The McGlynn

Dziecko, Dioni i Ksiazki

A Visit To Arlington


A Bull For The Little One

By The McGlynn (written years ago)

On the lower Platte, about a quarter mile above the mouth, there is a pull off from the road that I always use to see if there are any steelheads in the river. As I was pulling in to the spot earlier this week there was a lone fisherman on the bank staring at the river. A good six feet four in height, he was decked out in Wal-Mart, holding a ten-foot spinning rod and reel. I approached him and inquired as to whether there are any fish in the river.

“Fish, they’re all over the river,” he replied.

“Catch any?” I asked.

He turned to me and removed his sunglasses. His face appeared gaunt and his eyes bloodshot.

“I’ve been chasing these fish and casting for days. Haven’t landed one. Had a couple on but they broke off,” he wearily replied.

“What are you using?” I asked.

“Everything. I’m so doggone tired. Been at it since Friday. Haven’t eaten much. Haven’t slept much. Can’t sleep. The damn fish are in my head. Don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s Wednesday,” I replied.

“My God, I’ve got troubles. My boss let me off early on Friday. Met my buddy and have been at it since. Supposed to be at work on Monday. I’m going to get fired.

My old lady wants to know when I’m coming home. I try but I don’t. She’ll leave me and take the little one.”

I have wondered why the term “old lady”. This guy was in his late twenties or early thirties and they have a little one. He looked bedraggled and exhausted.

“I’m The McGlynn,” I said.

“Earl, here,” he replied. “My buddy left me on Sunday. Went back to Flint. No fish. I couldn’t leave. He don’t understand. No one understands. My boss, my wife. My little one might. We go ice fishing and catch them gills. Her eyes pop out when one is caught. Man, I’ve got troubles. God, I’m tired. The little one’s eyes would really pop out if I brought one these bulls home. Man, would they ever! What’s your name again?”

“The McGlynn. Irish,” I replied.

“Oh,” he said. “Saw these fish on that TV a couple years ago. Everyone had a big one. My buddy said the Platte was where to go. A friend told him years ago.

My buddy has no patience, though. He didn’t do any good. Went back to Flint.

God, I’m tired. The boss called my old lady. Wanted to know what’s wrong. She’s born again. Wouldn’t lie. Told her to call him and say I’m sick. Hell, I am. Nope. Born again. I’m in deep shit. God, I’m tired. I lay down and these damn fish are in my head. Can’t sleep. No one understands. Can’t do anything right. Get snagged up. Knots all over my line. At times forget how to cast. End up in the trees. I got a cooler to put the fish in. Hell, it’s empty. God, I’m so dog gone tired. Irish, huh?”

“Irish American. My brothers changed my name,” I replied.

“You let them?” he asked.

“They wanted to honor me. Name used to be Dick,” I said.

“Cool,” he said, “What do you use?”

“Flies,” I replied.

“Flies? Don’t have any of them. Catch many?” he asked.

“Some, but I put them back,” I replied.

“You what?” he said.

“It’s a long story,” I replied.

“No time,” he said. ” I don’t have time left. I just wanted a fish to take home. I can see the little one and one of these here fish. God, I’m tired. My body hurts all over. Eyes are burning. I’m going to get in the truck and get miles from here. Going to pull off and close my eyes for a while. Gotta get back to Lansing. Gotta get away from this damn river. Gotta get the fish out of my mind. My old lady is great but she don’t understand. Man, do I have trouble.”

I saw in him some of myself from years ago. In the early sixties I had come to the Platte for a weekend in early April. I hit the river at sunrise that Saturday morning, tired from the night drive. It was freezing cold. Bedecked in Sears Roebuck, I held a spinning rod and the lure was a Mepps spinner. (The following year I would switch to the fly rod and streamers and claim later that I was the first to fish for steelhead with a fly rod. It would be a few years before I saw another fly fisherman on the Platte. A fisherman from the local town of Honor would file a false claim in his book published in the seventies.)

The fish laid along a downed tree with clear gravel beneath. It looked like a log. My heart raced and hands trembled at the sighting of my first steelhead. I approached from below. The first cast resulted in snarled line, forgetting to release properly. The spinning reel was a confusion of monofilament. Body shaking, fingers not responding, cursing the darkness of despair into which I had fallen, it took precious minutes to untangle.

The second cast snagged the tree. My being went ballistic. I cursed the Gods of darkness. I broke off, remembering where in the tree I went fishing. It was a costly lure to lose.

I thought I could not do anything right. My mind turned to home and how the kids would marvel at this monster when I brought it home. I would lay it on the kitchen table. Elaine would want to put newspapers beneath. We would gaze at it and I would tell my story of the battle. I would leave out the preliminaries. No need to confuse the little ones. Elaine would cook it. She would know how. I did not have the vaguest idea.

I tied on another Mepps spinner. On the third cast the fish hit and I netted him after a good tussle. It was the first steelhead in my life. It was the only steelhead I caught that weekend.

My heart and mind were caught between fishing and home for the rest of the weekend.

The drive home was a joy of remembrance and high anticipation. It would be a year before I returned to the Platte, fly rod in hand.

I was now standing next to a man in deep despair. I could see his kitchen table with a fish upon it, newspapers underneath. Even the little one, on her toes, peeking up over the table. I saw her eyes bug out. I even saw his “old lady” with a smile on her face. And Earl would tell his story.

I was ready to tell Earl that he could tell the little one how he fought the fish that broke off. He could describe everything about the battles. Her mind would grasp his words. I did not. Words would not penetrate his despair.

“Earl,” I said. “Follow me. I want to show you something. We’ll pray to the Gods for a fish.”

“I’ve been talking to Him for days,” he said. “He ain’t listening.”

Without much conviction Earl followed me down to the bend in river. We entered the river below some fish on a redd.

Later, as he was putting his gear in the back of his truck, he said, “you know, I never saw a fly rod before. Never had one in my hand. Used to throw rotten apples off a willow stick as a kid in Georgia. Feels a little the same. Cost much?”

“Depends,” I replied.

He was hurriedly packing up. Almost left his spinning rod behind. His mind was elsewhere. He shouted out the window of his truck, as he was pulling away, “gotta get some ice for that cooler.” He drove a few yards, stopped and shouted out “do you think they’ll understand?”

“The little one will,” I shouted back.

I retreated back to the bend in the river, found my sitting log, and watched the male steelheads chase one another off a redd occupied by a female. A jack, an immature steelhead, lay below the redd, observing. I thought these are the best of times.

A Walk Through Arlington

Come, walk with me past the white stones

Through ancient fields of the fallen

Along paths of dreams not seen

Through aisles of solemn stillness

The oaks and elms not heard

To acres not visited by the tours

Come, walk with me

Past wars and our discontents

We will look for fresh earth

Where a canopy is ready

Where fresh wreaths adorn the new white

Where an anthem and taps sound

Come, walk with me

Past the innocence of youth

The bounty of life never seen

The saga of age denied

Borne by brothers to rest

We will see the past

Come, walk with me

The moment is over the next rise

The white of canopy

Green shoveled aside for the earth

Upon approach

Curfew calls a mother and daughter

Come, walk with me

Stones’ whiteness sears the eyes

A nation’s history cries

Pangs of conscience overwhelm

We are among the young

Born to flower we failed

Such a large bounty to waste

Come, walk with me

One of eighteen years rests

Beloved daughter, Sam

No child will bound into her lap

No child will grace her knee

Her art of mind and heart lost

No warm hearth of ages of love

Come, walk with me

Through alleys of white

Row upon row of young

Never to return to their streets of warmth

Nor to grace a porch

And shout a greeting to the village

Their virtues denied by war

Come, walk with me

Oh Sam, I hurt for you

For denying you your destiny

The bounty of life and saga of age

If only my voice could provoke your silence

We could meet the dawn

And grasp the moon

One would grace your knee with a little one

Give warmth to your mother

Come, walk with me

Our view will turn to and over the river

Where a little tyrant rules

Rising through lies, fear, slaughter and blood

To the applause of a nation

And that of a listening congress

Silence triumphs its halls

Come, walk with me

Come, walk with me

Let us go outside …..and march

Come, walk with me

For Sam and the young resting….in silence

The McGlynn

October, 2007



Assassinated Red Menace Dictator Dumped into The AuSable

By The Irrelevant Press, Reported by The McGlynn

Published: May 2005

The Irrelevant Press reported this morning that General Sciurus Vulgaris, dictator of the Red Menace, was assassinated by a bullet to the head while eating lunch on the banks of the AuSable at noon on April 30, the most holy of days in this year’s calendar. It is reported that the General’s mind had been affected for a long time by the virus parapox, giving him a false sense of security. The parapox spreading program was initiated two years ago under the direct orders of President Sciurus Carolinensis, the leader of the rebellious Greys. The President was quoted saying at that time that all means, including the Greys’ natural borne parapox, was to be employed in the annihilation of the Red Menace.

A year ago, with victory still in doubt, Carolinensis ordered the introduction of Viagra as a food supplement for his army, contributing to a dramatic increase in the army’s numbers and a satisfied barracks’ life for the troops.

Another tactic used was the introduction of truckloads of salted shelled peanuts for his troops; the salt being required for the survival of his army of Greys but anathema to the Red Menace. Caches of peanuts were stored underground for winter sustenance.

Carolinensis has denied Vulgaris all funeral rights and has denied a request for his body from the Sciurus Vulgaris of Great Britain, where the struggle between the Greys and the Red Menace continues unabated. Rumor has it that the body was mistakenly buried but was dug up by a battalion of Greys and, following a massive celebration and a torch parade led by Carolinensis under a banner proclaiming “Mission Accomplished”, dumped the remains into the AuSable river at midnight.

The assassination of Vulgaris could mean the death knell of the Red Menace and the complete return of the AuSable country to a stable democracy under Carolinensis. Under his leadership a clandestine program of rendition was enacted whereby dissident Greys are sent to Great Britain where they must join the Greys in the battle against the Red Menace or face extermination or sterilization at the hands of the Red Menace, assisted by the British Government.

(The BBC reports that the Ministry of Agriculture and the Forestry Commission has given financial incentives to those killing the Greys. Cartridges are issued free to approved grey squirrel clubs; for those operating independently, a quid was given per tail sent to the county pest officer in bundles of six. Some relished the thought of using new poisons, ICI explosives, gas, and elaborate traps against the grey offenders. Boys are allegedly removing tails from live squirrels. The Forestry commission advised enticing the Greys into sacks to kill them (probably haphazardly) through a blow to the head with a cricket bat.

A member of the House of Lords has called for the Greys to be ’shot on sight’ in an effort to keep their numbers under control.

“We must revert to a policy of shooting on sight,” said Viscount Brookborough. “I accept that we would not wipe them out, but where we are we have found that the best way of control.”

Baroness Farrington outlined government plans for a sterilization program for the Greys (calling them grey bushy-tailed menaces) in order to keep their numbers at bay. “What we are doing is working, and hoping, through sponsoring via the Forestry Commission, a project at Sheffield University, that within three years of testing we may have developed a successful sterilization program”

In a wide rambling celebration speech President Carolinensis again addressed the danger that the Vulgaris in Great Britain pose to the Grey Nation. Stating that the weapons of mass destruction that Great Britain possess and are providing the Vulgaris are an imminent threat he went on to say:

“The folks who conducted to act on our country made a big mistake. They underestimated our nation of Greys. They underestimated our resolve, our determination, our love for freedom. They misunderestimated the fact that we love a neighbor in need. They misunderestimated the compassion of our country. I think they misunderestimated the will and determination of the President, too.

The enemy understands a free Sciurus will be a major defeat in their ideology of hatred. That’s why they’re fighting so vociferously. The ambassador and the general were briefing me on the — the vast majority of Sciurus want to live in a peaceful, free world. And we will find these people and we will bring them to justice.

As you know, we don’t have relationships with Great Britain. I mean, that’s — ever since the late ’80s, we have no contacts with them, and we’ve totally sanctioned them. In other words, there’s no sanctions — you can’t — we’re out of sanctions.

Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our Grey citizens, and neither do we.

Believing that security is the essential roadblock to achieving the road map to peace, we will make sure our troops have all that is necessary to complete their missions. That’s why I went to the Congress last September and proposed fundamental — supplemental funding, which is money for armor and body parts and ammunition and fuel.

We ended the rule of one of history’s worst tyrants, and in so doing, we not only freed the Greys, we made our own Greys more secure.

You’re free. And freedom is beautiful. And, you know, it’ll take time to restore chaos and order — order out of chaos. But we will. We hold dear what our Carolinensis Sciurus Declaration of Independence says, that all have got uninalienable rights, endowed by a Creator.

Soon we will have an election. Who could have possibly envisioned an erection — an election in our land at this point in history?”

To the Vulgaris terrorists the President had this to say:

“My answer is bring them on. And in my judgment, when the the Grey Nation says there will be serious consequences, and if there isn’t serious consequences, it creates adverse consequences. Further the notion that the Grey Nation is getting ready to attack Great Britain is simply ridiculous. And having said that, all options are on the table. I’m the commander — see, I don’t need to explain — I do not need to explain why I say things. That’s the interesting thing about being president.”

As he left the stage the President greeted a former soldier saying “I’m honored to shake the hand of a brave Grey who had his hand cut off by Vulgaris”

The elderly Vulgaris, one-time AuSable Country vagabond who rose to be the dictator of the Red Menace , and the scourge of the Greys, was, like many of the world’s dictators, a product of civil chaos which brought Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini to power. The Sciurus Famine of the ‘80s was such a chaos, leading to the titanic struggle over AuSable’s food supply which paved the way for Vulgaris’s domination in the former mighty AuSable land of the Greys.

Before the climax of a brutal career unparalleled in Sciurus history, he had subdued the Greys, imported the Red Menace Army and created a social and economic system founded upon the complete subjection of the populace to his will in all basic features of social, political, economic and cultural life. His depravity knew no bounds, even ordering his army to bite the private parts off their victims.


Red Menace Attack

Red Squirrel Knocks Out Power to 5,000

By The Irrelevant Press, Reported by The McGlynn

Published: August 15, 2006

KOKOMO, Ind. (AP) — A terrorist red squirrel invaded a power substation and left more than 5,000 homes and businesses without electricity.

Duke Energy restored the service from the South Main Street substation near Wildcat Creek after about an hour Sunday night.

”The terrorist red squirrel died in the attack and we lost 5,039 customers for the space of an hour,” Duke spokesman Rob Norris said.

The outage included much of the city’s central neighborhoods west of U.S. 31.

Further comment on this Red Menace attack came from both President Sciurus Carolinensis, leader of the Grey Nation with its capital on the banks of the AuSable River and the Grey Nation’s Homeland Security Secretary Cherti.

Carolinensis stated “This country is safer than it was prior to 9-11 when the Red Menace reached its strength.” The President was on the airport tarmac here where he was appearing at events focused on finding more beer for his constituents (to go along with the peanuts and to stimulate the Viagra taken by his troops). “We’ve taken a lot of measures to protect the Grey Nation. But obviously we still aren’t completely safe. … It is a mistake to believe there is no threat to our nation. The Reds in Great Britain are continuing to slaughter our fellow Greys in that country.”

The Greys’ Homeland Security Secretary Cherti , upon hearing the news, stated:

“We want to make sure that there are no remaining threats out there, and we also want to take steps to prevent any would-be copycats who may be inspired to similar conduct.”

He again stated the watch points to identify the Red Menace cells:

• Unusually large purchases of nuts and or birdseed.

• The absence of a dog or cat in their home.

• Radiation levels in excess of federal standards, particularly around woodpiles and . under redwood decks

• An unusual interest in local politics, especially as it pertains to rodent control

• Membership in social and or political organizations promoting environmental

awareness which would protect their feeding grounds.

• Names like Vulgaris, Squrrlluva, Chitters, and others.

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