High Plains Drifter**
He was a high plains drifter of sorts. Not that he rode a spotted horse from one frontier town to the next. His drifting took him only from Kingston to New Paltz and back, thousands of times over rte. 9W, in an older ford pickup truck which was not spotted but did have rust scattered about. He sat tall behind the wheel much like Clint sat tall and straight in his saddle. And he had that look, Clint’s look……..deadpan, mysterious, stern, and downright mean. He too, was a man of very few words. And that presence………. you always gave him more space than others. You could comfortably joke with most people, not Fred. One was never quite sure how it would be received. There was a sense of humor, but difficult to reach and expressed only on occasion.
A big man, rock solid, athletic in his youth, with a huge head and dark emotionless eyes. You knew that he was not to be messed with. One wrong move and you might be eaten alive, or at least quickly put in your place. There was an assumed ferocity about him, although over the twenty-five years that I knew him it never surfaced, to the best of my knowledge. The possibility was just there and that was enough. He was a casual friend and colleague in the room next to mine midway down the E-wing of the local high school. I don’t know if he was a good teacher or not. He seemed to be liked by the students, but rarely spoken of. In all the years that his classroom sat adjacent to mine, I never heard any disruption from his side of the common wall. Never any indication that there was not absolute control. Most students prone to problematic classroom behavior know where the boundaries really are. They may at times act like assholes, but they are not stupid. Just like me, they too had no desire to be consumed. So while his teaching expertise remained a question, his class room management did not. You did not fuck with him. Remember, on some level he was Clint. I sensed it and so did his students.
As a group, we knew very little about him. Fred was close to no one. He would occasionally come into the faculty room during his free period or lunch. This visit was not to converse, but to read the sports section of the newspaper and perhaps monitor the current gossip. We would see him more during the times of contract negotiations. He took these battles ( and most were ) very seriously. In counting the numbers to determine the strength of member support, one could always count on Fred. He was not going to be short changed or screwed by the forces that be. He was a local boy. He knew the towns power brokers and their families. Well versed in local politics, he knew what these people were capable of; that they mostly could give a shit about these uppity, over paid, nonresident teachers that worked in their schools. Fred knew that for the most part, we were not dealing with enlightened people. These were conservative business and farm people who did not fully appreciate the effort put forth to educate their kids. As long as the schools were open, safe, and offered a comprehensive sports program, that was all that mattered. Expansive educational programs often seemed like an afterthought.
You would see him walking to his vehicle and exiting the parking lot during the school day. Fred was a smoker in a time when the school district was tightening its policy regarding smoking on school grounds. When the ban was finalized, he was beside himself and chose to follow what appeared to be his only realistic option, since quitting or cutting back seemed out of the question. Get in his truck, go for a drive and smoke a cigarette or two. This worked for some time until he was confronted about his leaving campus several times a day. I remember seeing him after his being told that this would no longer be permitted. That oversized head was not spinning but it was certainly pulsating and there may have been steam coming from at least one ear. I never thought his eyes could appear larger or darker, but they were during that moment. It was not just anger but outrage. If you gave him distance before, now you backed off, listened to the rare tirade and of course, said nothing. I wondered just how he would make it through the day without the fix. There was talk that in the very dark corners of the boiler room, he could be found with a couple others, taking care of business. Don’t know if this was true. Lets just say that the vice principal and janitorial staff were also local boys and shall we say “ sympathetic”. Small towns, and New Paltz was, work that way. It’s just the way it is.
As with all of us, even Clint, there were other sides to Fred. Husband, father of two very pleasant, respectful and quiet children, he also owned not just a fairly good size trailer park, but also a bar on this property. Knowing his kids, the cleanliness and orderliness of the trailer park, and the atmosphere of his drinking establishment, his mark was on each. There was not a warmth that was often expressed. However, my suspicion is that underneath that detached exterior, there was kindness and generosity that was shown to his family, tenants and customers. He had married a very pleasant woman but unfortunately, his marriage had ended in a divorce. His kids grew up to be be successful and professional adults. How close they were to him is unknown to me. And apparently as he aged, his interest in being a landlord and bar owner dissipated. Both were sold. As far as the dynamics behind all these changes in his life, I don’t believe the real story was ever told, at least by him. Again, few words, and sadly, to my best guess, emotional isolation.
The bar was quite the place. Family run, it attracted a very local clientele who were loyal and accomplished in their weekly consumption of beer and spirits. This crowd kind of evolved into a social club that sprouted a slow pitch softball team that played in local leagues. Fred sponsored the team which meant that he paid for uniforms and the beer after the game which sometimes was consumed mid morning after an early Sunday game. I played the outfield and Fred played third base. We won and lost some games, but his demeanor never changed. Good days, bad days, very little was said and the beer remained cold and forthcoming. On the playing field I remember thinking that someone as big as he was and as mean as he looked, how could he not just knock the cover off of the ball. Clint, playing slow pitch softball would have hit the ball out of site and spit in your eye while rounding the bases. Fred was a line drive hitter, mostly singles. All that power wasted it seemed to me on a line drive to left field. And although I had my own problems to worry about in “right” field, I always wondered why he put himself on third base instead of first. He was a big guy who did not move quickly to either side with any great degree of flexibility or grace. But, this was Fred’s team, money, and beer. Under those circumstances, you play any position you like. In my case, I stayed in right field, kept my mouth shut, and tried not to drop any fly balls.
There was a side to him that could have been his undoing at least a couple of times during the years I knew him. He loved all aspects of sports; playing, watching, coaching, and especially gambling. Anyone with any knowledge of who he was, knew this. In Fred’s case it may have been more than just placing an occasional bet. Word was that Fred would bet often and take bets as well. This was always a very gray area in terms of the degree of his involvement and who his associates actually were. On one occasion the local DA decided to crack down on gambling in our county. Fred’s name appeared with many others in our local paper with charges brought against him. I remember thinking at the time that this may be the end of his teaching career. But it was not, and the outcome of the charges never came to light. Perhaps they were dropped, reduced, or simply went away. It was something he never spoke of nor did anyone dare to ask. You just didn’t go there.
As the years slipped by, there was a fatigue that set in with Fred as with many of us. Thirty plus years in education and a weariness began to take its toll. The kids perhaps were not the same. Overall, the job was not what it used to be. In Freds case, he spent much more time teaching while sitting behind his desk……….a sure sign that his enthusiasm and energy level had significantly diminished. You realized there is a time for new blood and energy to step in to carry on what you have done. There were a number of us, myself included, who came to that realization all within several years of one another. A time for greener pastures, new pursuits and challenges, whatever they may be. I don’t recall where Fred fell in the order of my colleagues who signed those papers and bid their adieu. There were a number of us of similar age who were chomping at the bit to take our leave……..we had other things that were more important now and needed to be done. In my case, I was going to take the next great photograph or so I thought.
So like fall leaves or spring seeds, we scattered not turning around to look behind. Some of us did and still regularly stay in touch. Fred was not among those who saw the necessity for that. Honestly, he dropped out of sight and not surprisingly out of mind. My best guess is that he spent more time at his camp in the Adirondacks on his boat, well stocked with both cigarettes and beer. With those of us who met regularly for breakfast, his name had never come up until one morning. “ Did you hear that Fred had passed away?” All of us at the table were saddened by this news but not really surprised. All those cigarettes, the drinking, the feelings never expressed, the walls he built around himself………. as a group we just surmised that who he appeared to be had just caught up with him.
I remember driving home that morning thinking that it must not have been easy being him or Clint, for that matter. High plains drifter is not an easy persona to sustain. Clint and Fred already knew that.
** Author’s note: Story inspired by the movie “ High Plains Drifter “, starring Clint Eastwood