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I want to make one thing perfectly clear: this show is not about lumberjacks…

My name is Christopher Gronlund, and every month I share a story. Sometimes the stories contain truths, but most of the time, they’re made up. Sometimes the stories are funny — other times they’re serious. But you have my word about one thing: I will never — EVER — share a story about lumberjacks.

This time, in honor of a new year of the show, it’s a one-shot audiodrama that I SWEAR has NOTHING to do with lumberjacks.

Oh, and a word of warning for anybody driving: this episode, near the end, does contain the sound of police sirens. So it’s not you or an emergency or anything like that. It’s just the show.

All right–let’s get to work…

* * *

Waking the Lumberjack…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
We all have families, whether we want ‘em or not, and dysfunction is the glue that holds most of them together. You can spend a lifetime trying to get unstuck from it all, and still go to the grave sticky. For most of us, it’s not even worth the fight.

Some families only operate on dysfunction and fight. And I’m gonna tell y’all a tale about one: the Mighty Howes. Maybe you heard of them? Big Papa Howe, Heavyweight Champion all across Canada? He reigned supreme over Stampede Wrestling, the International Wrestling Alliance, the International Wrestling Association, and of course, Maple Leaf Wrestling. When he owned all the titles a wrassler can own up in Canada, he stormed into America like a Blue Norther, claiming titles from coast to coast.

Only two things ever slowed Big Papa Howe down: his two boys, Big Mike and Little Mike, and Big Rick Coaster.

Ah, now you remember: the epic, house-rattlin’ battles between Big Papa Howe, the Ontario Lumberjack, and Big Rick Coaster, the Bad Boy from Boston.

I’ll let’cha in on a little secret about wrasslin’: a lotta them fellers hating each other inside of the squared circle are like brothers on the outside. But make no mistake: the hatred between Big Papa Howe and Big Rick Coaster was real.

D’Ah, It’s all coming back now, isn’t it? The Loser Quits Wrasslin’ Ontario League Wrestling Heavyweight Title Challenge: The day the two got so sick and tired of each other that they agreed to a perpetual-if-needed, falls count anywhere match with no time limit. Neither of them ever pinned the other…it’s been going on for decades. If they live to be a hundred, one can pin the other and claim the title, burying the other in the pages of history.

It was a big thing back in the day, and then it faded away, lost in the hubbub of that Kardashians show and all that the Netflixes had to offer.

But maybe you’re like me and still wonder about them…if one of them will ever storm into a hospital during the birth of the other’s great-grandchild and pin them, one-two-three, finally claiming the title neither has yet to win! Well, I hate to burst yer bubble with some bad news, but Big Papa Howe is dead.

The best we have now is checking in on his boys, who just-so-happen to be on their way to the funeral…

INT. CAR – DAY

Two brothers, BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE drive to their father’s funeral. BIG MIKE is at the wheel.

BIG MIKE
I still can’t believe he’s gone.

LITTLE MIKE
I know. I figured we’d end up dead before him. Me, at least.

BIG MIKE
Why you?

LITTLE MIKE
Juice. Not all of us are as built as naturally as you. That shit catches up with a body.

BIG MIKE
Yeah…I’m kinda surprised you’re alive. Glad, but surprised.

LITTLE MIKE
I don’t regret it, but I figured it would have caught up to me by now. So many of us are gone.

BIG MIKE
Yeah…
(beat)
I wonder if Mom will be there.

LITTLE MIKE
Dunno. I doubt it. He was a great father, but a shitty husband.

BIG MIKE
I think she’ll be there. Hope so, at least — I’ve not seen her for a while.
(beat)
You really think Dad was a great father?

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Why? Don’t you?

BIG MIKE
I don’t know if I’d go as far as great. I mean, he taught us everything he knew. He was good to us. But he was never really there for Mom.

LITTLE MIKE
That’s why I said he was a great father, but a shitty husband. Mom knew what she was getting into when she married him.
(beat)
I’m hungry. Stop at the next Timmies, eh?

INT. TIMMIES – DAY.

The door DINGS as BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE enter.

LITTLE MIKE
Timbits. I want some motherfuckin’ timbits…

They make their way to the coffee station.

WRESTLING FAN
Uhm…Excuse me. I hate to bother you two. Aren’t you the Flying Lumberjacks?

BIG MIKE
We are, yes.

WRESTLING FAN
What are you doing in town?

LITTLE MIKE
Going to our father’s funeral.

WRESTLING FAN
Oh. Oh, no…I didn’t know. I’m sorry. My condolences.

BIG MIKE
It’s okay. What can we do for you?

WRESTLING FAN
I was gonna ask for your autographs, but no worries.

BIG MIKE
You didn’t know; it’s fine.
(beat)
Do you have a pen?

WRESTLING FAN
I…don’t. Sorry.

BIG MIKE
I don’t either. I can go get one.

WRESTLING FAN
No, really, that’s fine. I don’t want to bother you. Especially, considering…

BIG MIKE
Do you have a phone? We can at least all take a selfie together.

WRESTLING FAN
I do. Have a phone. One second…

BIG MIKE
(whispers to LITTLE MIKE)
Pst, Mike…

LITTLE MIKE
Oh. Okay.

WRESTLING FAN
Hi.

LITTLE MIKE
Hi.

WRESTLING FAN
Let me just…uh…

WRESTLING FAN snaps a photo.

BIG MIKE
That work for ya?

WRESTLING FAN
Yes, thank you. And sorry again. About your father.

BIG MIKE
Thank you.

LITTLE MIKE POURS COFFEE.

BIG MIKE
Thought you were getting Timbits with your coffee?

LITTLE MIKE
I am. And maybe some snacks that travel well for the road.

A man from the coffee station approaches.

COFFEE MAN
I never liked you two.

BIG MIKE
Excuse me?

COFFEE MAN
The Flying Lumberjacks. You guys are lame.

BIG MIKE
We’re all entitled to our opinions. I’d chat, but we’re on our way to our father’s funeral.

COFFEE MAN
Oh, I heard.

LITTLE MIKE
You heard about our father and you still came up to tell us we suck? What kind of shitty person does that? What, did Twitter ban you and you needed a troll fix?

BIG MIKE
Calm down…

LITTLE MIKE
No, I’m not calming down. This guy knows we’re beat up and on the way to see our dead father in a box, and he tries picking a fight?

COFFEE MAN
Eh, listen to your brother, Mikey. You don’t want any of this.

LITTLE MIKE takes several quick steps toward COFFEE MAN.

COFFEE MAN picks up an INFLATABLE Moosehead Can and hits LITTLE MIKE with it.

LITTLE MIKE
A word of advice, eh: if you’re going to pick a fight with a wrestler, grab something better than an inflatable Moosehead can display that won’t even hurt a four-year-old. You have bottles and hot coffee within reach, and you act like you’re starting a pillow fight.

BIG MIKE
Don’t react. This is what he wants.

LITTLE MIKE
You’re right, you’re right. Okay…

LITTLE MIKE walks off in a huff.

COFFEE MAN
Eh, I’m glad your dad is dead.

LITTLE MIKE
What did you just say?!

BIG MIKE holds back LITTLE MIKE.

BIG MIKE
Hey, hey…let it go. You’re not going to do Dad any favors by getting locked up and missing the funeral. He has to live with who he is. Don’t remember this asshole — remember the other guy who wanted our autographs.

LITTLE MIKE
You’re lucky, you fuck.

COFFEE MAN throws the inflatable Molson can at LITTLE MIKE.

LITTLE MIKE
Oh, yeah, throw the inflatable Moosehead can, big man…
(beat)
I’m suddenly not hungry anymore…

EXT. TIMMIES – DAY.

With a DING, the Howe Brothers leave Timmies.

LITTLE MIKE makes a bee line for a truck.

BIG MIKE
Hey, car’s over there…

LITTLE MIKE HITS and RIPS the SIDE MIRROR off a pickup truck, tossing it to the ground.

BIG MIKE
What the hell are you doing?

LITTLE MIKE
Eh, it had to be his truck. No other vehicles in the lot, ‘cept our car.

LITTLE MIKE walks to the car, opens the door, and climbs inside.

LITTLE MIKE
You coming?

BIG MIKE
(sighs)

BIG MIKE walks to the car, opens the door, gets inside, and starts the engine.

INT. CAR – DAY

Back in the car, the Howe brothers continue their drive.

BIG MIKE
I still can’t believe you ripped the mirror off that guy’s truck.

LITTLE MIKE
He’s lucky that’s all I broke.

BIG MIKE
I know. I wanted to go at him, too.
(beat)
But like Dad always said, people will try getting a rise out of us, hoping for a lawsuit. He prepared us for that kind of thing.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah, you’re right. I still wanted to bust that guy, though. Smash him all over the coffee station, eh?

BIG MIKE
I know, I know — me, too. But we’d have looked bad. People like Canadians. We’re wholesome. Even though you’re Chicago dirt with a bad accent.

LITTLE MIKE
I was made in Canada. I just came out in Chicago. You’re lucky you’re driving until I calm down, or I’d bust your rack.

They drive along, enjoying a moment of silence.

BIG MIKE
Want to listen to some music?

LITTLE MIKE
No.

BIG MIKE
How about a podcast?

LITTLE MIKE
I don’t get why you like those things so much.

BIG MIKE
It’s something different. There’s one called The End of Time and Other Bothers you might like. I hear the guy who plays that Eggerton fella is pretty swell.

LITTLE MIKE
I don’t like podcasts. Weird people make podcasts.

BIG MIKE
We dress up like lumberjacks and fight people in spandex. Don’tcha think that’s a bit weird?

LITTLE MIKE
No.

BIG MIKE
Gotcha. So…no podcasts, then?

LITTLE MIKE
I said no!

BIG MIKE
All right, all right. No music — no podcasts. Anything you want to chat about?

LITTLE MIKE
How about this: my big brother never shuts up. If I saw a shrink, that’s what I’d tell ‘em, eh. “I love him to death, but he never shuts the fuck up…”

BIG MIKE
Sorry, eh.

Silence; then…

LITTLE MIKE
No, I’m sorry. I know I’m a hard person to travel with. To live with. I’m lucky. To have had Dad. To have Mom and especially you as a big brother.

BIG MIKE
(beat)
It’s weird…I feel like you’re the big one, and I’m the little brother.

LITTLE MIKE
I know. Me, too…

Little Mike takes a deep breath.

LITTLE MIKE
I’m glad you’re here for this. I don’t think I could do it without you.

The sound of TIRES ON GRAVEL coming to a STOP.

INT. GYM – DAY.

BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE enter the gym where their father’s funeral is taking place.

RANDOM WRESTLER
The Mikes are here!

LITTLE MIKE
Hey, guys.

The brothers head over to their MOM as others pat them on their shoulders and offer condolences.

WRESTLER 1
I’m so sorry, guys.

BIG MIKE
Thank you.

WRESTLER 2
He was the greatest…

LITTLE MIKE
We appreciate that.

WRESTLER 3
He’ll be missed.

MIKES
He will. Thanks.

BIG MIKE
Mom!

MOM HUGS and KISSES BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE.

MOM
I was worried about you two.

LITTLE MIKE
You know how slow Big Mike drives.

BIG MIKE
Well, if someone hadn’t needed a rage cool-down, he could have driven.

MOM
Oh. What happened?

LITTLE MIKE
Nothing. It’s behind us. I just got a little worked up about something. The important thing is we’re here, now.

BIG MIKE
So…there he is…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Now let me set the scene for y’all. Big Papa Howe owned a gym out in the sticks west of Nestor Falls, Ontario. So many wrasslers came up under his guidance. Some always questioned why he didn’t set up in a more populated place, but Big Papa Howe said, “If they come out this far, I know they’re serious about learning.”
(beat)
Now, in that very gym…in the middle of the practice ring, his casket rests.

BIG MIKE
Well, I guess we better pay our respects.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah…

INT. WRESTLING RING – DAY.

BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE approach the casket.

BIG MIKE
Hi, Dad.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah, hi.

BIG MIKE
Sorry we didn’t make it to the hospital, but you know how it is out on the road.
(beat)
I’m gonna miss you.

BIG MIKE breaks down crying.

LITTLE MIKE joins in.

They sniffle and regain their composure.

BIG MIKE
Ah, sorry about that.

LITTLE MIKE
No worries, eh. He was an incredible man.
(beat; chuckling)

BIG MIKE
What’s so funny?

LITTLE MIKE
Just…how big that nose of his was.

BIG MIKE
No shit.

LITTLE MIKE
It’s like a sail. You could cross an ocean in his casket with that thing, eh.

BIG MIKE
He used to say he wanted a Viking funeral.

LITTLE MIKE
I thought about that. Putting him in a boat and pushing it out on Clarkson Lake. Our luck, though, he’d float out of range before we could hit it with a flaming arrow. He floats away, and someone finds his body. Stuffs and mounts it and sells admission to see him as a roadside attraction up in Sioux Narrows or something.

MIKES
(laughing)
(beat)

FATHER KUPFER
Boys, I’m ready to begin the service.

They exit the ring.

INT. GYM – DAY.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Some might say it was a strange place for a funeral service, but those in attendance saw a beautiful send-off for a man like a father to more than just his two boys.

FATHER KUPFER
Big Papa Howe was a friend, a mentor — a man who never knew a stranger.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
If he was looking down, I’m sure he was happy to see everybody gathered together in remembrance of all he did in life.

FATHER KUPFER
He lives on in his two sons, Big Mike and Little Mike.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
So many livelihoods started in that old gym in the north woods.

FATHER KUPFER
And our hearts are with Amelia, Big Papa Howe’s wife of 52 years.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
And it was a perfect service, until–

The front doors FLY OPEN as BIG RICK COASTER, his two sons, BIG RICK and LITTLE RICK (THE BOSTON BRAWLERS), and a REF carrying a belt storm in.

BIG RICK COASTER
Aaaaayyyy, I’ve come to pin the old man before he goes under for good!

NARRATOR (V.O.)
I have a bit of a confession: I never liked Big Rick Coaster or the Boston Brawlers, not even on account that they are Yankees.
(beat)
But on account that they are just genuinely shitty people.

BIG RICK COASTER
By the rules agreed upon by both of us in 1987, this match will finally come to an end. I have with me a certified referee and the Ontario League Wrestling Heavyweight Championship belt. Now, if you’ll kindly step aside, I have business to attend to.

LITTLE MIKE
Like hell you do!

NARRATOR (V.O.)
This was an even more low-down attack by Big Rick Coaster than the infamous Longo’s incident of 1989, when he and his boys brought a ref into the store and brutalized Big Papa Howe in the condiment aisle as he shopped for Canada Day goodies.

S/FX
Fighting – Breaking jars.

VOICE OVER PA
Wet clean-up on aisle four…

FATHER KUPFER
How dare you interrupt this service, Richard.

BIG RICK COASTER
I’m sorry, Father, but if roles were reversed, I’m sure they’d do the same to me.

LITTLE MIKE
That’s bullshit, Coaster, and you know it!

FATHER KUPFER
Please, Michael…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
This was shaping up to be as bad as the Sizzler incident of 1994, when the boys from Boston attacked Big Papa Howe while eating dinner. The battle spilled into the kitchen, and it was only when Big Papa Howe pressed Big Rick Coasters cheek to the grill that he was able to escape unpinned through the back door.

FATHER KUPFER
Let’s all let cooler heads prevail…

NARRATOR (V.O.)
I’ve never been one to watch ice hockey like they do up in Canada, but I know enough about the sport to know that sometimes games develop in such a manner that tension turns into cheap shots that leave people hurt.
(beat)
Sometimes when things swell to the point of seeming like it’s all ready to explode, a fight can release that tension.
(beat)
Amelia Howe must be quite a hockey fan because she released the tension in the room by charging up behind Big Rick Coaster and splitting the back of his head wide open with a chair.
(beat)
After a brief moment of silence, all hell broke loose…
(beat)
The Boston Brawlers instantly squared off with Big Mike and Little Mike, chuckin’ knuckles and trading chops.
(beat)
It freed up Big Rick Coaster, who made a beeline for the ring with the ref.
(beat)
Before long, the battle between the Flying Lumberjacks and the Boston Brawlers made its way into the ring.
(beat)
And that’s when it happened…
(beat)
In the scuffle beside the casket, the Boston Brawlers were knocked out of commission by a pile driver and a DDT from Big Papa Howe’s boys.
(beat)
When Big Rick Coaster turned to see his sons dropped, he was met in the face by another chair hit from Amelia Howe, dropping him flat on his old back.
(beat)
When Big Mike Howe stood up, he bumped the table holding his father’s casket. It seemed to happen in slow motion time: everybody reaching for the sliding coffin, but unable to stop it from toppling to the mat.
(beat)
It was a horrifying scene as the body of Big Papa Howe spilled from from the casket, but what seemed like the most terrible thing anyone present had ever seen turned out to be a glorious sight.
(beat)
Big Papa Howe’s right arm wasn’t so stiff that it couldn’t flop over onto the chest of Big Rick Coaster.
(beat)
The ref dropped to the mat and counted the fall — ONE, TWO, THREE!
(beat)
Father Kupfer sounded the bell, and the attendees erupted into celebration…they’d just witnessed Big Papa Howe winning the Ontario League Wrestling Heavyweight title!

SIRENS roar in the distance.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
The sound of police sirens was enough to rouse the stunned Bostonites, who — realizing they’d been defeated — fled before matters got even worse for ‘em.
(beat)
The referee stayed behind, being extra careful as he raised Big Papa Howe’s arm in victory.

INT. GYM – DAY.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Once the police had come and gone (they agreed not to pursue the Bad Boys from Boston on account of Big Rick Coaster losing what he came for being worse than any punishment the law can dole out), Big Mike and Little Mike paid final respects to their father.

BIG MIKE
That belt looks good one him, eh?

LITTLE MIKE
Indeed.
(beat; snickers)

BIG MIKE
What?

LITTLE MIKE
Maybe it happened when he rolled out of the casket, but is it just me, or does it look like he’s smiling just a bit?

BIG MIKE
It sure does…
(beat)
Well, we better get going.
(beat)
Bye, Dad.

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. Bye, you badass son of a bitch.

BIG MIKE and LITTLE MIKE make their way to their MOM.

BIG MIKE
We need to get going if we’re gonna make tonight’s match over in Winnipeg.

MOM
I really wish you’d not push yourselves so much.

LITTLE MIKE
Dad never missed a match and neither have we.

MOM
I understand. He was a good father to you boys. A shitty husband, but a good father.

BIG MIKE
A great father.
(beat)
We’ll come back through in a couple days and stay a few.

MOM
(kisses BIG MIKE’s cheek)
I’d like that.

LITTLE MIKE
Bye, Mom.

MOM
(kisses LITTLE MIKE’S cheek)
Goodbye.
(beat)
You boys be safe, eh!

MIKES
We will.

INT. CAR – DAY.

BIG MIKE
Hell of a day, eh?

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. Crazy day.

BIG MIKE
You gonna be good for tonight’s match?

LITTLE MIKE
Always am. How ’bout you?

BIG MIKE
We’re Big Papa Howe’s boys — you tell me!

They drive along a moment; then…

LITTLE MIKE
If you want, go ahead and listen to one of your podcasts.

BIG MIKE
You sure?

LITTLE MIKE
Yeah. We have a few hours ahead of us. It will either keep me awake, or I’ll pull over, let you drive, and I’ll get some sleep.

BIG MIKE
Excellent — thanks! There’s one called Not About Lumberjacks I think you’ll love…

S/FX
Show intro plays…

FADE OUT

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Well, things sure turned out all right in the end for the Mighty Howes. Even in death, Big Papa Mike Howe won a title. The boys have their Mama, and she has her boys. Not much more is needed beyond that.

Maybe I was wrong about what I said earlier, that the glue holding families together is dysfunction. Maybe that’s just an ingredient on the list. You flip the bottle over and read what’s inside: Love, Grief, Humor, Dysfunction, Memories, Secrets, Shame, Honor, and a whole buncha Unknown.

I don’t know what’s in store for the Flying Lumberjacks, but I like to think they’ll do all right in the long run. There are worse things in life than having a nemesis that makes you rise to your best; I think the Howe boys and the Coasters will eventually settle their scores. When you look at it from the right angle, humanity’s just one big, dysfunctional family trying to get along at the dinner table. I hope we do…and I hope you win whatever battles you might be fighting.

Y’all take care, now — and do your thing as best as you can…

* * *

A big thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks.

Waking the Lumberjack starred Tim Czarnecki as the Narrator.

Michael Howie as Big Mike Howe.

Me, Christopher Gronlund as Little Mike Howe…doing a really bad Canadian accent.

Rocky Westbrook as The Wrestling Fan.

Cynthia Griffith as Mama Howe.

Shawn Kupfer doubled up and played two roles: the Dicky Coffee Guy and of course, Father Kupfer.

And let’s not forget our special guest, Rick Coste as Big Rick Coaster.

Additional wrestlers and grunting provided by various talent listed above.

Theme music for Not About Lumberjacks provided by Ergo Phizmiz.

Waking the Lumberjack features the song, “Beggars and Felons,” by Power and Beauty, released under a Creative Commons license.

This episode was written and directed by me, Christopher Gronlund. A big thanks to co-producers, Rick Coste and Cynthia Griffith. Be sure to visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the show, the voice talent, and music.

In one month, because people seemed to love it last year — it’s another December of micro-fiction. Allrighty, then…

Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!

[Listen Here]

Hello, this is Christopher. Except for the time I took a bit of a hiatus and explained it, here, I’ve never used Not About Lumberjacks to update listeners about things going on with me. It’s always been stories and the Behind the Cut follow-up for the stories.

But there are some cool things going on that I thought I’d share. I’ll keep it short.

I’m mostly recording this to let everyone know that today (October 12), I’m on the ScreamQueenz podcast with Michael Howie and the show’s host, Patrick Walsh, discussing the [not-so] horror film, Dave Made a Maze. Not About Lumberjacks listeners will recognize Michael Howie as the narrator for last November’s lumberjack story that was NOT about lumberjacks, “The Hidebehind.” So why were we on the ScreamQueenz podcast?

Every October, Patrick runs a Pod-o-Thon benefitting New Alternatives NYC, which assists homeless LGBTQ+ youth. If you’re so inclined, there’s a link to the fundraiser in the notes, or you can go to fundraise.newalternativesnyc.orq/sq to donate. And if listening to three bearded guys talking about a very fun movie is your thing, go to screamqueenz.com – and that’s a z after screamqueen – or click the link in the notes. It’s a fun episode, and you don’t need to have seen the movie to enjoy it.

In other news, I’m in the process of reading the first readable draft of my novel, A Magic Life. You may recall hearing the first chapter posted on Not About Lumberjacks; if not, I’ll include a link in the notes. It’s always good when you reread something you’ve written and love it more than you expected. I look forward to passing it off to some first-line readers soon.

And while work on the novel continues, work on stories for Not About Lumberjacks rolls on…at least for the next good handful of months. Were I one inclined to call a block of episodes a season, I might go as far as saying the new season of Not About Lumberjacks is about to begin.

Later this month, it’s not a Halloween story, but it IS a story about a monster. Booger is about a kid who makes a goopy monster in his bathtub…and all the mayhem that follows.

In November, I’m not sure if it will be another one-shot audio drama like Strange Audio from a couple years ago, or just a narrated story, but I hope for a self-contained (and ridiculous) audio drama called Waking the Lumberjack. Keeping with the November tradition of stories NOT about lumberjacks in honor of the show’s anniversary, it’s an over-the-top story about tag team wrestlers attending a funeral unlike any other.

Last December’s multiple super-short short stories seemed to be a hit, so this December will see a collection of micro fiction again…including a Christmas tale of some sort.

January will FINALLY make Not About Lumberjacks listener Tim Czarnecki happy with the release of the post-apocalyptic office story I’ve been talking about for almost a year! Alive in HQ is about an office worker left to pick up the pieces at corporate headquarters following the end of the world as we know it.

I have a few other stories waiting to be recorded, and several stories in various states of progress. Off the top of my head, something that I found that’s even older than Memorial Park. It’s rather dismal. There’s an FBI procedural about a circus. And I hope you’ll understand if I go on a bit of a literary kick early next year as I shop around A Magic Life.

Wow…this ended up longer than I expected. The good thing is there’s a steady stream of Not About Lumberjacks coming. Until then, I hope you’ll consider donating to New Alternatives, and I hope all is going well with you.

As always, thank you for listening. And…

Until next time, be mighty…and keep your axes sharp!

[Listen]

DEAR GOD

by Christopher Gronlund

Jimmy Ingersol started calling himself Jimmy Mack when he dropped out of college and decided to live on the streets. It started as an experiment for a sociology class, taking the train from Evanston into Chicago and watching the homeless. He picked up their mannerisms and paid attention to how they dressed. He listened to how they talked and followed them around during the day. When he was ready, he dressed the part and had his story: he told people he moved to Chicago from downstate in the hope of landing a decent job. He told people things didn’t work out as planned and that’s how he ended up on State Street in the South Loop, where rampant gentrification made it one of the better places in the city to be homeless.

Jimmy had his cardboard sign: “NEED MONEY TO GET TO HARRISBURG.”

When people asked, Jimmy explained, “I grew up downstate and didn’t want to work at Wal Mart or drive a coal truck. I figured I could find a better job up here in Chicago, but it didn’t work and now I’m thinking driving a coal truck or working in an auger mine isn’t so bad. At least I’d have a job the rest of my life.”

Jimmy made more money with his cardboard sign than some MBAs coming out of Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern.

* * *

It was a chilly morning when “Jimmy Mack” met the man with the stamp.

Jimmy spent the morning weathering a new cardboard sign with his sob story. His old sign got wet and didn’t make it home to the condo he kept when he started making good money being “homeless.” He learned enough about preying on human sentiments to know that a fresh cardboard sign made the wealthy people taking over the South Loop feel like they were giving their earnings to a scam artist. A well-worn sign and downcast eyes made them feel like they were doing something generous.

Jimmy was about to call it quits when a thin man in a perfectly fitting designer pea coat approached. Jimmy made quick eye contact and then looked down in mock shame. The man stopped and handed a tiny scrap of paper to Jimmy. It looked like a postage stamp.

“Thank you,” Jimmy said. It wasn’t what he was fishing for, and he’d throw it back when the man got out of sight.

“You’re welcome,” the man said. Jimmy looked up. The man had a model’s face; a manicured hand pointed at the stamp. “That’s worth more than anything I have in my wallet.”

“How so?” Jimmy was used to certain kinds of people messing with him, telling him to get a job and stop being a bum. He was used to people handing him wet beer labels, handfuls of pennies, and club flyers—it was one of the main reasons he started working the homeless day shift. But he’d never been given a postage stamp. He wondered if the man had just handed him a valuable stamp.

“Do you ever pray?” the thin man said.

“Yeah, sometimes.” Jimmy hadn’t prayed in years, but he knew the value to acting religious and saying “God bless you,” to people who gave him money.

“And you’re still homeless. Think about that. I’m guessing everybody on the streets prays to get off the streets. And yet, here they all are.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So?” the thin man in the designer-cut pea coat said. “Prayer doesn’t work. I remember watching the news about a bus crash a few years back. Many people died when a bus slammed into the supports beneath an overpass. They interviewed a survivor and asked how they survived. ‘I prayed, and I lived,’ she said. But all those people praying up front died. The person who lived survived because she was in the back of the bus—the part that wasn’t crushed and on fire. Prayer didn’t help the people at the front of the bus anymore than it helped the woman at the back. Prayer is a sham.”

“What’s that have to do with this stamp?”

“That stamp’s real. God doesn’t have time to hear the billions of prayers sent his way. Hell, he barely has time to answer his occasional mail.”

“His mail? You’re telling me God’s got a mailbox?”

“Yes. I know it sounds strange, but it’s true. There are people who would kill for that stamp. You write a letter, put it in an envelope, drop it in a mailbox, and God will actually hear what you’re asking for once. No address needed—the stamp gets the letter to him just like that! He’ll answer three questions. Any three questions you ask.”

Jimmy wasn’t buying it. “I thought that’s what genies did.”

“Nah, that’s where they got the whole three question genie thing. God was there in the beginning, before we started making up stories like the Bible and genies.”

“I’m supposed to believe this?”

“That is totally up to you,” the thin man said, drawing his coat tighter at his neck. “What’s it hurt to try? If I’m messing with you, nothing happens and your life goes on like it is. If I’m right, you get the Big Guy’s attention. All it takes is writing a letter and mailing it. Nothing to lose—everything to gain.”

“I’m homeless, man. I don’t have a mailbox.”

“That’s the beauty of this. It’s God…man. You don’t need a mailbox. His reply will just appear after he reads your letter.”

“Whatever.” Jimmy looked down at the stamp, at a painted image of fluffy clouds with sunlight breaking through. If God had a postage stamp, it’s what Jimmy imagined it would look like. “You sure you don’t have any cash?”

The thin man pulled out his wallet from an inside pocket hidden away in his pea coat. He reached in, pulled out a hundred dollar bill, and dangled it before Jimmy. “You have a choice: the C-note or the stamp.”

Jimmy looked at the man, the money, and the stamp. Running his fingers over the surface of the stamp, he could almost feel it radiating warmth, like the sun breaking through the clouds was real. He could almost smell the passing storm. He could almost smell hope. Jimmy thought about what three questions he’d ask God.

The God thing and Jimmy didn’t get along. It wasn’t that Jimmy didn’t believe in God, but he definitely thought the guy living upstairs wasn’t all he was cracked up to be by his followers. Jimmy lost his mother to cancer when he was five, and the two women his father went on to marry following the death were witches as far as Jimmy was concerned. His father was only half there for his son. Every time Jimmy got sick while growing up, he wondered if it was cancer. He never really had friends. When he was young, Jimmy spent a lot of time praying to God.

Prayers that were never answered.

He rubbed the stamp between his thumb and forefinger, thinking about the thin man’s words: Nothing to lose—everything to gain.

“I’ll take the stamp.”

The thin man returned the hundred-dollar bill to his wallet, and then slid the wallet to his inside coat pocket.

“Be sure you make that letter count. I have faith in you—you’re quite articulate for a kid from downstate living on the streets.”

When the thin man was out of sight, Jimmy got up and headed home.

* * *

Dear God,

My name’s James Ingersol, but you already know that I bet. I’d say I’m homeless, but you’d know I’m lying. I’ll keep this short.

Some guy gave me a stamp. He told me the stamp would get this letter to you. He said you don’t have time for so many prayers, but said you answer mail to those dedicated enough to send it. So here it goes, my one chance to talk to you.

My three questions:

1. I want to know why you killed my mom when I was a kid.

2. I want to know how I’m going to die.

3. I want to know when I’m going to die.

Sincerely,

James Ingersol

* * *

The next morning, “Jimmy Mack” didn’t go to his job in the streets. Jimmy walked to the post office, dropped the letter in the mailbox, and returned to his condo where he waited.

And waited…

He sat for weeks, waiting for the answers to the three things he wanted to know more than anything. He wondered if his life of lies put him in bad standing with God; he prayed that he’d receive a reply and vowed to go back to college and stop preying on the sympathies of others to make a buck. He vowed to finish his degree and help the homeless. He pounded on his walls one night, cursing the heavens for believing in something as stupid as the stamp. Then he dropped to his knees and apologized for not believing—anything for the letter; anything for the answers to his three questions.

Jimmy Ingersol was napping on his couch when he heard the mail slot creak and something fall to his hardwood floor. He ran to the front door and looked down. The envelope had fallen face down. He picked it up and turned it over.

There was the cloud stamp!

The thin man was right—he’d finally get the answers to the three things that Jimmy wanted to know more than anything else. More importantly, all his doubting was wrong—there really was a God sitting at some writing desk in the clouds, answering letters to those lucky enough to come across the magic stamp. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Jimmy read the notice from the post office written across the envelope:

“RETURN TO SENDER—NO GOD BY THAT NAME AT THIS ADDRESS.”

* * *

Jimmy flew into a rage, punching a hole in the wall and tearing up the envelope.

On the other side of the door, the thin man and a large friend made their way to the elevator.

“You’re such an asshole, Loki!” the big man said.

“But it cracked your ass up, brother. The kid was taking people’s money. I’m just teaching him a lesson.”

“Suuuuuuuuure you are.”

The elevator doors opened, and Loki said, “Why don’t we go grab a brew and see what other trouble we can get into. I know a place a couple blocks away.”

Thor clapped his brother on his shoulder. “You had me at ‘brew…’”

[Listen Here]

The very first thing I ever wrote with the hope of publication involved a god-like entity fooling a mortal. It was a 12-page comic book story for an anthology.

Nine months into Not About Lumberjacks, I shared a story called The Weight of the World, which also dealt with gods.

So, I suppose, “Dear God” is in the spirit of those earlier stories.
“Dear God” was another story to come out of an old writing group I once belonged to. I can’t remember the terms of the challenge. (Each meeting, one of us would come up with a person; another a place; and the last one a thing.) I can’t even remember if “A stamp that reaches God,” or “A postage stamp…” was the thing for that meeting.
Hell, for all I know, I just came up with the story and shared it with the group and my brain is laying the old challenges over my memory.

* * *

I’ve always been an atheist, but I’ve always been fascinated by things like gods and ghosts and other things of the sort. With gods, I think much of it goes back to my mom supporting her little atheist kid, but also letting me know there were OTHER gods than Christianity God. Throw in discovering the old Deities and Demigods resource book for Dungeons and Dragons in the early 80s, and the thought of gods swaying the fates of mortals has always been a story gold mine.

In gods, all that is good and bad about humans can be pulled out of our everyday existences in the hope of living better lives. Granted, many twist lessons meant to enhance our lives in the hope of controlling others or getting ahead, and that’s why I think stories like “Dear God” are interesting.

Jimmy Mack/James Ingersol cheats to get ahead. It’s nice seeing someone like that getting caught by the law; it appeals to an ingrained sense of justice most humans seem to have. Bad people get caught, and good people get rewarded. And when a bad guy is caught by a god, there’s an even greater sense of justice occurring.

* * *

A friend (Laura Lange, host of the Peaceful Life podcast), mentioned that she envisioned Tom Hiddleston as Loki and Chris Hemsworth as Thor. While the story was written well before the Thor Marvel movies were filmed, I definitely envisioned the two actors as well as I narrated the story.

Loki and Thor are two characters I’ve always liked. They may have been the first Norse gods I knew about. They complement each other well, and are ripe for stories.

Add to that how popular they are right now in the minds of many thanks to the Marvel movies, and it was definitely the right time to record “Dear God.”

Until next time, be good…because you never know who’s watching you…

* * *

Thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks and Behind the Cut. Theme music for Behind the Cut is a tune called Reaper by Razen. Visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the music, episodes, and voice talent.

As I mentioned at the end of “Dear God,” I’m working on wrapping up a novel, so I’m not sure when the next episode of Not About Lumberjacks will be released. It might be the post-apocalyptic office story I’ve mentioned for MONTHS, or it might be a story older than any I’ve ever shared on the show…

Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!