Thanksgiving Potatoes and a Growing Friendship

When asked if I recalled anything about Floyd, it came to mind that one Saturday, he called and wanted to make Glug. That required shopping for port wine, raisins, and spices and coming up with a recipe. Finally, the four of us—Ethel, Iris, Floyd, and myself— settled in our downstairs kitchen. Floyd, in his typical enthusiastic way, kept reassuring us this Glug would be the best thing we ever tasted. As he called out the recipe, we’d add each ingredient to the boiling pot. This lasted for hours. Finally, the result. Floyd was anxious to taste it while it was still quite hot. The expression on his face was enough to make us realize it didn’t turn out as he had hoped. Iris and I had not been married very long when this next event took place in the back yard of the Moline house. Floyd was not very friendly and had never been to me in those early years. It was Thanksgiving. We were invited to dinner and somewhat before dinner he asked me to go with him into the back yard. He had a four-ten shotgun crooked in one arm and an armful of potatoes in the other. Walking some distance into the back yard, Floyd loaded the gun, threw a potato high into the air, raised the gun and fired, blowing the potato apart. With that, I received a meaningful stare. The gun was thrust into my hands as he said, “See if you can do that!” Another potato was thrown high into the air. I had not been out of the service very long and one of the things I enjoyed was shooting almost anything. So Skeet was a favorite. The potato reached its highest point and seemed to just hang there, I fired and blew it to pieces. I handed the gun back to Floyd and threw a potato for him. He was a good shot and always hit the potato. After the supply of potatoes was exhausted, we went back to the house. It seemed that after that, we were better friends, and he would even come to our house when I was at home. —By Bill Retzlaff