Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Summer - A Letter from Camp & The Waterslide

Episode Date: May 26, 2023

"This waterslide was the waterslide to end all waterslides” We are taking a break over the summer, so in honour of our final episode of Season 1 we’ve got two Vinyl Cafe stories for you about summer. If you listen carefully you’ll hear something unusual in the first, A Letter from Camp, when Stuart inserts a personal story from his own days at his beloved summer camp. And of course, we can’t talk about summer without including the hilarious fan favourite: The Waterslide. All this and more, including a special memory from Jess of what it was like sitting backstage, stage left, and hearing Waterslide performed for the very first time. 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 have two stories for you today on the show, two stories about summer. Let's start with this one. This is A Letter from Camp. This is a story from a number of years ago, and people have often asked me where the ideas for these stories come from. And mostly these days, they come from the characters. But in the early days, the stories were brushed with the brush of fact. Sometimes I, as many young writers do, use the stuff of my own life for the stories. And I'm going to tell you a story from the early days now, an old favorite of mine. And there is a section of this, a contained section, which has a beginning, middle, and an end

within the structure of the story, which is God's truth, which came right from my life. Your job as you're enjoying the fiction of the story is to see if you can ferret out the fact. So it's a story that goes back a number of years, a story that goes back to when Dave's daughter, Stephanie, was still living at home. Back when she was still in high school and Sam, her brother, Sam, well Sam would have still, he would have been in elementary school, I guess. Begins the summer that Margot, Dave's niece Margot, his sister Annie's little girl, that Margot, it starts the summer that Margot came to visit Dave and Morley.

That Christmas, the previous Christmas, Annie had written that she was going to France for the summer. Annie played in a Gaelic music group. Morley said, well, why don't we take Margot and give Annie some time off? Annie wrote back the next day, are you sure? Dave wasn't sure. Margot nevertheless arrived July 1st, flew in from Halifax by herself. arrived July 1st, flew in from Halifax by herself.

You wouldn't let me fly to Halifax alone, said Stephanie, as she and Dave drove to the airport to pick Margo up. Margo, who was 10 that summer, arrived all sullen and grumpy. She wanted to come to Paris, said Annie to Morley on the phone. I'm sorry, will you guys be all right? Well, we'll be fine, said Morley, not knowing that at that very moment, Dave was standing by a luggage carousel at the airport trying to coax his niece to tell him the color of her suitcase. Is it that one, he said? I don't know, said Margo. How about that one, said Dave. I told you, I don't know.

Eventually they made it back to the car with her suitcase, where Stephanie was waiting. Stephanie was pretty grumpy herself. Stephanie had refused to go into the airport. It was lying in the back seat when Margo and Dave returned. She was wearing headphones, her eyes closed, her feet tapping on the passenger door window. She didn't acknowledge their arrival until Dave reached into the back seat and removed her headphones. Hey, she said.

Ten-year-old Margo watching all this go down very carefully. Stephanie, who was six years her senior, was the most interesting thing to have entered Margo's universe for some time. Stephanie was a gateway into the world of teenage femininity. As soon as she saw her, Margo knew she wanted as much time with Stephanie as she could get. She was attentive to everything that Stephanie did, the music she played, the way she used the phone, and what she watched on television. When she learned that Stephanie and Sam were about to leave for two weeks at camp, Margo was distraught. What about me, she said. What about Margo, said Dave that night. Dave was holding out a camping

association booklet. They were sending the other two kids away. Why wouldn't they send her too? Morley glanced at the booklet and shrugged. She's your niece, she said. So Dave sat down and began flipping through the brochure. He didn't usually handle jobs like this. He'd only spent one summer at camp himself. He was hired as the arts and crafts director. Before he left for camp, he was seized by a primitive

and unfamiliar wilderness spasm. Bought a book on plant identification, which had pencil sketches in the margins of flowers and trees and shrubs. He was enthralled with it, had the idea that he would spend his free time poking around in the forest, believing that if he applied himself, that by the end of the summer, he could become an accomplished woodsman. Maybe by August, some kid hanging around the hike and trip office

would poke his buddy as Dave swung by and say, that's Dave there. The kid would say it with the same reverence. He might say, that's Pierre Radisson. Dave planned to forego the pleasures of the Red Pine Inn where the other counselors went to drink at night and get up in the morning with the sun and go to bed at dark. Born to television, bred to the automobile, he would become wilderness Dave. As arts and crafts director, Dave had a two-room cabin called the Wigwam. Wigwam was near the hospital.

He set off from his cabin at rest period on his second day at camp with his plant book in his back pocket. Somewhere between the chapel and the rock where the trail angled up toward the council ring, Dave found himself staring at a shrub with thin striped leaves. It looked like the first picture in his book. It was an Indian turnip. Now the way you identify Indian turnip, said the book, was by its white root. Dave reached out and plucked the plant from the ground. To his great astonishment, he was holding something that looked like a white carrot. He still finds it difficult to understand what happened next.

Probably it was the word turnip that led him astray. Perhaps he was just excited. Whatever the case, Dave wiped the root on his jeans, brought it up to his mouth, and took a bite. He had already swallowed a mouthful before it occurred to him that this might not have been the smartest thing he had ever done. And that's when things started to happen in the back of his throat. First thing was a mild burning sensation.

The second felt more like a small nuclear device had been detonated in the vicinity of his tonsils. As he stood there on the chapel trail, clutching the stump of the Indian turnip, wondering what would happen next, he noticed that his lips had gone numb. In fact, his entire mouth had begun to tingle, and the tingling was crawling down his esophagus towards his stomach. Turnip in hand, Dave headed back to camp. If he was going to lapse into unconsciousness, he wanted to do it where someone might be there to help him.

But once back at camp and still vertical, he felt too foolish to turn himself in to the nurse. How could he go to the nurse and tell her he had pulled some unknown thing out of the ground and taken a bite? And so I went back to my cabin, and I lay down on my bed. Dave went back to his cabin. Well, that settles that. We're all friends. Or were. He went back to his cabin and lay down on his bed. And it occurred to him that if he slipped into unconsciousness, no one would know why.

He got up and he put the turnip on his desk. And then he wrote a note and placed it beside the turnip. The note said, I ate some of this. The note said, I ate some of this. He drew an arrow pointing at the turner. Dave figured if he made it to dinner, he could destroy the note and no one would ever know anything. If he blacked out, on the other hand, someone would eventually find him, read the note, and organize the appropriate treatment. Dave lay down and prepared to die.

After an hour of prayer and wild promise to well to pretty much every god that has ever claimed holiness, it occurred to Dave to have another look at his plant book. In his enthusiasm, Dave had failed to turn to page two. He turned the page and read the rest of the story. Indian turnip, he read, a close relation of the horseradish. When cooked, it is a mild and pleasant vegetable. When eaten raw, it's the hottest plant known in the Northwoods. The First Nations used to feed it to early settlers whenever they wanted a giggle. Painful, but not poisonous. And this is where we move back to the world of fiction. not poisonous.

And this is where we move back to the world of fiction. That night Dave got drunk at the Red... Okay, perhaps not right away. But soon. That night Dave got drunk at the Red Pine Inn. Next day he gave the plant book away to the hike and trip director. That night, after the kids were in bed, Dave came downstairs with the camping booklet. There are camps with rifle ranges, he said.

We're not sending Margo somewhere where they arm the campers. I knew you could handle this, said Morley. Dave chose a camp that didn't have powerboats. No water skiing, he said to Margo, no horses either. A small, quiet camp with a lake and sailboats, a summer place. What Margo really wanted, of course, was to go to camp with Stephanie. But Stephanie was going to a teenage camp, and for the first time ever, to a camp with boys. They all left the next Monday morning, a morning that was as chaotic as

Christmas. Sam packed comic books and no clothes. Stephanie thumped downstairs with a trunk and a suitcase and a sports bag full of stuff Margo was the last to leave Dave drove her to the parking lot of a suburban shopping center after lunch She was wearing blue shorts, a white t-shirt and a scarf in her hair Last Dave saw of her, she was on a bus with a lot of other kids, Margo sitting alone at the back of the bus, all the other kids clapping their hands and singing. Margo, she had her hands in her lap and was staring dead ahead. For the first few days the kids were gone, Dave was edgy.

I don't get it, he said. You're worried about them, said Marley. Margo's the one I'm worried about, said Dave. In the morning he'd wake up, say, I wonder how she's doing. Marley would say, she's doing fine. And pathetically, that would make everything okay. make Dave feel better, but it never lasted. An hour later he'd be all fretting again. First letter arrived at the beginning of their second week away.

Dear Uncle Dave, this place is torture. Get me out of here. The meals are horrible. I haven't eaten anything for two days. They serve old porridge in the morning. My counselor's name is Phyllis. She looks like Igor. I got bit by some weird-looking bug,

and my arm is swelling up and turning red. Love and kisses, your niece Margo. Dave was horrified. She's fine, said Morley. Dave said, she's starving. What if she gets so hungry she goes into the woods and pulls a poisonous plant out of the ground and eats it? gets so hungry she goes into the woods and pulls a poisonous plant out of the ground and eats it. Morley, who was already in bed, didn't even pretend to stop reading.

Dave, she said, only an idiot would go into the woods and pull up a plant and eat it. No one's that stupid. On Monday, Dave came home at lunch and saw an envelope addressed in Stephanie's handwriting. Dave's heart was filled with the milk of human kindness when he saw it. Kids had been gone 12 days now. He was worried about Margo, but he missed Daphne. So he carried that envelope over to the kitchen table and sat down and held it up and put it down. And then he got up and walked across the kitchen and opened the fridge, poured himself some juice. He was savoring the moment. Delayed pleasure. Dave was old enough to know that sometimes anticipation is as good as anything gets.

And so he sat there for a while anticipating the letter. And then he opened it. There are boys everywhere, it began. Boys, boys, boys, this camp is boy heaven. Mostly they're pretty lame. Except there's this guy Larry who was 18 and a lifeguard and a hunk and last night, last night? Last night Dave stopped reading and stared out the kitchen window. The letter seemed to be heading to a place he didn't want to go.

He didn't want to know about last night. Glanced down at the pages on the table in front of him, and then he began to read again. From the very beginning, July the 7th, Dear Becky. Becky is Stephanie's best friend. Dave stared at the greeting of that letter as the awful truth came slowly into focus. His daughter had put the letter that she had written to her friend Becky into the envelope she had addressed to her parents. It was seven pages long.

I don't need to read this, thought Dave. This letter was not meant for me. Please, Lord, give me the strength not to read this letter. Lead me not into temptation. Stop me from reading any further. Deliver me from evil. And his eyes flicked down at the page in front of him, and he thought he saw the word tongue. And he looked away quickly. Lord, he said, why are you testing me like this? And as being Dave's experience during a long and confusing life that the best way to get rid of a temptation

is to give in to it. And he sat there at the table fidgeting with the letter and then, without looking at it, he thought of his little girl as sweet as summer. And then, not sure at all that he was doing the right thing, he folded it and put it back in the envelope. And he got up from the table and he carried it across the kitchen the way he might have carried a dead mouse, holding it out away from his body. And he dropped it in the garbage can below the sink. And he never mentioned it again, ever.

Not to his wife when she came home that night. Not to his daughter when she came home from camp. And not to his daughter's friend, Becky, when she came visiting at summer's end. Only sure of one thing. If he was doing the right thing, he was doing it for the wrong reason. He was acting out of cowardice, not courage. He fretted all night. He phoned Margo's camp the next morning.

A woman answered the phone. Dave said, I'm phoning about my niece. I was wondering how she's doing. She's in Igor's tent. The lady at the other end of the phone said, who? Dave hung up. On Wednesday, he couldn't stand it any longer. I'm going to drive up to see her, he said. Margo's camp was a two-hour drive north. Parked his car in the visitor's parking lot at the camp gate. There were no other cars there.

And he started off down the dirt road toward camp. There was a lake beside the road on his left, a forest on his right. It was a beautiful summer afternoon. The sky blue, the clouds white and blowy, warm wind off the lake. The city was so hot, so sticky. It wasn't hot here. Could hear children playing ahead of him around the bend in the road. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them.

And then when he came to the bend, he saw a beach and a group of kids swimming. From where he was, he could see down the length of the lake. Shadows of the clouds on the water. It was beautiful. More beautiful than he'd imagined. And he stood there and he drank it all in. He was about to walk down to the beach when he recognized one of the bathing suits. It was Margo. Margo standing at the dock end of the diving board. Margo laughing and pointing at a kid in the water. Margo running the length of the board and hurling herself into space,

grabbing her feet and tucking. Cannonball. They've stepped off the road so no one would see him. And he stood there among the trees and watched his niece playing. Watched her get out of the lake all legs and arms, tighten herself into a towel and pick her barefoot way along the same road that he was standing beside. And he felt foolish. Morley was right.

Again. Margo was fine. She was better than fine. And that was good enough for Dave. He was fine, too. He headed back to the car. His family was growing up. And like always, they were a few steps ahead of him.

That was a letter from camp. And if you listen carefully there, it'll be obvious where Stuart got the idea for part of that story, the part where Dave swallows the plant root. So you don't need a backstory from me about that. I love the little chuckle after he reveals it to the audience. So great. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute with another story. This one is the most requested Vinyl Cafe story of all time. So stick around, you're going to want to hear it. Welcome back.

I've told you a little bit about Stuart's writing process on this podcast over the last few months. I've told you how hard he worked on the stories, how he would do 10 or even 15 drafts before we even took it to the stage. And then through performance, the stories would continue to evolve. We would learn from the audience, and Stuart would constantly be writing and rewriting the stories until they were ready. We didn't always know what was going to work. We usually had a sense of which stories or which lines in the story would land and how, but not always.

Sometimes we were wrong, and I loved when we were wrong. I used to sit in the wings, stage laugh just offstage. I was there for every show, and probably my favorite thing about working with Stuart was the moment just before he delivered a big laugh line for the first time. He'd do this thing. He'd kind of lean back on his heels, away from the mic as if he was inflating himself. And he'd look at me in the wings as if to say, all right, kiddo,

here we go. This is when we find out if this thing's going to fly or not. And he'd lean into the mic and he'd go for it. It's like he was savoring the moment. He was swirling and sniffing the glass of wine before taking a sip. I loved those moments. And so did he. Most of the time we were right. Most of the time, if we thought a line was going to fly, it did. But not always. Sometimes we were surprised. When that happened, when the line didn't fly, but instead sank like a lead balloon, we'd set off to see if we could fix it. That was partly my job.

I'd sit in the wings and make notes. And later that night or in the back of the bus, Stuart and I would gather together and try to figure out what happened. Why didn't that work? This is funny. I know it's funny. So why aren't they laughing? The answer was always different. It was often technical, like the laugh was in the middle of a sentence and the audience didn't want to stop and laugh because they didn't want to miss whatever happened next. So to fix that, we'd invert the sentence. And Stuart would rewrite it so that the laugh was at the end of the sentence. He'd leave room for laughter. So sometimes that was it. Or maybe the joke wasn't set up well enough.

There's no rewind button in a live concert, so it really had to be set up well. So often Stuart would go back and change the setup, make it clearer. We could usually fix it or improve it at least by tweaking and rewriting it. But what was awesome is when we were wrong and something was funny and we didn't see it coming. Like the audience was smarter than we were because you were almost always smarter than us. And you'd see the humor in a situation that completely passed us by. That happened all the time because you guys got to know Dave and Marley as well as we did. You could see what was coming. And sometimes you got there before we did. Sometimes you helped us

see the humor in something that we'd missed completely. I loved it when that happened, and Stuart did too. And then other times, we knew what was going to fly, and it was so fun to watch it take off. This story that you're about to hear, The Waterslide, falls into that category. I remember the first time Stuart read me this story. He read it, and when he finished, I paused and I said, that one's going to be a classic. And he kind of laughed and said, yeah, I know. He knew it. I knew it. Meg knew it too. It was rare for us to feel that way right out of the gate, first draft. It hardly ever happened like that. It never happened like that. But it happened with this story. And we were right.

The audience loved it. In fact, this recording from 2008 was the very first time that Stuart read this on stage in front of an audience. I hope you enjoy it as much as the folks in Georgetown PEI did that night. And as much as I did, listening from stage left, backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. This is The Waterslide. It was the dog days of summer, and half the city was away. Even the mailman was on vacation. Neighborhood was so quiet you could hear the spiders working.

There was absolutely nothing to do. Murphy and Sam were lying on their back, shoulder to shoulder, underneath Jim Schofield's mulberry tree. There was an ant crawling across Sam's forehead. Both boys had their mouths stretched wide open. Sam said, this is crazy. It's been like an hour. Murphy said, it's been 10 minutes. Do you give up? Sam said, do you? They had a bet. First one to catch a mulberry in his mouth won.

A hot wind rustled the branches of the tree above them. The boys' sun dappled, watched the leaves turn from green to gray to green again. The clouds were doing summer things, but the berries weren't. Nothing was coming down. It was the middle of the week, in the middle of the summer, and all there was was the sun, the soft, hot wind, and one lovelorn cicada vibrating at the top of the mulberry tree. Murphy said, it sounds like in To Kill a Mockingbird. Sam said, once again, I have no idea what you're talking about. Murphy said, the cicadas.

Do you give up? Sam sat up abruptly. Sam said, the cicadas. Do you give up? Sam sat up abruptly. Sam said, okay, whatever. Murphy said, I win. It was the next day. It was lunch. They were eating at Sam's house. Grilled cheese, carrot sticks, chocolate milk.

Morley was leaving for work, but she wasn't leaving yet. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands on her hips. She was considering something. No, she finally said. No videos. It's summer. It's a beautiful day. Play outside. Sam said, we're bored of outside. Morley said, that's funny. I thought you were bored of school. Adam Turlington's going to summer school. I bet summer school isn't boring.

Arthur the dog was lying in the cool dust under the back steps. Sam was holding a cup, dripping water on him through the slats. Murphy said, we should get the hose. And that, more or less, is the moment it all began. They called Peter Moore. They said, bring your bathing suit and a sprinkler. By the middle of the afternoon, there were five boys running around the backyard. Five boys with two sprinklers.

One attached to the garden tap and one running out the back door attached to the basement sink. Middle of the afternoon is when Rashida Chuddery came by with little Fatima in tow. Rashida was on her way to the store. She'd stopped by with something for Morley. When no one answered the front door, she came around the back. Fatima got sprayed, and she squealed, but it was a squeal of delight, which only turned to tears when Rashida said they had to go. And one thing led to another and Fatima ended up staying. We'll take care of Fatima, said Sam. And they did

magnificently. They unscrewed one of the sprinklers and they replaced it with a nozzle. They set the nozzle to jet spray. They put Fatima on a chair on the back of the deck. They gave her the jet hose. Fatima blasted them with a hose as they ran around the yard. It was, beyond a doubt, the most wonderful, fun Fatima had in her entire life. Better than anything, ever. Better than ideal fitter.

When Rashida came to get her after about an hour, Fatima wouldn't leave. Sam said she could stay. We'll bring her home. When they did, when they did bring her home, Rashida gave them $10. Sweet, said Murphy. It was Murphy's idea to pick her up the next afternoon. They spent the morning getting ready. They got Peter Moore to bring his wading pool over. They dragged Sam's old sandbox from a forgotten corner of the yard. They set it Moore to bring his waiting pool over. They dragged Sam's old sandbox from a forgotten corner of the yard. They set it in the sun so the sand would dry out. They

made lemonade. The three of them went and knocked on the chuttery door, standing on the stoop like three little Jehovah Witnesses. When Rashida answered, it was Murphy who did the talking. When Rashida answered, it was Murphy who did the talking. But we were wondering, said Murphy, if Fatima would like to come to our water park. On their first day, they got Fatima and Eric Schmidt's little brother, and they made 20 bucks. They had everything back in place, and the basement all mopped up by the time Dave and Morley got home. Murphy went to his cottage over the weekend, which didn't really matter because it rained on Saturday. They were back at it on Monday.

Murphy, who had had two days to think about things, arrived with three white t-shirts and two days of pent-up plans. They set up the backyard, the sandbox, the wading pool, and the sprinklers, and then Murphy produced the white t-shirts. We should look professional, said Murphy. So they put on the white t-shirts and they headed off. They were looking for customers. That afternoon, there were seven kids in the backyard, and four of them were paying customers. It's not clear who thought up the water slide. It might have been Fatima. Something about being the first kid there, the founding member of whatever this was, had given the normally shy four-year-old a massive injection of self-assurance. Could have been Fatima's idea, but no one remembers anymore.

Old Eugene, who lives next door, was involved. Wouldn't have happened without 92-year-old Eugene. Eugene had been watching since it began, sitting where he always sits on hot summer afternoons, on the old kitchen chair under the grape arbor, smoking one of his Italian cigars, nursing a tumbler of his homemade Chianti, and tilted dangerously backwards, his feet feathering the fence whenever he started to teeter, sitting there, nursing his wine, and wondering what in God's name those children were trying to do.

They had two slides that they had removed from two play sets, and they were trying to duct tape them together, or trying to make them into one long slide. Sam called Eugene in his throaty whisper, waving his spotted arm in the air. If it was a slide they needed, he had a better one. It was in his shed. He was pretty sure. Sam, he called again, coughing and spitting on the ground, gesturing at the shed at the bottom of the garden. The boys came over and he led them around his wife Maria's flower bed, past his famous fig tree, under the grape arbor, between the rows of peppers and tomatoes, and into the earthy cool of his shaded shed.

When his watery eyes adjusted to the light, he started them moving stuff around. An old refrigerator, a bureau, two hand-pushed lawnmowers. It was dirty work. And they were getting hot and irritated because they didn't understand what he was up to until they unearthed it. Until Eugene stepped back and beamed and they stood there in the sticky darkness without saying a word. Struck dumb. Staring into the back corner of Eugene's shed as if they had just uncovered the gold mask of Tutankhamun. The greatest treasure they could imagine. A huge, long, plastic tube. A portable industrial garbage chute. The thing you use...

The sort of thing you use when you're renovating houses to slide debris from the second floor to the yard. That's where the chute came from. They'd been trying to build a water slide that ran from the back deck down to the garden. A little slide, a modest drop. But by the time they had finished, by the time they had heaved the enormous plastic tube out of Eugene's shed and dropped it over the fence. They had heaved modesty out the window. This water slide didn't start on the deck. This water slide was the water slide to end all water slides.

This water slide began at the second floor bathroom window. It traversed the family room roof, looped around the clothesline pole, rolled over the picnic table, and ended in the back garden near the pear tree. Fatima stood on the deck with her little arms folded over her chest as the boys ran the handheld shower hose out the bathroom window to wet the slide down.

It took most of the afternoon to assemble it. The hardest part was connecting the slides from the play sets to Eugene's shoot. But they finally figured it out. And when they did, they all agreed it just might be the greatest water slide ever built, ever. Any normal adult watching all this unfold would have been seized by a spasm of anxiety. They would have put a stop to it. But Eugene was the only adult watching. And at 92, Eugene was a lot closer to boys and the boyhood called to adventure

than he was to the anxiety levels of any normal adult. After two wars and 91 and a half summers, what could possibly go wrong in a backyard? Fatima was the first one down. She bounced to her feet at the bottom like a trapeze artist. It was the greatest water slide in the world. Word spread overnight. No one actually told anyone. It spread through the telepathy of childhood. By the next day, there wasn't a boy or girl in the neighborhood who didn't know about the

water slide in Dave and Morley's backyard. No adults knew about it. Boys dissembled it at the end of the afternoon, and they spent the next morning putting it back together. They didn't believe they were doing anything wrong. They just had this intuitive understanding shared by all children that there are perfectly innocent things children do that adults are not equipped to handle. And so they put it up and they took it down and then they put it up again. Word spread, but not amongst the adults, because every kid in the neighborhood had the same intuitive understanding. No one was surprised then the very next afternoon when about 25 kids showed up

or that everyone knew without anyone saying anything to wheel their bikes down the drive and lean them behind the house so they didn't attract attention from the street. What did surprise them, however, was the moment that afternoon, that second afternoon, when Eugene, who had been watching them quietly from his chair under the arbor for two straight days, stood up and went inside and came out 15 minutes later wearing nothing but a bathing cap and a Speedo. He grinned at them and then he propped his pruning ladder against the fence and climbed over, the veins on his naughty old legs throbbing with excitement.

It was Chris Turlington who videoed all this on his cell phone. It was his twin sister, Christina, who took the phone home, downloaded the video, and posted it on YouTube. Dave never would have seen it if he didn't work at a record store and his staff wasn't attuned to this sort of stuff, but he did. You might have seen it yourself if you have kids. A lot of people saw it that afternoon. Tens of thousands, actually. It was the most watched video about an hour after it was posted. Everyone was talking about it, though you understand when I say everyone,

I mean everyone of a certain age. People like Brian, for instance, who works part-time for Dave. Oh, said Brian, who was sitting at the computer that afternoon, you have to see this. And Dave walked over and leaned over his shoulder, and Brian pressed play, and this is what Dave saw. A grainy and very shaky close-up of an impossibly old man struggling over a fence. Then there was a cut, and there was a jerky shot of the back of a house,

and the camera pulled back, and Dave saw there were kids dancing on the back roof of this house. And then the camera zoomed in, and he saw something that looked like a bobsled run coming out of the upstairs window. There was something familiar about it all. I think I've seen this before, said Dave. Feels like deja vu. And then the camera zoomed in on one of the kids dancing on the roof. The kid had one of those tiny Italian cigars in his mouth. I think I know this place, said Dave. Is this a frat house? It looks like a frat house. Dave leaned forward, squinting at the screen. The picture was so fuzzy, it was hard to be sure. Then the camera zoomed in on the window. A small face and two hands appeared. Whoever it was was holding a bottle in each hand

and dumping the contents of the bottle down the slide. I think that's detergent, said Brian. Oh my God, said Dave. You ain't seen nothing, said Brian. It gets wicked better. There was another edit. The camera zoomed in on the old guy again. It was hard to make him out because the kids were gathered around him, slapping him on the back. The old guy was doing something to his mouth. Oh, my God, said Dave. It was Eugene, of course. And Eugene was doing what he always does before he does anything that requires exertion. He was reaching

into his mouth and removing his false teeth. As Dave watched, the old man handed his teeth to a little girl standing on a chair. She was holding on to a garden hose. The little girl held the teeth high in the air and all the kids applauded. Now she was stuffing them into her pocket. And she turned her hose onto the slide. And the camera left her to follow the old man inside the house and up the stairs and into the bathroom. Dave said, is this live?

The camera zoomed in on the bathroom window And everything was still A beat Another Dave shrugged and that's when the toothless old man came flying out the window he was wearing nose plugs he was sitting down waving at the camera with one hand and holding a glass of wine with the other

then he hit the frothy spot where the boy had poured the detergent oh my god it looked exactly like Eugene from next door Then he hit the frothy spot where the boy had poured the detergent. Oh my God, it looked exactly like Eugene from next door. I have to go, said Dave. It gets better, said Brian. The whole point is the end when he hits the garden fence. But Dave didn't hear that. Dave was already out the store.

So he missed the moment when Eugene flew out the bottom of the slide like he had been shot out of a cannon, and he missed the part where he smacked into the garden fence, the part where he struggled to his feet and stood there, toothless, covered with bubbles, his nose plug still on, grinning madly until he looked over the fence and spotted his wife Maria. And Eugene turned and looked at the camera and his shoulders sagged and he said one word, busted.

Dave missed that part. Dave was already out the front door, running like a shot, turn right, past Dorothy's bookstore, past Kenny Wong's cafe. Don't stop. There's no time to stop. It was 4.30. The hottest part of the day was done. Sam and Murphy were on the back porch, sitting on the double hammock. Well, more slouched than sitting, or sprawled, sprawled on the hammock. They were moving back and forth, but barely moving. They were moving back and forth, but barely moving. The perfect picture of summer indolence. As still as hot wind on a summer lake.

Dave burst into the scene like a dog with a fetched ball. Dave all sweaty and panting and out of breath. Dog-like Dave. Murphy and Sam looked up at him from the hammock with sleepy boredom. Hey, Dad, said Sam. Boys, said Dave. Murphy and Sam looked up at him from the hammock with sleepy boredom. Hey, Dad, said Sam. Boys, said Dave. Hey, said Sam. This was not what he had expected at all. This was the last thing he had expected. He looked over the fence. Eugene was sitting where he always sat, under the grape arbor, tilting back on his kitchen chair, his arm in a sling. Dave looked at Eugene, and then he looked at the boys, and then he walked over to the fence and

nodded. Eugene nodded back and spat on the ground. Dave smiled at Eugene. Dave said, you okay? and spat on the ground. Dave smiled at Eugene. Dave said, you okay? Ah, said Eugene, motioning with his head, gardening accident. Dave said, sorry to hear that. Maria, who was sitting beside her husband, snorted.

Dave nodded and walked back to the boys in the hammock. What have you boys been up to? We watered the garden, said Sam. Front and back, said Dave. He was looking around. The grass was certainly wet. The bathroom window was closed. There were no children dancing on the roof. Just the back, said Sam.

Looks like you did a good job, said Dave. Everything was in order, except for a few telltale soap bubbles clinging to the pear tree. Dave said, you've probably done enough watering for the next little while. Yeah, said Sam, probably. Dave looked at his son hard. Sam looked back, nodding his head. Sam said, we're pretty much through with the watering. Okay, thought Dave, my move. He knew it, and they knew it too. The boys were getting up.

Sam said, we're going to the park. Line of least resistance, thought Dave. Lead me on. That's a pretty good idea, said Dave. And he dug into his pocket and pulled out a bill. Why don't you boys stop at Lawler's and get yourself an ice cream on the way? It's a good day for ice cream. Sam pocketed the bill. Thanks, he said. Murphy nodded at Dave as he passed him. Thanks, said Murphy. I love the image of Eugene going down that slide in his Speedo. So great. That was the story we call the water slide.

We recorded that story at the Playhouse Theater in Georgetown, PEI, back in 2008. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute, so stick around. Well, that's it for today. And that is it for this season. We're going to take a break over the summer so I can, you know, supervise some water slide shenanigans at my own house. But we'll be back in September. That is, if you want us, is that a good thing? What can we do to make it better?

What do you want to hear more of? What do you want to hear less of? Do you like the backstories? Do you want only Dave and Marley? Now, here's a question. This is something that Louise and Greg and I have been talking a lot about. What about the length of this podcast? Is it too long?

I kind of feel like it is sometimes. Like, should we be doing just one Dave and Marley story every episode? Or do you like that it's two? It would be too long for me for a walk. I listen to podcasts when I'm walking. Is this too long? Would you like it shorter? Do you want it longer? Tell us.

Tell us everything. Do not be shy about feedback, especially constructive criticism. The only way I can learn is by hearing from you. So please don't hold back. Email is probably the best way, vinylcafe at vinylcafe.com. You don't even, you know, don't even remember that. Just go to our website, vinylcafe.com or just even Google Vinyl Cafe. You'll find us and you'll tell us what you want to hear more of, what you want to hear less of, and what we can do to make this work for you.

And listen, we are not disappearing completely. We'll have some fun little surprises to share over the summer, stuff like this. Every day through the dark mornings of January and February when the snow and ice was piled up in all the provinces, it was Dave who beat the path from the back door to the... Pop? Yeah. Okay. Wow, we've been together for seven years.

I can read your thoughts. See, if you say peas too loud, they pop. When you're doing a show in Point Peely and talking about the park. It's easy for the odd pea to pop through. Every day through the dark mornings of January and February, when the snow and the ice was piled up in all the provinces, they'll be thinking in Vancouver, what the hell's so funny about that? I don't know, it's those people in Kingsville.

in Kingsville. I can't start until you shut up because they'll pick up the edit and I think those folks are laughing. Oh, I've been to one of those vinyl cafe shows.

I know what's going on there. That's a taste of some of the fun outtakes and bonus episodes that we'll be dropping over the summer. So keep your eye on your podcast feed. If you've subscribed to the show or if you follow the show, things will just magically appear in your feed. And we'll be back for another full season in September. Until then, if you want to find out more about the Vinyl Cafe or if you want to send us your ideas or your feedback, check out our website, VinylCafe.com, or find us on Facebook

and Instagram. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Greg Duclude is our recording engineer. Theme music is by my pal, Danny Michelle. The show is produced by Louise Curtis and by me, Jess Milton. We'll see you a few times over the summer. Until then, so long for now.