6/4/23
Newsletter #357
The Crack of Dawn
In 6th grade one of my best friends was Henry Hook. Henry was biggest troublemaker in the school, and none of the rest of us could even get close. Unlike the rest of us, Henry had an evil streak that was so outrageous that none of us could actually believe it. Plus, Henry was funny as hell. Quick-witted, snotty, sarcastic, facetious, and he really, truly didn’t give a damn. He had it all, troublemaker-wise.
Here is a minor example of how Hook’s mind worked. He and I were wrestling during recess. We weren’t wrestling for any reason other than just doing it because it was fun; nobody was trying to win because there was no dispute; we were simply goofing around and burning off excess energy. Suddenly, Henry spit his wad of chewing gum into his hand, then smashed it into my hair down to the scalp. I couldn’t believe it; what a total dick move. Henry, meanwhile, fell over laughing and couldn’t stop. I went to the office, and they had to use a scissors and cut out about a three-inch circle of my hair down to the scalp. I had a bald spot on the top of my head for weeks.
I’ve mentioned Henry a few times in these newsletters. I used him as a character who is discussed, but never seen, in my movie, Morning, Noon & Night (2018). Henry’s full name was Henry Hoover Hook. I named his character Calvin Coolidge Claw. Anyway, I’ve never told this Henry Hook story.
It was a gorgeous, sunny, warm, late spring day near the end of the school year, and much too nice to waste in school. Without a second thought, Henry and I skipped school. However, if we were seen wandering around the tiny downtown Franklin, we’d certainly get in trouble. As Bob Seger put it, we ducked out into the “trusty woods.” One of the main rivers in and around Detroit is the Rouge River, which has many tributaries, one of them being the Franklin River. The Franklin River is really a stream that wends and weaves its way through a woodsy, mostly uninhabited valley that slices through Franklin. [For you film buffs out there, this is where we threw Manson’s motorcycle off the cliff in, Thou Shalt Not Kill…Except (1985).]
I don’t recall us having any discussion about it, although we’d never done anything like it before, but we decided to follow the Franklin River wherever it would lead us. Franklin is a two-mile-square, woodsy little suburb, five miles outside Detroit, so the chances of us becoming irretrievably lost were very small. We both took off our sneakers, tied the laces together, draped them around our necks, stepped into the rushing stream, and just started walking. Even at the time, and we were eleven or twelve, it seemed awfully Huck Finn/Tom Sawyer-like. All we were lacking were Hickory stick fishing rods. I wouldn’t be halfway surprised if we had a single cigarette pilfered from our parents that we shared along the way.
As we came around a bend in the river, we found a pretty little bridge that neither of us ever knew was there. A moment later a woman’s voice said, “Sic ‘em,” and a big German Shepherd came bolting out of the woods. I, being of a heroic nature, transformed into a pillar of salt; Henry, being insane, picked up a thick, three-foot long stick, grasped it in both hands, and took an aggressive stance. The moment that dog got within striking distance, Henry swung the stick down with all of his might right across the dog’s head and cracked its skull. The dog crumbled, then began to whimper its last whimper just as an old lady arrived.
She looked down at her 97% dead dog in abject horror and gasped, “You’ve killed my dog.” Henry said, “You sicced that dog on us. Fuck you!” And the two of us just marched away up the Franklin River. We never heard another word about it.
Although I never heard anyone ever call Henry Hook a ginger, that’s what he was. But not a cute ginger. Henry was like Ginger Baker: the obnoxious, belligerent, snotty type of redhead.
Henry ended up living in Grand Rapids, married, with kids, selling insurance. He walked into work one day, put a pistol against his forehead and blew his brains out. They then had an open casket funeral, and apparently you could see the putty-filled hole.
Whatever his shortcomings, if I was in the army fighting a war, I’d want him next to me. Henry was pure balls. And man, he just killed that dog. One solid whack.
But you see where it got him.
And now you all have a nice day, y’hear.