Chucky Mardis
Chapter 11
Chuck Mardis was many characters. He was short in stature and frame yet was tall in laughter and loyalty. We called him many names, unashamedly: Leprechaun, Mayor of Munchkinville, and James Cagney. Chucky was a die-hard Notre Dame fan. He absolutely loved them. In 2001, right after the terrible 911 incident, my aging Uncle Mac Hardesty sold me two USC/Notre Dame tickets at South Bend; he was nearing 90, and couldn’t attend anymore. I called Chucky, the very first one, expecting him to go, all expenses paid for, but he declined, and this upset me. Before he died, he still never fulfilled his bucket list of seeing a great rival game, and you just can't walk in and get Notre Dame tickets to watch the Irish- impossible. When he died, I felt good about myself, inviting him, the very first person.
Chucky was very funny. A constant cut- up. Chucky wasn't a very well-read man, even though his family was very intelligent; Chuck preferred to work outside; he was a welder for Jeff Boat, a big shipbuilding company located in Louisville. Chuck, like all of us, got several weeks off during the year, and we all would head to Joe’s for a cold beer or two. We would either sit on a stool or shoot a game of pool. Chucky was a very quiet person; if he didn't know you well, he wouldn't speak to you, but his laugh could calm a rabid dog. Chuck worked many hard hours, often coming home with welder burns and countless welding flashes(photokeratitis), and years later caused him vision loss and lung cancer from breathing in all those welding fumes of nickel, magnesium, cadmium, and chromium. Sad to lose my best friend from this, and he received very little compensation too. I still want to call him at noon every day.
Chucky was a solitary man, lived alone in a run-down trailer, and he wasn't ashamed of it either. Gary Walker, another lost dear friend of ours, and I, on a Friday night, often would drift down where Chucky lived, a nice parcel of land with a well-stocked lake down in the woods, we would pull 5-pound bass and endless bluegills out of that lake, always catching and releasing, and the lake had an island equipped with two diving boards, a gas grill, and a picnic table, all in the center of the lake. We three would carry on down there until dark and then head up to Chucky’s dilapidated trailer. Chucky and Gary both loved their whiskey too, and the night would soon drift into way past midnight. I'd crash on Chuck’s couch, and Gary usually left or would lie on the floor, yet one time, Gary ventured out to his truck and brought out an air compressor and a blow-up bed, Chucky, and I rolled with laughter watching him blow up this air-bed, it took over half the living room, this balloon bed was huge, it looked like a kids' toy. Gary laid there in his blown up bouncing bed while discussing that his bed was a state-of-the-art apparatus, blah, blah, blah. I fell asleep, Chucky hit his bedroom, and I woke up right at dawn, and I saw Gary lying there on the floor on top of his deflated balloon bed. I busted out laughing, and I awoke Gary, and he thought I stuck a pin in it, which I vehemently denied. Chucky rose out of bed and saw Gary’s dilemma and burst out in that Irish cackle. We both talked about this for decades. I miss them both so much.
