Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Border Crossings - Dave Crosses the Border

Episode Date: February 27, 2026

“That afternoon, in his first true act of citizenship, Dave wore five lacy bras across the border.”This week is all about the relationship between Canada and the U.S. We’ve got a Dave & Morley story about crossing the border, plus Stuart’s essay from the Haskell Free Library and Opera house, that straddles the Canada U.S. border. An essay that has particular poignance today.Ad-free listening is here! Listen to the pod ad-free and early, PLUS a whole bunch of other goodies – like virtual parties, Q&As, listener shout-outs & more. Subscribe here: apostrophe.supercast.com Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the apostrophe podcast network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. We've got two very funny stories for you today, both about something that just about everyone has a story about, crossing the border. But before we get to that, I want to tell you how this show came together. One of the things that Stewart helped me learn about myself is this. When I'm going through something difficult, I often turn to humor. Humor is a coping mechanism of mine. When I'm trying to process something hard, I try to find the funny in it.

I think a lot of people are like that. And this show was born from that. When the relationship between Canada and the United States started to shift, I found it hard. Stuart and I had spent a lot of time in the U.S. over the years trying to introduce our little slice of Canada to our American neighbors. Stewart used to say that the relationship between the U.S. and Canada had for too long been left to politicians and business people,

and that really the conversation should be happening with stories. And it has been for years. One of Canada's best exports are artists. We punch way above our weight in the United. creative industry. Our comedians, filmmakers, authors, and musicians have been telling our stories, Canadian stories, down in the USA for decades. And so somewhere along the line, we started pitching American public radio stations on the vinyl cafe, trying to get them to pick up the radio show. I would fly down to the U.S. a couple times a year and visit radio stations and talk to program

directors and try to convince them to put the vinyl cafe on their station. And it worked. By the time the show ended, the vinyl cafe could be heard on about 100 public radio stations in the USA, including Cleveland, Chicago, Seattle, and most of Upper New York State, all of Maine. And we recorded shows in the U.S. too, including one down at the Haskell Free Library and Opera House, an incredible venue that stradles the international boundary at Stansted, Quebec, and Derby Line, Vermont. The building's built right on the border. There's a black piece of tape that marks the border that runs right through the building, right through the library. In the Opera House, where we recorded our vinyl cafe show, most of the seats are in America, but the stage is on Canadian soil. And we chose to record our show in that place because we thought it symbolized the friendship between our two countries. It was a physical reminder of what we believed that conflict is best resolved through conflict.

conversation and shared experience, that when you're working together on something, you're more likely to focus on your similarities than your differences. Anyway, when all this stuff got difficult last year, my heart broke a little, reading about the Haskell Free Library and Opera House. The U.S. government decided to shut down the primary Canadian access point to the venue. It's been a symbol of friendship for over 100 years, a place where two countries quietly agreed to share something, something they both care about. So to see that connection suddenly cut off pained me because it wasn't just about a building, it was about what that building stood for, the idea that we can work together, even with an actual line drawn between us. It's been about a

year since that decision was made. And the supporters of the Haskell Free Library and Opera House have not gone quietly into the night. When all this went down, they started fundraising to build a Canadian entrance to the building so that Canadians can continue to access the building freely and easily. So today on the show, we're going to tell that story. The story of the Haskell Free Library and Opera House, and we're going to do what I always do in hard times. We're going to turn to humor. We have two stories about border crossings, one about Dave crossing the border, and one from me. We're going to start with this. This is the opening script that we recorded in the legendary Haskell Free Library and Opera House back in 2012.

Seems like a lifetime ago. From the Haskell Free Library and Opera House, straddling the international boundary at Stansted, Quebec and Derbyline, Vermont. so our head doesn't know where our tail is or vice versa. It's the vinyl cafe with Stuart Mike. Thank you very much. Well, it's the longest boundary line in the world. And we Canadians are proud of that, seeing as how it's the only one we have. You, and I'm speaking to the Americans here today, you have twice as many as we do, boundaries, that is.

And we managed to get in the record books with our only shot. over 5,500 miles long. That's nearly 9,000 kilometers if you speak the Queens English. Boundary goes all the way back to 1783 in the Treaty of Paris, and it is still a work in progress. There's still a few spots along the back fence, like all neighbors where we have our bones of contention, but no one seems too fussed about them.

Well, okay, some people do. Dealing with matters like that with these fussy bits is the business of the IBC, the International Boundary Commission, an organization dedicated to fussiness. As for the rest of us, well, you can't get too fussed about a boundary line that creeps through a library and a tavern and a golf course and any number of homes that pre-existed the survey and straddle a boundary like park benches and a park bench and a park bench and four airports I could go on. It has been touted for years as the longest undefended border in the world. And we liked it that way before the guards began wearing side arms. Although even with guns, it hasn't changed that much. Guards have always tried to look stern. They've always made you feel

like you've come to ask permission to marry their daughter. When really all anyone wanted to do was to take her to the dance. Everyone knew that we'd all be home by dawn. We want to celebrate the border today, the boundary that both separates us, and at the same time ties us together. And that's why we're here in the town of Stansted, Quebec, or Derby Line, Vermont, depending on which door you walk through. Part of the world where I am told it's 50% French, 50% English, and 50% you can't tell. The two towns are like siblings who have been farmed off to distant relatives or more to the point, co-joined twins who surgeons are determined to separate. A geographer tell you they are contiguous, which means there's nothing between them,

no way to mark where one ends and the other begins. But of course there is that boundary line. They put gates right across Ball and Lee Street. And then there's Canusa. Canoosa is actually bisected by the boundary so that houses on one side of the street are in the USA and on the other are in Canada. And in these post-9-11 days, if you want to cross the street to visit a neighbor, you're expected to report to the appropriate customs house at the end of the street. If you don't, it's a $1,000 fine in Canada and a $5,000 fine in the States.

And how about the water? Water which famously knows no boundary. They worked out that part years ago. Stansted and Derby Line share a water treatment system. Drinking water is pumped from Canadian wells and stored in an American reservoir. Derby Line sewage makes the trip back across the board. order for treatment. People living here do that all the time, slip back and forth for treatments,

to fill their cars with gas, say, depending on the state of their respective dollar and the price of gasoline. It's a dance of sorts, living not close to, but right on the borderline. And more of a dance today than it used to be. Barriers disguised as flower pots went up at the end of Church Street last week. And there are sensors and cameras and some people find the dance unnerving these days. They say it makes them feel like they're living on the edge of something. No matter how people feel about the dance, they'll tell you that you have to be sure-footed. That's for sure. It's always a delicate matter, living close to the heart of things. But living close to the heart of things means you are also close to the heart of the matter. Well, nothing could be closer

to the heart of the matter than the building that we're in today. Martha Stuart Haskell built the Haskell free library and opera house in memory of her husband. Being of dual heritage, she wanted to create a place that would serve both Canadians and Americans. She foresaw border restrictions becoming an issue, and that's why she stuck it right on the boundary. When this building was built, and it was built more than a century ago, it was deliberately built to straddle the border. These days, that would be seen as a profoundly passive-aggressive piece of business. Actually, these days you couldn't get away with it.

I prefer to see it as a playful rather than a provocative place downstairs in the library most of the books rest on Canadian shells there's actually a piece of tape on the floor that runs right through the reading room black stripe to delineate the northeast kingdom from Canada so you can hop from Quebec to Vermont as I did this afternoon

back and forth an act of anarchy that both readers and writers have noted long before my arrival. Up here in the opera house, most of the seats are in America, but the stage where I'm standing now is on Canadian soil. So that makes this the only theater in the United States without a stage. And the only library without books. You can read about it, Ripley's believe it or not. And what to make of all this?

What to make of this little gem? Well, just this. This little gem of a place is the result of a coming together, not a coming apart. Things are always messy. And in the face of messiness and the face of our differences, we are our best when we carry on. There is much business for us to do together, we neighbors. There are boundaries to be drawn and waters to take care of,

rules and regulations to write and rewrite. And here in the Northeast Kingdom, there is this little opera house designed over 100 years ago to be a border guard's worst nightmare. and against all odds it is here still. And when things feel difficult or overwhelming or even impossible, it's worth reminding one another of that. I am delighted to be here today. And it is time for us to get on with a show.

We have nothing to declare but the friendship and affection of good neighbors, linked together by tunnels and trains. bridges and plains, and of course, our stories. That was Stuart McLean, recorded at the Haskell Free Library and Offer House in 2012. Things have changed since then. But I still believe in what that place stands for. And I still believe in the power of a good story to bring people together. So today, we're going to do just that.

Next up, a story about Dave crossing the border. But first, we have to do this. Welcome back. Story time now. This is Dave crosses the border. We're here today in this wonderful old theater, straddling the border, celebrating the boundary that joins our countries. Dave, having grown up in Big Narrows and Cape Breton,

Nova Scotia grew up with certain ideas about these things, about borders and customs and paying duty and things like that. The whole town of Big Narrows had a certain lazy, fair attitude to these things when Dave was a boy. So it would have been hard for him to have thought any differently. Everyone, and I mean everyone, everyone from Chief Mattson to Father McHale, where born and bred died in the wool smugglers. A habit, no doubt. out left over from prohibition days and possibly from before. Just as their ancestors worked ships full of rum down the main coast of Boston Harbor, so they too slipped back and forth across the border.

And if they went by road instead of by sea, and if they moved their contraband into Canada instead of out, the underlying attention was the same. They were ducking duty. Paying duty seemed pointless. Duty was for other guys. The most favored port of call when Dave was a boy was Bangor Main. Still is.

To this day, people from the narrows make pilgrimages to the malls of Bangor. It's a nine-hour drive. Now, that seems like a long way to travel for a pair of pants. Think of it as a migration. They can't help themselves. The urge to shop lands upon them and off they go. Some of Dave's earliest memories involved trips to Bangor. Trips home were always in the dark.

Dave and his sister Annie would lie in the back of their dad's old country squire, one of those big boat-like station wagons. There was probably an unconscious connection there to the ships, I mean, and to the rum runners who sailed them. They would cruise along highway too like a clipper ship. Annie and Dave in the back curled up in their sleeping bags, each of them cradling four bottles of ride. Their job was to convince the border guards they were asleep.

And if they did, and they always did, they got a dollar. Dave was in grade one when he was fully initiated into this world. Somebody was getting married, and Margaret and her friend, Windy, you were hitting the outlet store in the mill in Lincoln, the Maine. Margaret told Dave he was coming with him. Wear your hockey sweater, said Margaret. It was a strange request for June morning. But you did what you were told back then.

While his mother and Winnie went to the mill, Dave wandered around Woolworth's basement, staring wistfully at the hamsters and the budgies. He was waiting on the sidewalk like they did. told him an hour later. About 15 miles before the border, Winnie pulled off the highway into a wooded picnic ground. She parked right at the back out of sight of the road. They barely rolled to a stop and Winnie was out of the car and was ripping their packages open. While she did that, Margaret unbuttoned her blouse. Dave watched all this in astonishment. His mother taking her

blouse off, tying sheets around her waist and stuffing pillowcases into her bra. When she finished, she motioned to him. Take off your sweater, she said. That afternoon, in his first true act of citizenship, Dave wore five lacy bras across the border. Dave eventually learned that Winnie's picnic round was a regular stop for the citizens of Big Narrows. You could pull in there any time day or night and likely as not find some kid from the narrows scuffing up a new pair of sneakers. So when Dave turned eight and he'd saved a little money of his own,

seemed only natural that he would hold on to it for the next trip to Bangor. By the time they went, Dave had $12 burning a hole in his pocket. He knew exactly what he was. he was going to get. He went right to Woolworths and picked up a box of candy bars and his first ever watch. The watch was a timex. The candy was three musketeers. They were advertised on the howdy-duty show, and you couldn't get them in Canada. Kids in big narrows would do anything for a bite of a three musketeer. On the way home, they stopped. at the picnic ground to straighten up, as Charlie put it.

As they got ready to leave, he rested his arm on Dave's shoulder. Remember, he said, you can declare the candy, but don't mention the watch. May Dave feel grown up. Also made him nervous. And when he saw the guard in his uniform, standing beside the little customs booth, a rogue wave of guilt washed over him. His parents had always taught him to obey the law. This suddenly seemed so wrong.

As his father inched toward the hot, Dave started sweating. By the time they rolled to a stop, he was weeping softly. The guard bent over and peered into the car. Now, Charlie was a master at this game. Charlie was one of the best in town. Why, Charlie used to take lint from the dryer with him on these trips and would use it to line the pockets of any new pants they bought. That's how good Charlie was.

So when Charlie rolled down his window and the guard said, do you have any drugs or alcohol to declare? Charlie, who happened to have 160 ounces of rye under the front seat, nodded at the kids in the back and he said, Breezily, if I did, don't you think I would have used it up by now? That sort of line usually worked like a charm. Unfortunately, Charlie's charmed life was about to end. Charlie had finally met his match.

Because this guard had long ago learned that if there were kids in the car, he should ask the kids to tell him about their train. He had long ago learned that little ones inevitably rat their parents out. I feel like I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know. Nodding absent-mindedly at Charlie's little joke, the guard stuck his head in the front window and looked Dave and Annie up and down. As he did, a smile creased his face. He had a feeling.

And when he had a feeling, he was seldom wrong. He barely hesitated. He looked right at Dave and he said, Nice watch, son. Charlie, who was sitting in the front seat, let out a long, slow exhalation. I got it in Bangor, blurted Dave. But my dad told me not to declare it. The guard beamed at Charlie.

Gotcha, he said. But he said it quietly. So only Charlie would hear. That was the last time either Charlie or Margaret asked the kids to lie, and the last time they lied in front of the kids. From then on, when they went to Bangor with Dave and Annie, they only brought back what they were allowed, though Dave did notice that if they went without him,

they seemed to come back with a lot more stuff. As for Dave, well, ever since that horrible afternoon, Dave has declared everything he has ever bought at any, border crossing he's ever crossed, right down to every last pack of gum, making him perhaps the only person raised in Big Narrows who has ever paid duty without duress. He followed the rules, though I would be lying if I didn't tell you that he didn't wonder from time to time if he couldn't, you know, make an exception every once in a while. And knowing that, you might understand what went wrong this summer the last time he visited the United States with his family.

They went to Saratoga Springs, New York, went for the weekend. Dave and Morley, Sam and Stephanie, and they went to see a show. Dave's old friend, Bobby Coogel, a promoter, called and said they should come. He had arranged backstage passes and everything. Bring everybody, said Bobby. and they had a grand time hung out for sound check and on Sunday before they came home they went to the mall of course everyone went over their limit and so as they rolled north towards the border they all knew there'd be a stop so they could declare their purchases because that's the way Dave did it After lunch, Morley gathered all the bills into a pile in her lap, and she began adding them up. It added up to way more than Dave had imagined.

Way more. As he drove along, Dave was trying to figure out the duty in his head, and just how much that meant they had spent when you added in the hotel bill and the gas and the food and exactly how much there was in his checking account. Their little weekend jaunt, those free tickets, had actually been an extraordinarily expensive escapade. That's what he was thinking when he spotted the picnic round. And he was seized by a spasm that he will never understand. He saw the sign and at the very last moment he jerked the wheel and he took the exit,

leaving the highway with a squeal. And he rocked to a stop beside a picnic table behind the outhouses. And he looked at his surprised family and he said, okay, everyone out. What's going on? said Sam. Well, Dave was already out himself. Dave was already out of the car. He'd already popped open the trunk and he was already unloading the packages

and now he was sitting at the picnic table, tearing them open and pulling off prices. tags. What's going on? said Sam again, staring at his father in amazement. Dave didn't answer. Truth of it was, Dave didn't know. Maybe something had awoken the rum-runner spirit of his ancestors, or maybe he was reaching for the carefree spirit of his father, or maybe it was something more prosaic, maybe the prospect of his looming visa bill had driven the caution for. from his soul. Whatever it was, it was not about to put itself into words. All he said was, come on, come on, he said. They'd never seen them like this. And truthfully, it scared them a bit.

But they all did as they were told. They took turns in the outhouse, slipping out of their old clothes and into their new ones. Come on, he said again, holding out a pair of pants to Sam, just like his father had held out things to him, and I already have pants, said Sam. Put this pair on over, said Dan. Then he lined them up, and he checked them, and he pronounced them ready.

And they all waddled back to the car, walking like punchy summer snowmen. And off they sat. They were five minutes from the border. Before they close, climbed into the car, Dave collected all the empty bags and stuffed them into one. As they pulled out of the picnic grounds, he rolled down his window and tossed the bag of bags toward the garbage bin. He looked left and he looked right. The highway was clear. He felt an odd sense of liberation. Everyone else felt confused, anxious, and hot. The customs officer waiting for them in front of the little booth looked incredibly young. He was, in fact, 22 years old, fresh out of college, fresh from 16 weeks of training and interrogation and interviewing.

This was his first posting. This was his first Sunday night. The training had been incredible. He had listened while senior guards. shared their war stories. He had role-played scenarios. He had worked as a secondary and watched primaries unravel people. And he had been at it two weeks now and he hadn't made a single bust. And the older guys were beginning to rag him. He looked at Dave and waved him forward. As the car inched toward him, he sighed. Another family back from the malls.

There'd be no glory in catching someone with another pair of undeclared sneakers. He was looking for real contraband. Dave was grinning up at him now. To be honest, it was more a leer than a grin. A little alarm began ringing deep in the guard's subconscious. Good evening, sir, he said. Any drugs, alcohol, or tobacco in the video? vehicle? Why? said Dave, trying to affect the breezy attitude of his father. What do you need?

The young guard frowned. The alarm was ringing louder now. His spidey sense had begun to tingle. He looked Dave up and down, and he said, that's a nice sweater you got there, sir. I've been looking for one like it. Where did you get it? Got it for my birthday said Dave my mother gave it to me she lives in Nova Scotia, Cape Breton actually and Dave's story was getting way too complicated and it would have been much more believable had there not been a price tag dangling from Dave's neck. The guard held up his hand. He looked into the car. The whole family was wearing several layers of clothes. He sighed. He was tempted to let them through. He wanted more than a family of Judy Dodgers, and they all looked like they were suffering enough.

And that's when he saw the bag of bags hooked on the back antenna. There was something about this that didn't add up. At school, they had been told the famous story about the old man and the wheelbarrow. The old man lived on one side of the border and worked on the other, which meant he crossed the border every day. And every day when he crossed, he pushed a wheelbarrow full of sand in front of him. Every day, the guards sifted through the sand. But they never found anything.

Nothing. On his last day of work, on the day of his retirement, the guards took the old man aside and they said, we've known you for 25 years. And for 25 years, we've known that you've been smuggling something in the sand. but we've never been able to figure it out and it's been driving us crazy this is your last day

please tell us what you've been smuggling well the old man looked them up and down and he smiled thought it was obvious he said I've been smuggling wheelbarrows the guard could feel his heart accelerating he looked at Dave at the obvious layers of clothes at the sweater with the price tag And now at the bag of bags, nobody could be this bad.

It had to be a diversion, a distraction, a bunch of wheelbarrows full of sand. The guard said, could you step out of the car, sir? For the second time in his life, Dave was marched into the customs building and taken into a small room. Dave was thinking his goose was cooked. there wouldn't just be duty to be paid, there were going to be fines, maybe even some sort of record. As the young guard watched him, he began to get excited too. The guy was clearly unraveling. What could possibly be in the car to make him so agitated?

Alcohol, cigarettes, guns, whatever it was, it was significant. That was for sure. It was probably drug. He was about to make his first big bust. If he played this right, there would be a press release. If he was lucky, he might get quoted in the paper. He went into the room. He sat in the chair facing Dave.

He said, is there something you want to tell me? And that's all it took. Just like that, Dave began spilling his guts. Wait a minute, said the guard. He'd start by asking where the drugs were. Where are the goods, he said. They're on my person, said Dave. Where, said the guard?

Dave thought of the shoes, the two pairs of pants, the five pairs of socks he was wearing. Most of the contraband is below the waist, he said. So much for dinner, thought the guard. This is your first time, he asked. I was busted when I was a kid, said Dave. Mostly I learn from my parents. My mother used me as a mule. My wife has some on her too, say Dave.

But my kids are carrying most of it. As the guard stood up, Dave added one last thing. I guess I should tell you about the stuff we ate. It was Dave's first cavity search. When they were done with him, they went over the car with a fine tooth calm. They didn't find anything but the clothing, of course. And Dave finally managed to convince them that there was nothing to find. I swear to God, said Dave, you've got it all.

But all the same, they were there for three hours. And somehow in the confusion, somewhere between the unpacking and the repacking between the listing of their purchases and the checking of their IDs, the actual paying of the Judy was forgotten. Well, said Dave, as they drove away. That worked out well. No one else said anything. Until five minutes later, when Sam showed them the turtle,

I found him when we stopped at the picnic ground, he said. A northern red belly protected under the Endangered Species Act. The turtle had apparently slept through the search. He was in the box with a board game, said Sam. Dave nearly had a heart attack. But I didn't buy him, said Sam. He didn't cost any money. we could drive back said sam and we could come back through customs and declare him

morley turned to the back seat and smiled sweetly at her son declare that we've just brought a protected species across an international border we don't need to tell them that sweetie they don't mind that kind of thing at all dave's only response was to step on the gas that was the story we called dave crosses the border we recorded that story in 2012 at the Haskell Free Library and Opera House at Stansted, Quebec and Derby Line, Vermont. When Stewart wrote that David Morley story about crossing the border, he interviewed people about their border crossing stories. Pretty much everyone has one.

And one of the people that Stuart mined for stories was Josh. Poor Josh. When he came on the scene in 2006, both Stuart and I were like, ooh, fresh meat, someone whose life we haven't already mined for story ideas. And so we set about doing just that. Josh has lived a varied and interesting life. So he has a story about almost everything, including crossing the border. But his story didn't make it into that Dave and Morley story.

So I'm going to tell it to you now. It starts like so many other border stories with shopping. Josh is an amazing shopper, which is great because I am not an amazing shopper. I don't like shopping. I hate spending money and I don't like stuff, which does not make for a good shopper. because spending money and getting stuff is basically the definition of shopping. I don't like the spending and I don't like the acquiring. So I'm really not very good at it.

Luckily, I married someone who is very good at both of those things. So it's a good thing because, of course, you do need to buy some things in your life. Josh does all the research and purchasing. That's one of his jobs in our family and he's great at it. He's an incredible researcher and an incredible shopper. He's super, super good at finding doing. deals because unlike me, Josh is patient. In this case, we wanted new speakers for our stereo. We even knew the ones we wanted. They're from this amazing company called Zoo Audio. We'd been

coveting them, but they were way, way too expensive. We just, we couldn't afford them. But Josh waited diligently and patiently. And one day, a deal presented itself. Zoo Audio had some speakers that worked just fine, but had major cosmetic defects. They didn't look nice. And they were selling them for, I think it was like 50% off. Josh saw the deal and he pounced. He didn't even talk to me first. He just clicked by.

But Zoo Audio wasn't going to ship to Canada. He didn't let that deter him. He had them shipped to a place in Ogdensburg, New York, a place that existed to solve problems exactly like this one. Ogdensburg is about an hour away from our place in Chelsea, Quebec. And Josh planned the whole thing out. He contacted the place in Ogdensburg.

He organized the shipping. He chose a Saturday morning to make the drive down. He carefully printed the receipt from Zoo Audio ahead of time so he could present it to the customs agent and pay the appropriate taxes. We are not at all like Dave in that story. We like to do things properly.

We like saving money, but we always, always claim everything. We always pay duty. Josh was feeling pretty proud of himself about all of this. He drove down to Ogdensburg, he picked up the speakers, and then he drove back to the Canadian border. When he got there, the agent said, anything to declare? And Josh said, yes, and he told them about the speakers. He gave the model number.

He showed the receipt. The agent typed a few things into the computer, and then he said, Just a moment, and shut the little window. Five minutes passed. 10 minutes passed. And then the agent opened the little window and said, Park over here and come inside. Immediately, Josh's pride evaporated.

He went from boastful to trepidious. They brought him into the little room and started asking him questions. They'd searched the zoo audio site and they'd found the speakers and they were curious. Why were our speakers so much? much cheaper. Why was Josh claiming to have paid less than half that price? Josh had gotten such a good deal that the agent didn't believe he was telling the truth. He had to be lying. No one could get that good of a deal. Eventually, thankfully, the agent figured it out. I don't remember how. I think they might have even called Zoo Audio to verify. And in the end, they realized that the only thing

Josh was guilty of was being really, really good at online shopping. Guilty is charged. They sent him on his way with apologies and a slap on the back for a really good deal. All right, that's it for today, but we'll be back here next week with more from Dave and Morley. Every day from that day on, Mr. Harmon took Sam. into the kitchen at the back, and Sam would watch Mr. Harmon cook. Well, listen more than watch, because while he cooked, Mr. Harmon talked. On this day, Mr. Harmon was standing there holding a black knife over a ripe tomato. When you cut a tomato, he was saying, you must always use a sharp knife, a dull knife might crush the flash. Then he said, I used to be a barber. This is the way he

talked, seasoning his conversation with a sequence of delicious non-sequitans. Did you know that? Asked Mr. Harmon. I had a barber store in the connection, my own store. I had customers who came in every week. Fancy businessmen, big tippers. He lay the blade of the knife against the skin of the tomato and looked up at Sam, I shaved them, cleaned up their necks. He pushed the knife forward and then pulled it back towards him. The tomato fell into two perfect halves, seeds and juice leaking onto the old wood cutting board. Mr. Harmon brought one half. Mr. Harmon brought one half, and the same, half of the tomato to his nose, inhaled deeply and smiled. Sam said, what happened to the barber shop, Mr. Harmon? Mr. Harmon was crinkling salt between his fingers. Flaked salt, said

Mr. Harmon. It's from the sea. See how soft the flakes are? Sam nodded, but the barber shop, Mr. Harmon. Mr. Harmon said, the Beatles came. Sam said, they came to your barbershop? Mr. Harmon shook his head. Mr. Harmon said, yes, they came and no one wanted haircuts anymore. Mr. Harmon picked up a second tomato. Sam said, what did you do, Mr. Harmon? Mr. Harmon said, I closed the barbershop and got a job in a factory. He had four tomatoes cut in half now. And he poured a little olive oil on each one, some salt, some pepper, and then he put the tomatoes into the spattered, stainless steel oven. 300 degrees, said Mr. Harmon.

That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the apostrophe podcast network. The recording engineer is someone who has never worn five lacy bras. at least not all at once, Greg DeClute. Theme music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeClute, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week.

Until then, so long for now.