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Ever notice that what the hell
is always the right answer?
Marilyn Monroe
ANATOMY OF A PIG PARTY
By Jack Straw
I met Professor Lindsey at the Leo Kotke/Cowboy Junkies
concert at the Portland Zoo. Although it was a fractured
conversation that took place during his numerous visits to my
beer line, we seemed to be soul mates. But 1 was still
surprised when the Professor phoned and asked if I would be
willing to write his article in ‘The Upper Left Edge” this
month. Because of laryngitis he couldn’t do it Being an
aspiring writer I, of course, jumped at the chance to fill the
shoes of a top-notch columnist in a world-renowned periodical.
The Professor mentioned a party of such monumental
proportions that tlie coverage could merit a Pulitzer prize even
if you couldn’t write your way out of a wet paper sack. He
opined that maybe, in time, this will be Cannon Beach’s
answer to the Oregon Country Fair. But he strongly warned
me not to tell anyone and be sure to destroy the map I would
receive. So I packed my bag and with great expectations
headed for the coast.
As prearranged, 1 met the Professor in Bill’s Tavern and
Brewery on Sunday evening around 4:30 p.m., a time he
referred to as Vespers. I found this odd because the sun
wouldn’t set for hours. With a broad smile he thanked me
repeatedly for coming, shook my arm out of its socket, handed
me an archaic map to the party, and told me to follow a blue
van which would be headed to the festivities. At this time a
burly, ponytail gentleman said he was riding to the party in
the very same van and while the brewer was loading the kegs
there would be time for a pint of ale. I ordered myself one.
The ponytail had three. Minutes later I found myself on the
road to Hedonism.
I followed the blue van through quaint coastal towns, over
roads with views that were fit for postcards. We crossed rivers,
drove through valleys virtually bursting at the seams with
cows, passed a winery and damn near liit a banjo player near
the local grocery store. I decided to check my map. 1 could
have swore we were lost. But the van pressed on. I decided to
relax and enjoy myself when I saw a huge cloud of smoke that
could only be coming from a raging forest fire. 'Hie van
slowed, turned into tlie smoke and disappeared. I decided to
throw caution to the wind, along with the map as directed, and
followed on the narrow, gravel road with visibility under two
feet. Suddenly I came across a Forest Service truck that barely
missed me. Armageddon! And then light and the blue van as I
slam on my brakes. The Ponytail walks up with a can of
Hamms screaming "You made it! Let’s tap the kegs.” 1
decided to stick with Wild-eyed Brewer and Ponytail
The first order of business seemed to be getting the beer out
of the van and set up as quickly as possible I decided to help
The doors on the blue van were opened and there, slightly
concealed by kegs of beer, was a huge piece of pork. When I
saw the headless bloody torso I began to wonder what other
food might be available. Ponytail explained that Don’s
granddaughter raised the 200 pound pig as a 4-H Project. After
months feeding on brewery by-products it won a Blue Ribbon
at the County Fair. That made me feel better about the food
but a little sad for the girl. We put the beer kegs on a small
trailer behind a tractor and a fellow with an English accent,
who swore he was bom and raised in Cannon Beach, gingerly
navigated past a huge pit. I then realized the source of all the
smoke had been this deep hole filled with smoldering wood.
There, I was told, is where Turpentine Willie III will be put to
rest. A goatccd young man came forward crossed himself
before the pit and said a Forest Service guy had already made
the scene after seeing all the smoke, had inspected all
preparations for the up-coming services, and had given his seal
of approval so happily everything was a go. I was amazed to
see that not only was the ale already tapped and flowing, but
Ponytail was offering forth a cup of bronzy liquid. ‘Well,
now that we are fortified, let’s set up camp.” Camp? Uh-Oh,
I had forgotten my tent.
Wild-eyed Brewer and Ponytail came prepared I, on the
oilier hand, was feeling sheepish and tcntless, but followed out
of curiosity. For the first time I really started to look around
the property. This was an amazing place for a party with over
three acres of neatly mowed grass landscaped with a wide
variety of trees, rhododendrons, decorative bushes, and crocuses
that had waited until the party to bloom Hie three of us and
the gear crossed a somewhat bouncy bridge over Foley Creek.
This was a gateway into another world. We had arrived in
Tent City, housing for many stalwart individuals who were
going to spend one, two or three nights enjoying all the
festivities. The accommodations ranged from a very small tent
possibly for a dog to very elaborate pyramid like stmetures
that must have taken several individuals and hours to erect.
One even had a statue of Buddha. By all accounts one of the
neighbor ladies taking a tour of tent city later that night
spotted tlie Buddha surrounded with burning candles, recoiled
with fright and hightailed it home. At any rate. Wild-eyed
Brewer and Ponytail had quite modest tents so they were
quickly set up just in time for call to dinner.
Much to my surprise I found out these people are almost
gourmets. A half bushel of oysters, fresh tuna and chicken
were being cooked on barbecues. There were organic salad
makings and new potatoes brought from a local farm and a
decorative fruit salad imported from Portland. All of this was
washed down with copious amounts of micro brews from
Bill’s Tavern while listening to Bap Kennedy. Someone had
forgotten to bring the Bad Livers tape. After stuffing
ourselves we gathered around tlie pit, drank more ale, told each
other lies, and fed about two cords of wood into the fire pit.
The Turpentine Brothers chose this time and setting to relate a
tale of local folklore. Although a little hazy at the time I will
try to recreate the essence of the story:
‘Beware! Only when the Pig Party is well underway will
tlie first splinters of terror work their way into our hearts. It is
at this time during any gathering when one must begin to fear
the activities of drunks, artists, and volunteer firemen. But the
Pig Party brings out a whole new entity to fear - the dreaded
Sasquatch of Cannon Beach now relocated to the Miami Foley
Valley. Halfway through the third keg of ale, when most
upstanding revelers are just beginning to barely glimpse their
dark side, a hideous creature with questionable intent is well on
his way to the transformation from amiable party-goer to the
dreaded Sasquatch. I lis atrocities normally reside in camp tales
spun harmlessly by Boy Scouts and Cullists on summer
retreats, but the Pig Party reveals his worst behavior ten-fold.
He has been seen at a Garden Party, not unlike the one we arc
attending now, dressed in drag and looking good. Attempting
to negotiate a short flight of stairs he stumbled and fell as is
the nature of a beast with little muscular coordination.
Ultimately he lay sprawled at the foot of the stairs with his
dress hiked up sufficiently to expose himself to the party
guests unfortunate enough to be within viewing distance.
Ghastly to be sure! We relate this story only by way of a
warning. It has happened in the past, it will most assuredly
happen again.”
After the horrifying tale, the many brews, mid all the food, I
was getting very drowsy so I scurried off to my humble digs -
the car. As I drifted off to sleep I heard the beating of drums,
something that sounded like chanting Indians, coyotes howling
in the distance, and eerie cackles that could only be coming
from the depths of I lell I locked my car doors, pulled a jacket
over my head, and cried myself to sleep. This car was to be
my Sanctuary.
Monday morning I emerged from the car w ith a slight crick
in my neck and a bi, of a hangover from the ale guzzling But
with sunny skies over my head and the birds chirping all
around tne, the childish fears of the night before became a
distant memory. With some urgency 1 made my way to the
Gold Room, the yellow port-a-potty rented for the occasion,
and drained off the spent ale With that accomplished it was
on to tlie deck where several of the faitliful had gathered to
manulacture breakfast; drink coffee, more beer or Bloody
Marys; and rehash mid laugh about last night’s exploits.
Some of the highlights I remembered vividly while others
were just vague recollections I recalled the Wild eyed Brewer
almost taking a header into the fire pit, people taking turns
cranking Three Finger Ron’s device to pump air into the fire,
constant banter about which pieces of wood to pu, in next and
when we should get around to inserting the pig Just before
breakfast, I was told that once again this year the pig didn’t
make it into the pit until 3:00 a m This brought on much
hooting and hollering and good naltired ribbing about whether
(he pig would be cooked in time for tonight's festivities.
After a couple of Bloody Marys to quell the throbbing in my
head and the queasy feeling in my stomach I "pigged on,” on
Continued on Page 2
N
T lD C - ^
W A S H IN G T O N
ft O R E G O N C O A S T S
1 9 9 9 Corrected for P A C IF IC B E A C H E S
LOW OC rOBER
HIGH OCTOBER
AM
P M
P M
DOTS-
DAIf
AM
»I GUIDE
1 Fn •
2 Sat •
3
SUN •
4
Mon#
5 Tues #
6 Wed#
7 Thur #
8 Fri ®
9 Sat #
10 SUN •
11 Mon •
12 Tues •
13 Wed •
14 Thur •
15 Fri •
16 Sat •
17 SUN •
18 Mon •
19 Tues •
20 Wed •
21 Thur •
22 Fri •
23 Sat •
24 SUN »
25 Mon •
26 Tues •
27 Wed •
28 Thur •
29 Fn •
30 Sat •
TINE
FT
6:09
7:24
8:38
9:42
10:36
11:21
6.4
6.3
6.5
6.9
7.4
7.9
0:08
0:54
1:37
2:19
3:00
3:43
4:28
5:18
6:17
7:22
8:26
9:21
10:08
10:48
11:25
7.9
7.9
7.8
7.5
7.3
7.0
6.6
6.3
6.1
6.0
6.3
6.7
7.2
7.7
8.2
0:32
1:21
2:12
3:04
3:58
4:57
6:01
8.0
8.1
8.1
7.9
7.6
7.3
7.1
TINE
5:27
6:39
801
9:17
10:22
11:18
12:01
12:38
1:11
1:42
2:10
2:37
3:05
3:36
4:13
501
6:05
7:27
845
9:51
10:49
1141
12:01
12:37
1:13
1:51
2:32
3:17
4:08
508
FT
8.0
7.6
7.5
74
7.6
7.8
8.2
84
8.5
84
8.3
8.2
8.0
7.7
74
7.1
6.7
6.6
6.7
7.1
7.5
7.8
8.7
9.1
94
9.6
9.5
9.2
8.7
8.1
TIME
11:32
0:47
2:02
3:13
4:14
5:05
5:50
6:30
7:07
7:41
8:14
8:47
9:19
9:54
10:35
11:28
0:25
1:33
2:39
3:37
4:26
5:10
5:52
6:32
7:13
7:55
8:40
9:28
10:22
11:25
FT
2.3
0.2
0.0
0.1
0.2
0.3
0.3
0.1
0.2
0.6
1.1
1.6
2.1
2.5
2.9
3.3
0.9
1.0
1.0
0.8
0.6
0.5
0.5
0.6
0.9
1.2
1.6
2.1
2.5
2.9
TINE
FT
1245 2.7
206 2.7
3:22 2.3
4:27 1.7
5:23 1.0
6:11 0.5
6:55 0.1
7.36 -0.2
8:14 -0.3
8:51 0.3
9:27 -0.1
1002 0.1
10:41 0.3
11:28 0.6
12:36 3.5
1:54 34
3:05 2.9
4:05 2.2
4 56 1 4
543 0.6
6:28 0.1
7:12 -0.7
7:57 -1.2
843 -14
9:32 -1.3
10:24 -1.1
11:22 0.6
DAYLIG HT TIM E EN D S 2 A M
31 SUH # 6:09 7.1 5:24 7.51 0:26 0.1 11:40 3.0
AM TIDES • bigger the dot - better the fishing » pm TIDES
LITETYPE
DAYLIG HT TIM E T H R U O CTO BER 3 0 BOLDTYPE
ANTHONY STOPPIELLO
============== Architect
Earth friendly architecture
Consultant - Educator
Passive solar design
Conscientious material use
Licensed in Oregon and Washington
310 Lake S t • POB 72. Ilwaco, WA 9A 6 2 4 (3 6 0 ) 6 4 2 -4 2 5 6
I never know whether to pity or
congratulate a man on coming to
his senses.
William Makepeace Thackeray
*
H o ly Cow! Sammy Sosa is the first player in
history to hi, more than sixty home runs two
seasons in a row, hell; twice, period The
down side is that Sammy has hit about as
many home runs as the Cubs have won games,
and it's still a team sport. I don’t know about
other Cubs fans hut every time the hall leaves
Sam m y’s hat and heads for the fence, I seem to
hear a faint bu, excited voice from somewhere
in the bleachers, o r maybe the press box, or
maybe ju st above it saying, "It could be It
m ight be It is. H oly C o w !"
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