Saints or Sinners? Characters of Pacific County: ‘Old Bob’
Published 10:02 am Sunday, April 16, 2023
- It wasn’t until my own father’s funeral in 1992 — some 20 years after the duck incident — that one of the Wiegardt “boys” (now a dad with sons of his own) shared the story of that overly zealous hunting excursion. His dad, Dobby (shown here), a legendary hunter in his own right, just shook his head. “You know,” he said, “I’ve never heard a word about that until just now!”
In the 1970s, Bob Meadows lived just south of the Oysterville Church in the Tommy Nelson House. In those days, the place was pretty run-down and it seemed perfect for Bob who was a widower and didn’t hold much truck with housekeeping. He was content to let the dirty dishes set in the sink for a spell and let his chickens share the place with him, inside or outside, it didn’t matter. And for Old Bob, every day was “variable” — weather-wise and every other wise.
Bob had had what you might call “a checkered career.” He’d done some fishing, worked in the woods, had a factory job or two and now, in his twilight years, could do just about anything the neighbors needed done. My folks called him “Old Bob” and they depended upon him for all sorts of handyman operations, from setting fence posts to washing second story windows or getting rid of gorse. If he couldn’t do it, probably no one else within hollerin’ distance could either. Old Bob was a treasure.
‘I have to tell you, I didn’t know if I was a-flappin’ or a-quackin’ for a while there!’
When a couple of local boys prevailed upon my dad to take a dozen over-the-limit ducks they had ‘accidentally’ shot up at the Point, my mother appealed to Old Bob: “If you’ll pluck and dress out these ducks,” she said, “you can have half of them.”
Old Bob agreed and for a few days no one saw hide nor hair of him. Just as my mother began to worry, he knocked at the door looking more disheveled than usual but carrying her share of the ducks, pan ready.
“Here ya go, Dale,” he said. “But I have to tell you, I didn’t know if I was a-flappin’ or a-quackin’ for a while there!” Those, of course, became the ‘words to live by’ that we used whenever we had a job that seemed endless.
It was Old Bob who helped the folks begin the long process of refurbishing the house — cleaning out attic and cellar, scraping paint, removing wallpaper — whatever was required. During one of those work sessions, my mother became interested in an old newspaper that had been used for insulation.
“Look,” she said, “it’s from 1911. That’s the year I was born!”
“Let me see that,” said Old Bob. “That’s the year I was born, too!
Needless to say, our neighbor Bob Meadows was never referred to as “Old Bob” again!
