Uncle Phil

 

Uncle Phil was my favorite uncle. He was a bachelor and had a lot of time to dote on me - J I think his purpose in life must have been to take care of others. He cared for grandma, my great aunt and even a childhood friend of his. It seemed like his mission in life to always be “doing” for others.

I always looked forward to him arriving at the landing where I’d pick him up for his weekend get away. He came bearing goodies from my mom and dad. He did this every weekend. He’d arrive after work on Friday night and head home late Sunday night. He’d spend his weekends taking care of what ever needed to be “taken care” of.  Remember my brother and I were on that island with only our grandma and aunt Aggie. So when uncle Phil arrived it meant driving us to the little town of Delafield to do some grocery shopping. Stopping at the icehouse for a new 50# block of ice for the “ice box”, and also being our transportation to church – every Sunday.

 We also had to make a Saturday run to the dump in another small town nearby.  That was a very special time off of the island. Uncle Phil would stop to visit “Uncle Tom” – his nickname for a local bar. He’d throw back a couple of cold ones, give us some money and off we’d go to the drug store. In those days – drug store – meant a place to get ice cream. My brother always got chocolate malt and I always had a chocolate ice cream soda. It was our standard menu. When we had finished our treats we’d meet uncle Phil, hop into the old Ford, drive to the landing, pile back in the boat and head back to the island.

 Sometimes we’d meet people at the landing who had come out for the day. We’d take them across the lake in our little wooden rowboat. By this time we had graduated to a BIG outboard motor. A shiny new 51/2 HP Johnson had replaced the little Elgin. It made the trip so much faster – NOT.

Then the fun began. We’d be in the water all day if grandma would allow it. But the most exciting thing for me was when Uncle Phil would get in the water with me and drag me around in the inner tube. He’d pick me up and drop me like a cannon ball. I’d squeal for more and beg him until I wore him out.

The rest of the family was usually sitting near the dock, drinking beer or water or “whatever”. As the sun started to set Uncle Phil would build a bonfire and then take me along to find some very green willow branches. That done – he’d drag out his army knife and whittle away the bark. This became our stick for roasting marshmallows. He even had his own technique for that. The trick was to get the marshmallow flaming until it was charred. Then he’d peel off the char and roast the mushy inside again. Those were by far the BEST-roasted marshmallows ever.

I have many stories about this special Uncle. Sadly he died way too young at the age of 57. His death was tragic and even after 37 years I still feel the void in my heart. I wish my daughters could have known him. He was a good, kind hearted, hard working and decent man.