| Random Chronicles Give’em hell Mr. Curtis |
| New Hampshire Writers |
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| From the creative mind of a New England fisherman comes... |
| Out Of Order Tales From The Sea by Billy |
Frank was a man I knew from an early age if my life. His passing sadden me as I listened to his sister speak. In my
pocket a small card with his picture on it. Not too long ago out front of "his" favorite gas station I saw his car and
made it a point to stop in. It's because of Frank his kind heart and helping soul I have a business of any sorts. I tear
hearing the tale of Mr. Curtis's failing health, in fact his saddest day was the biggest break of my career when he
sold me his lobster business. The card, his picture on it in my hand sharing ice cream and some thoughts with a
special friend I noticed in passing it to her the back. "Give'em hell" it read as a quote, a phrase so familiar I
remember hearing him say so often. It didn't matter who you were, where from or heading to he would share a
coffee, a smoke, a story or two. Most often breaking into a smile and a laugh while talking to you. He knew
everything about everything and never walked past a disabled fishing vessel of a fellow fisherman without ending up
with dirty hands. Mr. Curtis as usual told me to knock it off and call him Frank as I approached him standing, leaning
on the center counter table finishing a snack he probably shouldn't have had. Frank always asked me about my
family, how they were and what had they been up to. "How's your dad?" each both battling heart attacks and
smoking addictions. He was among the remaining few good guys. I spent fifteen minutes, drank one soda and
laughed with Mr. Curtis countless times. I was fortunate to have known him.
Give'em hell Mr. Curtis, your absence will be felt but your memory will never be without a smile and a laugh.
pocket a small card with his picture on it. Not too long ago out front of "his" favorite gas station I saw his car and
made it a point to stop in. It's because of Frank his kind heart and helping soul I have a business of any sorts. I tear
hearing the tale of Mr. Curtis's failing health, in fact his saddest day was the biggest break of my career when he
sold me his lobster business. The card, his picture on it in my hand sharing ice cream and some thoughts with a
special friend I noticed in passing it to her the back. "Give'em hell" it read as a quote, a phrase so familiar I
remember hearing him say so often. It didn't matter who you were, where from or heading to he would share a
coffee, a smoke, a story or two. Most often breaking into a smile and a laugh while talking to you. He knew
everything about everything and never walked past a disabled fishing vessel of a fellow fisherman without ending up
with dirty hands. Mr. Curtis as usual told me to knock it off and call him Frank as I approached him standing, leaning
on the center counter table finishing a snack he probably shouldn't have had. Frank always asked me about my
family, how they were and what had they been up to. "How's your dad?" each both battling heart attacks and
smoking addictions. He was among the remaining few good guys. I spent fifteen minutes, drank one soda and
laughed with Mr. Curtis countless times. I was fortunate to have known him.
Give'em hell Mr. Curtis, your absence will be felt but your memory will never be without a smile and a laugh.