THE WAYS AND MEANS OF BLABBER DREDGE

Author: Thomas Josiah Chappelle
Word Count: 1785
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On the corner of Critic Street and Gossip Avenue, stood an older house than most in the neighborhood. It was in decent repair as the owner of the house took pains to have the woodwork scraped and painted every other spring. This was not too difficult as the exterior of the house was made from masonry and stone to the eaves of the roof. The roof tiles were made of slate and a large chimney rose from the roof’s crown three and a half feet. Tile brick pipes extended the height another foot and a half with a tile brick vent cover to disallow moisture and debris from coming in. There was a small porch in front with a tile floor and stone pillars rose up on the two outermost points to support the porch covering. It did not have a ceiling in the normal sense but what some call a cathedral roof four to five feet high in the center. The porch was large enough to accommodate a porch swing, two or three rockers and a small three foot circular table with a pedestal foot. Since there were no table legs to hinder seating, one could adjust the seating according to mood or convenience. The front door could have doubled for a castle portcullis as it was made from thick lumber with a six inch port window. It obviously had come from a seagoing vessel and had been put in by a local carpenter, inset in brass that now was beginning to lose its sheen. The door swung on large iron hinges; not the decorative ones but rather utilitarian in form and practice. There was an antique bronze bell that was mounted by the door frame, used to alert the habitant of a visitor coming to call. Mr. Dredge, however, was not the kind of man that invited “trouble” – as he viewed most of his specie. There were a few worth tolerating and only a few singulars that cared to tolerate his self-declared “objective” reasoning and logic. He no longer had a spouse as his wife left four years ago. She could no longer stand with “critiques”, he made of her every motion or notions. She had given up listening to him gripe about every “injustice” that occurred on an every day basis.

Conversation between them had long ceased. Only comments were made on particular occasions where there was some parcel of news or information to be dispensed in the telling. She had best present it correct and promptly or there was “hell to pay”. He chided her repetitively about her up-raisings, parentage, knowledge – or rather the lack of it. His voice was loud and carried well and if by occasion, there was an opened window or door, His remarks was heard well by those tending their yards. They would just shake their heads in silence.
It was not really a surprise that she finally said “enough”’. She had loved him at one time in their fifty-eight years of marriage but as the years increased, so did the verbal molesting; and as they became cumulative, her regard for his love faded and her desire to remain imprisoned by a marriage contract that showed signs of yellow aging and fragmentation. It was more so in her soul that the worst decay was occurring. There were times when he was “kind” to her; particularly when he became ill or was in pain. She had waited on him hand and foot, dutifully. His kind words sounded hollow; said with the mouth but no conviction with heart. As he recovered from his ailment, so did his capability to taunt her with her shortcomings. She had them and she knew it; but his continuous ranting seemed interminable. This was particularly so when she had just made some prayerful resolve to amend a “character flaw” and began to go about doing something in a different manner. He would then pipe out with inquiry, wanting to know why she changed what she was doing. It was so impractical and not “logical”.
She was a quite person for the most part. She strove to practice godliness of character just like the Good Book said. In her moments of weakness and alone, she would say aloud that even Job had an ending to such debilitating struggles. She knew that the “ending” for her was most likely at the drawing of her last breath. Where he was frustrated at aging and wanted to live on an on, she became resolute in her hope that “heaven” would come soon for her. After she realized that ‘heaven’ was biding its time, she resolved then and there to at least get o-u-t of this “hell” or purgatory she was in.

How he managed to “live” on after her departure was something of an enigma to the community. He would hire someone to clean on a weekly basis – at least at the start. He became so accusatory of anything that had been “taken” or “moved” that the “hirelings” ceased to keep their scheduled “visits”’. After failed attempts to find someone that was “worth their pay”, he did ‘without’.
A few called on him from time to time to see how he was “faring” but they came less and less. Upon visitation, he would “treat” them with hospitality; a glass of tea, buttermilk or water. He would go into some “discussion” of the merits of this or that. His “guests” would eventually become wearied with his “logic” and self-imposed knowledgeable platform on any particular subject. There was no place for disagreement – for there was no reasonable explanation why anyone would see the situation any different than what “it should be”. Most of the “few” would humor him by ‘agreeing’ with him in his face but would be thinking “what a crock o’ sh—!” They had known “Blabber” for some years now. He became irate and judgmental about the others’ level of education or raisings – much like he had done with Irene. Character assassinations seemed to be his forte. It had worked to drive the “hussy” of a wife he had, away. He reasoned that she had seen some particular man that was like one on one of those “shows” she had watched mid-afternoon.
“Blabber” Dredge was born Albert Clyde Dredge, by name. He had gotten his nickname for his incessant need to talk out “every thought” – regardless of his ‘audience’ reservation to hear him or no. His reasoning was that he was a credible dispenser of knowledge and wisdom. “Any reasonable man or woman” would heed his experience and knowledge for after all he had delved into the matter at length and had concluded that this “had to be the way to resolve it.”
He worked as a tugboat captain for many years before the port authorities retired him and his tug within years of the other. Admittedly, his tug had seen the best of her years and any more repairs to keep her floating and operational were costly. She had a strong Cummings Diesel in her bowels that could “push and pull” with the best. After several overhauls and dry dockings, it was reported that her costs for repair would be half of what a new tug would cost. That was the beginning of the end for “Captain Dredge.” He continued working with the Port Authorities for several years after; operating a barge that cleaned the bottom of the port in order that larger commerce ships could enter. This work was not as challenging to the captain but he stuck with it until his first heart attack. After his recovery, the port medical authorities informed him that they did not think it safe for him or the operation of the barge for him to continue as its captain. They demoted him to First Mate but after several months, the Port Authorities retired him. Dredge was unhappy and he let anyone in hearing distance know about it. He could recall the very day with clear retention that he was called into the office of the captain that had replaced him. With the captain were several officials from the Port Authority.
Albert knew what was up even before he was called in. He had seen the sleek limousine pull up on the dock and the three men in dark trench coats exit the vehicle and board the gangplank. He was working on one of the hoist motors as they entered the cabin.
“Well, that’s that.” Dredge stated matter of fact as he wiped his hands on a filthy rag. How unfitting it was to retire doing the work he was assigned to do when he first worked with the Port. He listened quietly as the younger man told him that his services were no longer “needed”. They thanked him for the many years of service to the Port and handed him a small box. He knew what was inside without opening – a gold plated pocket watch with the Port Authority emblem engraved on the hinged cover. The “token” was normally one that Albert would be glad to have and would have been more appreciative of it had he received two years ago when they retired him as a tugboat captain. The next two years serving as a barge captain had soured him and the demotion had angered him beyond. At his age, his ego did not and could not stand for taking orders from a “whippersnapper” that did not know much about barge operation. It was because of an improper use of the hoist that Dredge was called to get it repaired. He shook their hands before he departed. He was unashamed of his years that he had given to working the port and in his mind he knew that it was “due” time for his retirement. He just didn’t like it –like being of no “use”. They gave him one more present –the brass port hole that had once been in his cabin on the tug with an inscription engraved in the metal. It read: “May you always view a busy port calling for your tug”. They were sensitive to his regret of having to be dropped from the roster – promised a healthy pension in his retirement. It just didn’t seem sufficient enough – maybe he should have retired earlier but he wasn’t quite ready for it when they “retired” his gal – the tug he nicknamed “Gertrude”. What now did he have to look forward to?
That was six years ago and he had fared better than he thought.

(TO B CONTINUED?}