Rhyme nor Reason

An old friend has graciously allowed their collection of poetry and other reflections, inspired by their experiences growing up in our town, to be shared with us at Hello Oxford! Many will know their prose, but let’s agree to maintain their anonymity under the pseudonym “Nom de Plume,” Oxford’s unofficial Poet Laureate!

There will be no order to their appearance here. Some will be drawn from the past, some will be relevant to current events. But all are heartfelt and tell us another story of our hometown, among other journeys.

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Oxford People

Oh, to walk into Marg’s Restaurant one more time and order a cheeseburger and fries…maybe with clam strips on a friday or saturday night. And push B-7 on the juke box. Or to have a pop handed to me out of a cooler full of ice and it’s cap popped off from the opener attached to the side of the cooler or the one in her hand.

Or to Harry Fowler’s where he placed the plush red seat up on the adult chair and you almost had to climb up into it so he could cut your hair the way your father expected. He became a barber in 1935. I recall reading that countless times whilst I sat there as a boy. The certificate was on the wall, to the right of the window facing Mactonish’s Hardware.

And Orlie’s. Orlie’s gang sign was the plastered rocks attached to his building. His gang sign was also playing Christmas music as the town employees made sure the red and green lights were strung back and forth Water Street were lit up. The man — and his wife Anis — also had a vast selection of black and white movies. A vast selection. He shared them at every small community center and church and living room for a hundred miles every chance he got… long before most of us were even born and the all sat there enjoying tea and coffee and snacks and small talk part way through during the intermission.

We should talk about these people, and people just like them. Every generation of them. These peeps above were the pillars from my teenage years for many different reasons. Marg Shenton fed young fellas who were kicked out from home for whatever reason, NOT with fast food but she’d cook a roast wih potatoes and carrots so he’d get a good supper.

Orlie Thompson put work boots on my feet when I was seventeen when I didn’t have any.

Harry Fowler STILL cut my hair the way my father wanted. Even though, I was like twenty years old.

There are many more I easily recall and could talk about but I’ll leave it at that for now. Tell me about the people who you remember after all these years no matter how many years ago it’s been because they know they deserve to be remembered.

Slabtown Style.

(2017-09-21)

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Tomcat Alley

Do you know how Tomcat Alley got it’s name? Jim Shenton said it first. He watched for years all those young punks with their slicked up hair and their best clothes strolling past his house in the sixties and early seventies from a dead-end street headed for town on a Friday night. Double Trouble if it was Exhibition time. Because that’s where they climbed over the fence. Marg just shook her head. I remember the night the ambulance took him away.

(2024-02-28)

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Exhibition

I dreamt last
night I was
a Ferris wheel

out of control.
Rolling down to
Water and Main.

Only to fall apart
at the foot of
Walsh’s Apartments.

(2024-10-04)

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The Smell of Bananas

I remember
sitting in
a cardboard
box in the
living room
driving it
like a car
after the
groceries
had been
delivered.

(2024-11-08)

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