street, Chelsea?
It's funny. It looks like, uh, a Rube Goldberg contraption.
Goldberg may have one, whoever he is,
but this was my father's still and his father's before him.
Back in Canada, we used grapes,
but, uh, I go for potatoes, apricots, whatever's to hand.
Oh. You want a slug?
Well, okay.
Wow. Strong stuff.
Yeah. It makes the best vodka in the world. A hundred proof.
I distill it twice. That is the secret.
Go ahead and try it. You'll like it. No. No, thanks.
A little wine is fine for me, but vodka's not my drink.
You know, uh, hard alcohol's a depressant, Holling. So much the better.
Well, uh, this has been very illuminating,
but don't you think you better be heading home now?
- Not till I'm done here. - And when will that be?
Who knows? Maybe never.
So, you're gonna spend the rest of your life in the woods drinking pure vodka.
No, but I'm gonna go to Texas. I'm gonna saddle up.
I'm gonna drive a herd of cattle clean across the Great Divide.
Well, I'm pretty sure that they transport cattle in trucks now, Holling.
See? What'd I tell ya? It's all passed me by.
Holling - Most guys who have a midlife crisis want exactly what you have now.
You have a gorgeous young wife, or almost wife, which is even better,
voted by specialists, experts, the most beautiful woman in the entire Northwest Passage.
You're your own boss. Y-You live in one of the world's few remaining unspoiled wildernesses.
And people would- would die to live here.
l-I don't... happen to be one of them, but most people.
Are you trying to say that life is worth living, Joel?
Uh, something like that. You think life is so peachy?
I'm a doctor. I've dedicated my life to preserving it.
Try lookin' at your own life. What have you got?
- What do you mean? - Years of education, all kinds of hopes and dreams.
- Yeah? - And where's it gotten you?
Trapped someplace you don't wanna be.
Aprisoner, a slave. You lost your woman, your home,
everything familiar to you.
The best years of your life are draining away.
- Yeah. - You could die in a plane crash next week.
You could choke on a chicken bone tomorrow.
And what would it have meant?
Would you have been fulfilled?
Or would your life have been...
some pitiful, alienated-
misplaced waste?
Yeah.
Eat up, Ed. Plenty more where that came from.
I love enchiladas.
Chicken or cheese. I'm not wild about beef.
I've got another senor combination in the freezer, if you need anything else.
Oh, no. This'll probably be plenty.
Pass me the hot sauce, Ed. Thank you.
You know, there's a whole history to the flutes. They're very interesting.
They were used for courting.
The music was supposed to win a girl's heart, even the most reluctant one.
Each young man had a song whose melody was transmitted by a guiding spirit,
say, a roving wolf or a tree or a flower.
To find the song, he would go alone into the wilderness and fast,
until the music came to him in a dream.
- Wow. - Yeah. That's something, isn't it?
Um, doesn't it bother you that, you know, no one else is gonna be able to make these flutes once you're gone?
Nah.
- But then it's all gonna end. - Listen. It's not so tragic.
The world used to be full of things which are no longer:
Mastodons and saber-toothed tigers,
Indian tribes, herds of buffalo.
Everything gets gone sooner or later. It's the lay of the land.
Things become extinct.
Huh.
"In the middle of thejourney of our life,
"I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.
"Oh, how hard it is to tell of that wood, savage and harsh and dense, the thought of which renews my fear.
So bitter is it, that death is hardly more."
That's Dante, folks, writing of his own midlife crisis.
That's the 14th century. 600 years have passed and we're still into it.
It's at that midpoint in our personal continuum...
when our delicate lives hang in the balance.
We-We look behind us to see how far we've come,
and we realize that our past isn't a solitary trail through secret woods,
but a vista as-as big and expansive as the ocean itself,
with our experiences stretching to the horizon,
like tiny dot-like sailboats sucked up into the enormous sea.
A toast to auld lang syne,
for my own midlife crisis at 22, my lost year.
To excess, forgetfulness, failure and blindness.
In many ways, friends, best year of my life.
Don't say anything. Don't even make a sound.
My head is made of glass. My eyelashes hurt.
There's a- a felt carpet on my tongue.
I'm gonna go get something hot, put it in my stomach,
and I'll be right back.
Did you reschedule Mrs. Tatsanotinowa?
Tuesday. Thank you.
- What's that? - Hair of the dog.
That's a good idea. That's very considerate, Marilyn. Thank you.
- What is that? What is in here? - Hair of the dog.
Dog hair?
Oatmeal. Oh, thanks.
Uh, Shelly? Yes, Dr. Fleischman?
Get this out of here, please. I can't look at it.
I just- l-I need something warm and comforting,
but not so aggressively comforting.
Rice? Too white.
Dr. Fleischman, what's gonna happen to Holling?
My bed's so cold and lonely. If I don't use it, I'm gonna lose it.
I'm sorry, Shelly. I tried. He dragged me down with him.
How about a V8? It always used to work for my dad.
Thick. Red. Uh-uh. Um-
You know what? A glass of water. Yeah.
That sounds good. W-With ice in it. Okay. Ice.
Hello, Dr. Fleischman. Hello, Ed.
Well, you know, I finished my movie, and it's really good.
That's great. Congratulations. Yeah, thanks.
Dr. Fleischman? Mmm?
Life and... art are a lot different, aren't they? Come again?
Well, you know, I put Mr. Wingfeather down on film for all posterity,
but when he's gone, then there still won't be anybody around who knows how to make the duck flutes.
- Uh- Is this a question? - No.
Thank you, Dr. Fleischman.
Here's your water, Dr. Fleischman. That's great. Thank you.
Hangover? Grandfather of all hangovers.
Yeah. Holling's stuff is good, huh?
I mean, it takes you to places you didn't even know existed. Dark but comfy.
Sort of like the kind of euphoria people are said to feel right before they drown. Exactly.
I gotta tell you, Chris. I've been feeling such a sense of isolation lately.
Oh, yeah? As a Jew.
I mean, I've always known intellectually thatJews are a small minority.
There's 250 million people in this country? There's five million Jews.
I mean, everyone in New York was Jewish, or it seemed that way.
I have a cousin in Rhode Island, Providence, says it's different up there. He feels like a minority.
Jews move into neighborhoods, WASPs move out.
I mean, forget Providence, forget Atlanta even, or Des Moines.
I'm the onlyJew in Cicely.
The onlyJew in the borough of Arrowhead County.
Different. Alone.
Hello, Ed. Hey. What are you doin' here? I thought it was a wrap.
This is for you.
What's this? The film? Yep.
- For me? - Yep. I wanted you to have it.
Why? You don't want your 50 bucks?
Well, I want you to teach me how to make the duck flutes.
- You do? - Yeah, 'cause I was thinking it's just like the condors.
The condors? Yeah, you know. Which would you rather see,
a picture of a condor or a condor?
Condor, no question. Yeah.
And plus, I really like you, and you know a lot of stuff.
So I was wonderin' if you'd teach me how to make 'em. Sure.
Why not, Ed? Hold on a second. I'll go get my tomahawk.
Hey.
- Marilyn? - Hurry up. It's time.
- Time for what? - Go home. Now.
Shelly?
Once upon a time, a boy was born on New Year's Day, 1929.
His parents named him Holling Gustaf Vincoeur.
He came from the hills of Quebec,
a humble trapper's son.
Like his old man and his old man before him, he was a trapper too.
But soon there wasn't much stuffleft to trap.
Bummer.
So he decided... to go to Alaska.
Ta-da.!
Everything was new. It wasn't even a state yet.
This place is cool. I think I'll stay here.
So Holling hunted...
and fished and killed many bears.
Everyone knew who he was for miles around.
He was famous.
Then one day-
Yikes! Pow! Grr! Zap!
Grr! Whammo! Grr! Crunch! Grr!
Ouch. One bear almost killed him.
This was Jesse. The trapper's legend grew.
But the trapper's son was very strong.
He had a very high pain threshold.
He got to his feet and went back to work.
By this time, he owned a very nice bar.
One day, a man came into the bar...
who was a United States astronaut who'd been to outer space.
Soon, the two were best friends.
Why did the chicken cross the road? I don't know.
To get to the other side. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
The two men did everything together.
They- They hunted...
and fished...
and played bridge.
One day, the astronaut took a trip to a faraway place.
See you in a few days. So long.
When he returned, he brought back a beautiful chick maiden.
Wow!
When the chick maiden saw the trapper's son,
she almost peed in her pants.
He was so cool and nice, and not to mention a total stud.
Lots of guys had looked her over plenty of times, but not like this guy.
She fell in love right then and there.
So she walked up to the trapper's son.
If you want me, I'm yours.
Wow!
He did.
She felt like she was the luckiest chick maiden in the world.
The end.