a short story...

I've been trying different features with the blog as you might have noticed. What follows is a short story about a fishing trip to Alaska with my buddies. Hope you enjoy it...

The TSESYU* Cafe

*An Alabaskan Indian word for “People of the Caribou Clan”; also the name of a little roadside café in Cantwell Alaska.

A true Alaskan story of fishing, friendship and food service...

The four, ‘fifty-something’ men shuffled into the Tsesyu Café (pronounced say-sue) during the lunch rush and took the only booth without seated customers or dirty dishes on the table. They were tanned, unshaven, and not recently showered having just returned from a fishing trip that had been 30 years in the making.

They thought their “Great Alaskan Adventure” was complete. The fishing, the company and the scenery had all been spectacular. Little did they suspect that the capstone of their adventure was about to unfold, not on a hike up an ice blue glacier or at the reel end of a fighting, 40 pound King Salmon, but in an unremarkable, roadside diner on the George Parks Highway.

The men had been Alpha Gamma Rho fraternity brothers at the University of Maine in the early 70’s and, despite the passage of time, it was obvious from the smiles on their faces and their easy laughter, they were glad to be together again.

They were family men, married to wonderful women, fathers to outstanding children, men who had dedicated the last 30 years of their lives to providing for their families and earning “success” in the business world. They were "Baby Boomers," following in their father's footsteps, though not quite sure why. And they had all come to a similar place in life, questioning the business world’s definition of success, catching fleeting glimpses of their purpose and of their own mortality; wiser, though battle scarred from their experiences.

Bob was a division sales and marketing executive for a high-profile IT company in Boston and had the distinction of having the youngest child of the four. His 12-year-old, only daughter was his greatest joy just as fatherhood was his greatest challenge-- as it was for them all. He listened intently when the others spoke of their fatherhood experiences soaking in their successes and their failures for future reference.

Allen was 18 months away from the conclusion of the sale of his Washington DC headquartered business. His reserves had been low at the beginning of the trip and miraculously had been renewed during the week in the wilderness. The day before he had shipped his 26-year-old daughter 60 pounds of frozen Pink Salmon fillets and the smile was still wide upon his face.

Gordie lived in Alaska, had moved there in the mid 70's and was the unofficial leader of the group. He had chosen to live in Fairbanks and build his accounting business while raising three sons and taking full advantage of the canoeing, hunting and fishing that Alaska so abundantly offered. He had impressed the others with his rafting skills in the class 4 white water and, of course, his ability to drive his old RV over the precarious mountain passes and twisting highways.

Glen lived in Maine and had fought the "corporate wars" in the paper industry. He had purposefully made a change several years earlier and talked excitedly about his new, more meaningful work. Like Gordie, he had twin sons and like Allen and Bob, he had a daughter, each the center of his world. And like the others, he was struck with the power and the ease with which they had come back together after all these years.

Something had been forged between them during their time together, along with 50 other young men, living in the college fraternity house. It was more than friendship and it was something they valued greatly-- but had somehow forgotten. There was no pretense, no competition, each man recognized and valued for themselves, not for their possessions or accomplishments.

The pit stop, just up the road from the Mt. Denali access road, at the Tsesyu Café in Cantwell had been a spur of the moment decision following an incredible week of wilderness adventure. They had “put in” at Paxson Lake to raft and canoe the Gulkana River for four days, catching countless Arctic Grayling, Rainbow Trout and even a few King Salmon, enjoying each other’s company and reveling in some of the most magnificent wilderness on God’s earth. The stretches of white water had challenged them, soaked their clothes but not their spirits, and reawakened in them that old excitement of living their lives closer to "the edge."

The port of Valdez on Prince William Sound was their next destination, driving the old ’84 Dodge RV down the Richardson Highway, through the mountain passes, stopping here and there to marvel at the waterfalls, the snow capped mountains, the majestic glaciers. The June weather was uncommonly clear. They rented a boat and explored the breathtaking Sound. The schools of Pink Salmon were running strong and they caught the awesome 10 pound fish until their shoulders were sore, drinking beer and laughing wildly like they used to back at school.

Now they were on their way back; back to Fairbanks to unload the gear; back to the airport to catch the red-eye home; back to family and work and the lives that they had chosen. None of them was quite ready to return, to leave what they had rediscovered, to end this adventure.

The smell of fish was strong on them as the sole waitress passed out menus. The black haired, dark eyed woman, though smiling, looked dazed, on the verge of panic, as she took food orders. They tried to order hot dogs, but she said she was out of buns, "would bread be ok?" The unattended coffeepot smelled burned and bubbled a thick, black sludge. Customers glanced nervously at the waitress, anxious to have their food served, their tables cleared, their orders taken. The men probed the situation in a good-natured way.

What was her name?

Clementine, but everyone called her Clem. She and her husband owned the cafe, but he was on the North Slope working as a driller on an oilrig. She was half Alabaskan Indian and had left a job in the “lower 48” to come home and run this café.

Where was her help? Was she alone?

The cook had come in drunk that morning and had been sent home. Her other helper had attempted to "sprint" the 120 miles to Fairbanks for supplies and had not come back.

The men glanced at each other and an unspoken decision was reached. Did she want a little help?

A moments pause, as she looked cautiously at the four, wondering what she was getting herself into, but knowing full well the mess she was already in. "Yes, a little help would be great..."

The four leaped into action. A teamwork forged years before came forward as each identified a task that needed to be done and took about doing it. Gordie, accountant that he was, headed to the cash register where piles of receipts and money lay unattended. Bob grabbed a tray and cleared tables, poured water for the waiting customers and made (drinkable) coffee. Allen headed for the kitchen, which was in total disarray, and began organizing orders and washing dishes. Glen put on an apron and began taking orders and delivering food. The unsuspecting customers had no warning of the insanity that was to follow.

"What’s the soup of the day?"

"Don't have a clue."

"Ok then, what's good?"

"Beat's me. Never ate here."

Confusion and laughter filled the room. Several less adventuresome parties quickly got up and left. The rest sat back and watched.

Clem was shell-shocked. She was standing at the smoking grill, turning in circles when the tour bus pulled into the dirt parking lot. Allen, who had at one time been a Navy helicopter pilot, approached her directly, as was his style.

"Clem… Look At Me!", he snapped as he pointed to his eyes with two fingers of his right hand

She froze like a deer in the headlights and looked into his eyes.

"You've got to tell us what to do." he said firmly, "Tell us what to do… NOW!"

She shook her head, took a deep breath and began to communicate with her new team. "Gordie… or whatever your name is, go next door and get ice. Oh, and hot dog rolls, too! Tell them it's for Clem."

"Glen, we're out of the chicken baskets. Push the bean soup. It's the special."

"Allen, I need plates washed, food basket set-ups and onions sliced. Right away!"

"Bob, the table in the corner needs coffee refills. And bring me some hamburgers from the freezer."

The customers were paying full attention now. They were fascinated at the unfolding circus of activity and took every opportunity to engage in the chaos by asking questions.

"So you don't work here?"

"Nope, just helping out. The cook came in drunk."

One whiskered, old geezer asked, "Did Clem hire you?"

"Nope"

"Didn't think so… You guys are pretty odd."

"Yup."

Slowly the food was served, the payments were received, the tables were cleaned and reset and new customers were seated.

"Sorry for the delay. Here… have a coffee on the house."

"Yeah, I think there's blueberry pie. Lemme check."

"No toilet paper in the bathroom? Here, take some napkins..."

" OK… Who Ordered The Chili Dog?"

Peals of laughter spread through the cafe as customers were caught up in the mayhem, Clem's laughter the loudest among them. In the midst of the chaos, Clem’s helper, Mildred, showed up from her supply run to Fairbanks and stopped in her tracks as she entered the kitchen.

"Sorry Clem, I got caught up in the road construction.... Who the heck are these grungy guys?"

"They're Angels! I prayed for them and my prayers were answered... I really thought that angels would smell better though." she laughed. "Listen, I need 2 toasted cheese sandwiches right away… and where's the frozen chicken?"

Now the team was firing on all cylinders. The rush of customers surged and waned and surged again. Finally the restaurant began to clear. One customer nursed his coffee and seemed in no hurry to leave.

Bob approached him. "Can I get you some desert or something?"

"Nope, just sticking around for the dinner show," he grinned.

By 3:00 it was over. Clem sat the men down to steaming bowls of bean soup and her famous halibut baskets. They ate like ravenous dogs and regaled each other with stories of the past three hours. They laughed until they were doubled over, gasping for breath.

Finally, it was time to go. With a twinkle in her eye, Clem handed them a signed copy of the menu as a thank you memento. She embraced each man as they filed out the door and back into the RV, back into their lives. As they drove toward the airport, Bob opened the menu and read these words; “I do believe in angels! Thanks for jumping in and helping me through the chaos. You guys are great. Come back real soon!”.

It struck the men that, in a way, they had already come back. They had come back to the priceless friendships that had been formed 30 years past at UMO. Their time together had renewed and refreshed them. And they promised to gather again in the years to come… at the Tseysu Café in Cantwell, Alaska.