Her name was Candy

Thinking back to my old deer hunting camp, I remembered an amusing incident that happened one night at a bar. I'd like to write about it but the problem is that it was sixty years ago, and while I remember the salient points, I've forgotten much of the detail. But I do have the urge to write about it so to provide continuity to the story I'm going to fill in the gaps in memory with what I think probably happened. As a result some of what follows is fact, some is guesswork. But it's not too far off the mark.

Her name was Candy...Candy Barr. That was probably her stage name. I never did know her real name. Doesn't make any difference. A name is no big thing. You need a name to get a driver license, vote, and receive social security. You need a name to put on your grave marker. It goes slightly above or below "The Lord is my Shepherd", depending on your preference, or more likely the preference of whoever is putting you in the hole.

The first time I saw Candy was in a Wisconsin north woods tavern during deer hunting season. This would have been about 1960 or so. There were always a few tavern owners who hired strippers for the nine-day season to get as many hunters as possible into their bar at night. Lin, me and the rest of our guys were seated at a table not far from the make-shift stage where Candy was doing her routine accompanied by the stripper's national anthem, "If you want it, here it is, come and get it." We were talking about the new rifle John had brought to camp. It was a Browning 30-06 BAR camel back design. I didn't like it but wouldn't say that to John who had spent a bundle on his new pride and joy. Anyway, we suddenly heard Candy say in a loud voice, "It seems to me that the boys at that table (ours) would rather see a man up here taking off his clothes. I and the others just laughed, but Lin, never one to take an insult said, "Well perhaps if you would come up with something other than the same old bumps and grinds we would show some interest." Some guys at another table took exception to Lin's comment. A big beefy guy shouted that Lin should apologize to the lady. Knowing Lin, I had the feeling things were about to get ugly.

Fights were not common during deer season in taverns in those days but they did happen. Often the cause was about shooting a doe. If I remember correctly a camp with a minimum of four hunters could apply for a doe permit for 'camp meat.' Old timers believed you were hurting the deer population by shooting does, no matter what those young whippersnappers in the Conservation Department were saying. Our camp always got a permit, and always shot a doe. Venison is venison in my book. 

Another bone of contention could be a discussion about the best caliber for hunting. Shortly after the Korean War the government dumped a lot of .30 caliber carbines on the market. Most hunters thought the gun should be outlawed for hunting because it wasn't powerful enough to cleanly kill a deer. I agreed with that. I shot that rifle many times while in the army and didn't like it. Sure, it was short, light and easy to carry but I wouldn't want to stake my life on it. Mostly it was issued to officers and support units. Support units were ordnance companies, headquarters companies and all the other REMFs (rear echelon mother f______). The infantry units carried the M1 Garand. Now that was a rifle. It weighed 9 1/2 pounds, was 43 1/2 inches long and was 30-06 caliber. It took care of business. It was eventually replaced by the M14, the only differences being a built-in flash deflector and magazine fed instead of clip fed. But you probably don't care about that.

Getting back to the story, Lin shouts back at Mr. Beefy that it's none of his business and he should keep his mouth shut. So the guy stands up, inhaling as much air as possible to make himself look bigger and more threatening. So Lin gets up but he don't have to inhale to look threatening. He stands 6'3'', weighs 235 and is built like a fireplug. The other guy can see that, but what he can't see is that Lin can hit with either hand harder than a mule kicks. He can lift the state of Rhode Island. And he loves to fight, something his mild-mannered parents could never understand. As both men start walking toward each other, the group at the other guy's table stands up. Our guys got no choice but to back Lin's play so we stand up, and I'm thinking here we go! The bar tender starting yelling that everybody should relax, but it was Candy who diffused the situation. She shouted out, "Boys, sit down! Ain't nobody insulted no one!" That big voice coming out of that little biddy body took everybody by surprise. We all sat down, but not without both groups making our most fierce expressions at each other. Candy resumed her routine, we applauded, pounded on the table and wolf whistled, and everyone was happy.

Later, after the place had emptied out some and Candy had changed into regular clothing and had taken a seat at the bar I bought her a drink. I told her I was impressed with how she had taken charge of the situation and asked if she had experienced that before. I don't remember what she said. The rest of the conversation was normal small talk until she started telling me about her personal life. She lived in Milwaukee, was divorced, and worked in the jewelry section of Gimbels Department Store. She said each deer season she worked a gig as a stripper because it added something different and sort of exciting to what she said was a dull life, and it paid pretty good. Soon I was telling her about my life and it felt like we were becoming friends.

A couple nights later we were back at the bar. So far, except for the camp deer none of us had shot a buck, and with only one day remaining the odds of getting one were slim, so we talked about what we could do differently next year. Later Candy and I talked a bit but it was brief, I guess because we had said all there was to say previously. As she prepared to leave she said over her shoulder, "See you next year" and I responded with, "Let me know where you're working", each of us knowing that wasn't going to happen.

A few years later I was at Milwaukee's South Ridge Mall when I heard someone behind me shout out hey! I turned around and there was Candy. With her was a boy of about 8 years. She had forgotten my name, and I thought it prudent not to call her Candy in front of the boy. She asked how I was doing, and volunteered that she was happily married to a great guy, was still working at Gimbels, and had stopped "making trips up north." I told her that our camp had broken up and I hadn't been up north much either.

I could see that Candy was happy with her life. I was glad for her. After a few more minutes we said our goodbyes. I never saw her again.