M Off the Cut?
Self-Imposed Exile in Alaska
i*; ■' *n Alaska on account
of a xnan.
Even lo this day, the thought
of last summer is a burning
reminder that love is blind, and
there is a price to be paid for
amorous naivete.
Well, what the hell, so I got
dumped for her former beau
Despite my better judgment. I
flew to Anchorage l.ovc isn't
stupid though, it took me four
days to figure that out After my
enlightenment, I had to leave,
but home wasn't the answer —
just get me out of Anchorage
At the Kcnai Peninsula in
Alaska, it was survival of the fit
test, with literally hundreds of
lower 48 state “cannery rats”
prowling at the doors of the fish
processing plants in search of a
job I quickly made that observa
tion living in my new abode, a
tent (purchased three days
prior), in the gravel pit above
the bank of Kenai River
I owe my life to my long
underwear
I should have known better 1.
spoiled with cooked food and a
roof to live under, was in no
condition to adjust to the
rigorous Alaskan weather, from
the wind that chaffs your skin by
day to the cold that freezes you
by night I came to live in Lim
bo. population 14
All that time spent on the
bench outside Salamatof
Seafoods endless hours of
nothinglcss How long could K
go on? Al first the lack of mental
activity and nightly drunken
stupors came as a welcome relief
from the strains of school, hut as
time crawled to a standstill,
there was the Kenai Public
Library for entertainment
‘ The Picture of Dorian
Grey” came as a welcome
friend to me. poisoning my mind
with the degradation and loss of
faith in relationships, which con
firmed my earlier suspicions that
there is no such thing as ideal
love
“Romance begins by deceiv
ing oneself. Romance ends by
deceiving another " — Oscar
Wilde
I had been deceived, an illu
sion shattered, frozen forever in
my mind
The legend of Alaska as the
land of summer fortunes began
to look like a deception too.
especially after two weeks
without a permanent job and
dwindling personal resources
My God, the thought of
''dumpster diving in search of
the nine minute burger" became
more of a reality by the day
Talk of the pit had it that Arby's
hamburgers had a shelf-life of
nine minutes
We looked We found We
ate.
Anything to pass the time and
A Delta Zeta sweatshirt provided some warmth, but
nothing like what the warmth of another body drawn near
could have done. When the zipper on my sleeping bag
broke, it was the beginning of the end of my battle with the
cold. I thought I was going to die.
satisfy the hunger
Alaska brought out the worst
in me “Power shopping bulk
food.” a grocery store counter
part to restaurant “dine and
dashing.” was always an option
when the pangs of hunger
became too severe.
The food in Alaska is expen
sive. and no one could afford
vine ripened tomatoes at $2 49 a
pound, let alone most fresh
food I ate salmon, canned foods
and peanut butter and jelly sand
wichcs. Dairy Queen 49ers.
which have more onions and
relish than actual meat, were the
staple diet of the starving Forty
nine cents doesn't buy much
hamburger.
The good Samaritan who serv
ed hot soup and bread at
Shoshana's Oven for the Homer
"spit rats" proves there are still
good people left in this world.
“Jesus never fails" hung above
the door of the modified hangar,
which was open 5-7 p.m daily.
However, the one day I went to
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2611
Shoshana's to cat. the oven wax
closed Don't fail me Jesus.
Please, not in a God-forsaken
place like Alaska
The Samaritan and his wife fed
Kenai cannery workers too, pro
viding the means for both
physical and spiritual strength
The pair saved lost souls in a
way a traditional church service
could not.
By night, we fended for
ourselves from locals who
would play grand prix racing in
the gravel pit while we slept.
When the madmen's car axle
broke one night, the gravel pit
community flipped the driver's
car on its hood for the added
touch Extremist (or those who
came the closest to being run
over in the night) would have
proceeded to bum the car, but
the police came and put an end
to any such thoughts.
The police came back again
when a fight erupted over the
disputed ownership of some
firewood Tempers flared, and
one guy drew a knife, only to be
clubbed in the temple with a
walking stick by the other guy.
The police took them both in.
Besides roving, gravel
throwing motor vehicles and
knife-wielding men. being found
frozen dead in a tent was an ad
ditional fear that crept into
dispirited minds by night. A
Delta Zeta sweatshirt provided
some warmth, but nothing like
what the warmth of another
body drawn near could have
done. When the zipper on my
sleeping hag broke, it was the
beginning of the end of my battle
with the cold. I thought I was
going to die.
One 19-year-old guy living in
the gravel pit did die. but it hap
pened at work and at a different
plant Asthma and 100-plus
hour weeks are a lethal combina
tion. Fish mist, ever present in
the air, slowly accumulated in
the lungs of the cannery
workers, so it was like having a
smoker's hack minus the habit
By July most everyone is
working: the butcher crew,
shivering in blood-splattered
rain gear working on a good
case of tendomtus; the egg
packing crew, always under the
watchful eye of a Japanese
foreman; the beach crew, brav
ing the elements and working
day and night to unload the
fishing boats; the packing crew,
incessantly bending over to pick
up frozen salmon from deep.
1,000-pound cages; and the
freezer crew, bundled like a
postal worker on a brisk January
morning.
Just as the mail must be
delivered, so must the salmon be
cleaned. And as the bins of
salmon piled up, so would the
sickly, vile smell of rotten fish
fill the air.
There was no rest until the
. plant filled its order. Sleep?
Who needs sleep?
Tables turned as the foremen
at Salamatof. who prior to the
onslaught of the salmon had the
advantage at work, were sud
denly your friends. Don’t quit
on us, they pleaded very non
chalantly. Oh, but where was the
classic music to soothe my
nerves? Phil, Billy, Michael
McDonald and virtuous music
that pleads, “Honey, I was
wrong and I'm sorry, but I’m
coming back'' made me
quit.
I'm sorry. I’d have stayed had
I heard virtuous music part two,
with something like, “You
won't take me back? It's your
choice to bear. Yeah, I'm sad
but what can I say, there are
other women out there." It’s a
fallacy to think relationships are
as simple as, “Take me. I’m
back.” Fleetwood Mac says it
right. Alaska makes you believe
it.
Did she make you cry. make
you break down, shatter yinir il
lusion of love? Is it over
now—do you know how to pick
up the pieces and go home?"
Gold Dust Woman I made it
home all right, but 1 know I will
never be the same.
- STAN NELSON
Spectrum_
A publication of the Oregon Daily Emerald
Editor.Curtis Condon
Assistant Editor . Stephen Maher
Contributors: Elizabeth Asher, Sherlyn Bjorkgren,
Michelle Brence, Marta Corvallis, Lucinda Dillon, Stan
Nelson, Alyson Simmons, Colin Stanton, Michael
Wilhelm
Cover photo by Michael W'llhelm
The editors will not be responsible for unsolicited manuscripts or
artwork. Submissions must include a stamped, self addressed envelope