Halibut Flipping Part III

By John S. Mickman

In last week’s Part II, Leon, Bob and I have just finished unloading 100,000 pounds of fresh Halibut. The other guys have left to have a beer at Sollies Bar & Grill and I am ‘basking in the glow’ on the cannery dock adjacent the fishing vessel Western Girl, the boat we had just finished unloading.

I was still enjoying the moment, standing on the B&B Fisheries dock looking across the bay when the skipper of the Western Girl walked up to me. "You're named John aren't you?" he asked with a strong Norwegian accent.

"Yup, John Mickman", I said.

"Well, my name is Nels and I'm skipper of the Western Girl here. I've been watching you today, and I have to say I've never seen anyone fly at a job the way you handled those fish today. You like working don't you?"

"Well I guess so", I said. "But I've never really thought about it that way."

He asked, "How would you like to help me move my boat over to the Transient Float in the harbor? My crew is still sleeping it off, and I could use some help getting my boat over there."

"Sure, I'd be glad to help", I said as calmly as I could. Actually I was just thrilled to be able to get a ride on an actual fish boat!

"Ok John. While I fire up the engine, why don't you throw off the breast line. The wind's coming off our bow so we'll throw off the bow line next when we're ready to go", Nels said over his shoulder as he headed for the engine room hatch.

Having been around sporting boats all my life back in Minnesota, I knew what a 'breast line' was and how to make lines off on mooring cleats.  The breast line was wrapped around a dock piling, so I took it off and coiled it up amidships.

I then walked along the port side rail (left side of the boat looking forward) and stood by the boats forward, port side mooring cleat. This seemed to be going pretty good so far, I thought to myself. I heard the main engine fire up and a faint vibration traveled through the wooden hull and up my legs. One of the cannery workers was watching me while he smoked a cigarette up on the dock. "Hey buddy, we're about to move over to the harbor. Can you take the bow line off of that dock cleat and throw the end to me when I tell you in a couple of minutes?", I asked him. He seemed just as excited about being involved with a 'real' fish boat as I was. Of course he didn't know that I wasn't a 'real' fisherman and that I didn't have a clue. "OK then, I'll let you know", and I made small talk with the guy while I waited for Nels.

A couple minutes later, Nels rolled back one of the wheelhouse windows and asked if I was ready to go. "Yup, just let me know", I said. He could see the cannery guy standing by the dock cleat obviously anxious to help throw off the bow line.

Nels looked around the starboard side across the bay to make sure there were no boats close by and told me to throw off the bow line. "I'll let you know when to let loose the stern line", he said to me as I walked past the open window of the wheelhouse. The stern line was wrapped around a dock piling too, and I waited for Nels' instruction before freeing it up. 

He did a slight maneuver and the bow swung free from the dock. "OK, let 'er go", Nels yelled back to me over the din of the engine, "and then come up to the wheelhouse". I did as I was told and found my way up to the wheelhouse. The Western Girl was a 78', schooner type wooden fish boat and there was just barely room for the two of us in the cramped wheelhouse. I quickly scanned the electronics he had on board and noticed the marked up maritime chart on the chart table. This was too cool!

Nels said, "Leon tells me that you're completely green - never been on a fish boat before. Is that right John?" he asked.

"Yes that's right", I said, "but I've been around small speedboats and sailboats all my life".

"Yeah, I can tell you know something about boats. Say, why are you wearing those hip boots?" he asked.

I looked over at Nels and grinned. "Well, I'm trying to get a job on a boat and I thought that if I wore hip boots, I'd look more like a fisherman. It seems to be working pretty good", I said.

Nels roared with laughter, "That's awesome, and a pretty good idea; you do look the part", he said. "You know, my crewmen are all headed back to BC (British Columbia, Canada) on the afternoon plane and I'm going to need some help getting ready for the next trip. Would be willing to give me a hand?" he asked.

I could hardly believe my ears, but I tried to remain calm. "Well, yes I'd be glad to help, but if I get a job on a boat I might have to quit before I'm done", I told him. "What would I be doing?

"I have 34 Skates of gear that need to be overhauled. Do you think you can handle that?" he asked. The look on my face betrayed what I was thinking; "You don't know what I'm talking about do you?" Nels asked with a big grin on his face.

"Well, I have to admit I don't have a clue, but if you show me what to do, I can do, and I'll do a good job for you Nels", I said.

Nels was squinting as he looked through the wheelhouse windows maneuvering the Western Girl toward the harbor. He glanced over to me, "I believe you will he said. Halibut Skates are the long lines that we use to catch Halibut", he said. "Each trip I insist on going through all my gear to make sure we don't have any broken line, weak gannon’s or dull hooks. It is an important job. How does $15 a 'skate' sound to you?", he asked. "That's the going rate around here."

"It sounds OK I guess, but I still really don't know what I'll be doing or how long it will take. How long does it take you to 'overhaul' one skate of gear?" I asked him.

"About an hour", he said, "but it will take you longer. I've been doing this for 40 years."

So, we struck a deal; I was beside myself. I had just made $100 and now I had a job that would take at least a week. As I was thinking about my good fortune, Nels was maneuvering the boat into the cramped harbor; I was getting a little nervous. "Say Nels, I have to admit to you that this is the first fish boat I've ever been on that wasn't tied up in the harbor. What do you want me to do when we get to where we're going?"

Nels roared with laughter agian, "By God, you're something else John, and lucky. I can't believe I'm running around with a kid from Minnesota who's never even been on a boat before." I didn't think it was all that funny, but he told me what I needed to do and tying up the Western Girl went just fine.

After Nels shut down the engine, he came back up on deck and told me to come back in the morning at 8:00. "Great Nels; I'll see you in the morning", I said as I hopped over the rail and onto the harbor float. I seemed like I never landed; I was just floating along. This was all going to work out after all, I smiled to myself as I headed back home to Paul and Sam's house. Sam liked Tequila, so I stopped by the liquor store in town and bought her a bottle to celebrate my good fortune. Sam was thrilled!

I worked in the harbor on the deck of the Western Girl for over a week, and met many more fishermen as I overhauled Halibut Skates. After the shrimp strike ended, I earned a deckhand position on the boat my buddy Tony was crewing on, the Pacific Pearl, and then I got a great job on another boat called The Sogn. Although I went back to school that fall of 1972 after a successful summer shrimp fishing (I made almost $11,000!),  my work on the Western Girl turned out to be an inauspicious beginning of a commercial fishing career that spanned a decade. It all started out 'Flipping Halibut' after doing a favor for a new friend, Leon. I guess they're right: "What goes around, comes around."

Although life seems to get better each year, my years of fishing the frigid waters of the North Pacific and Bering Seas were my most adventurous. By far.

John S. Mickman

Deckhand

Halibut Flipping Part II

By John S Mickman

In Part I of Halibut Flipping, I have arrived on Kodiak Is., Alaska and met a number of fishermen. I was living in a house with my new buddy Paul and his girl friend Sam.

Paul and his girlfriend 'Sam' lived with Sam's four year old son named Adrian in a pretty cool little house on a grassy knoll just above town. Looking south the view overlooked the an original Greek Orthodox Church and the fishing harbor. In the evening, after Paul arrived home from work, we would sit outside on lawn chairs, smoke a cigarette, have a beer and tell stories. We got to be great buddies in Kodiak.

Some day's I would babysit for Sam; Adrian and I got along famously. We'd walk down to my favorite haunts, say hi to all the guys and throw rocks in the bay. I didn't have any money to help with food and rent but Paul and Sam both had jobs and we just added my expenses to the tab; I was going to get a job as a fisherman, I would often remind them, make a pile of money, and pay it all back.

However, after six weeks, this arrangement was getting a little stale. I met an old couple down the road from Paul that needed some painting done inside their house. "Are you a painter?" the old man asked me. "Yes, I am a painter" I said. "Anything you need painted, I will paint if for you.” I painted much of their small house a horrible orange color that they loved. Years later, my buddy Tony and his wife Annie bought that house on Kodiak Channel and had to repaint the whole works. The old couple didn't pay me much, but I did have a job and made some 'pin' money – all of which went to Sam to help with the groceries.

One of the fishermen I had met was Leon, a Halibut Fisherman from Vancouver. I had invited him to stay over at Paul and Sam's house his first night in town so he didn't have to waste any money renting a hotel room. Although Leon was very appreciative, Sam reminded me that her house wasn't really my house and I wasn't supposed to be invited strangers to sleep over. We had a young child in the house and she just wouldn’t allow it. Ouch! She was right and I apologized. 

Anyway, Leon was looking for a boat too, but had lots of experience and he was sure he would get a berth soon. One night shortly after we met, I ran into Leon at Sollies Bar. He waved me over to the bar and asked if I'd like to make some money the next day, unloading The Western Girl, a Halibut schooner that had just come in with a full load. "Well sure", I said. What are we going to do?", I asked.

"We have to unload the boat. The crewmen are those seven guys at that table getting drunk," he said, pointing at a table in the corner. "They've out to sea for 21 days and won't be able to work in the morning. That guy sitting over there at the end of the bar is the skipper and I've worked for him in the past. He wants me to line up a couple guys to unload his boat. We'll get paid a dollar a thousand. How does that sound?" he asked.

 I had no idea what ‘a dollar a thousand’ meant, but said it sounded fair to me. "OK then", Leon said. "Meet me at B&B Fisheries tomorrow morning at 6:30. I'll show you what to do." This was awesome; I was virtually out of money and I had gotten a job on a fish boat - even though it was just for a day even though and it was only unloading.

(Note: One of the first rules in a fishing town is that if you want to ever work on a fish boat, don't get a job in a cannery. It is the kiss of death for a fishing career.)

The next morning I was at B&B by 6:15 waiting for Leon. He arrived shortly afterward with big guy named Bob; the three of us were going to unload the boat.

 "OK", Leon said. "Bob and I will be down in the 'hold' and we'll use our gaffs to pull the halibut into these landing nets” he explained. “When the net is full, the cannery worker operating the crane will lift the net by its corners up to this big stainless steel table here on the dock". He was pointing at all this stuff as he talked; the ‘table’ was about 40 feet long and 20 feet wide. It was obvious he knew what he was talking about, and it was obvious to me that I didn't! 

Leon continued, "You'll be up here standing on the table to receive the net. The first thing you do John, is to unhook two corners of the net and let the halibut spill onto the table when the canner guy lifts the net up in the air. Then you have to flip all the halibut over that have the brown side up; the white side has to be up before the fish go through the guillotine over there. To do that, all you do is to take this gaff here, hook it into the halibut's head right about here and flip him over. Easy enough, huh?" he asked a little to casually. "Then the cannery guy will then lower the net down to us and we'll do it all over again."

Well, it did sound pretty easy - right until the first net of halibut were lowered onto the table. I unhooked the net and the halibut all spilled out around me. They were HUGE! The smallest was 50 pounds and the largest were pushing 300 pounds. Halibut are 'flat fish', with one side brown (or grey) and the other side white. Half the halibut were brown side up. I weighed about 150 pounds, soaking wet, and for the life of me could not turn over the larger fish. After about 100 pounds, I was not able flip the halibut with the gaff, so I put it down and tried to flip them over by hand.  

I rolled up my hip boots so my pants wouldn’t get all full of fish slime, got on my hands and knees and reached under these monster fish with my hands and arms and tried to flip over the slippery, monster fish. I was covered with slime, blood and salt water. This wasn't going to work. Geez, what a disaster!

New Plan: The tail fins of these monster fish were still attached, so I grabbed a big one by the tail and lifted it up as high as I could, then with one of my legs, tried to spin the halibut around. With all my might I thrust the fish up, but when I kicked over, my other foot slipped on all the fish slim and down I went into the pile of halibut. The 200 pound fish I had by the tail landed square on top of me and I was kind of pinned down under one fish and in the crack of a bunch of other ones.

Well, I just laid there for a second or two trying to catch my breath when Leon leaned over the table and looked at me. "What are you trying to do, get that fish pregnant!?", he laughed out loud to me. "You know that fish is already dead right???", he asked, and couldn't stop laughing.

I struggled from beneath the pile of halibut; I wasn't laughing. I knew I had to get this right, and fast. , "I just can't figure out how to flip these monsters over Leon. These fish weight twice as much as me and no matter what I do I can't get them turned over.

"Well John you're holding up the crew. You've got to get those halibut flipped over!" Leon said as he jumped up onto the halibut table and grabbed my gaff. "Here's how you do it", he said as he picked out the 200 pound halibut I had just been wrestling. "You gaff them right here behind their cheek, grab the gaff with both arms straightened out stiff and use your shoulders and back muscles and FLIP!" he said as the huge fish flipped over. "Just like that."

Just like any other trade, there was a trick to it. "Gimme that gaff Leon", I said as I slid over the slimy table to the next halibut.

I gaffed the fish in the same spot as Leon had instructed, stiffened my arms, braced my legs and with my shoulders and torso twisted on the gaff and miraculously the fish flipped over. I was amazed! "OK, I've got it Leon. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll have all these guys flipper over, right side up." Leon hopped off the table, scrambled down the dock latter to the deck of the Western Girl and lowered himself by sliding down the net's wench line.

I was having fun now. It became a contest to see how fast I could flip the halibut over, and with my 'extra' time, I helped the cannery workers slide the fish over to the guillotine. I couple of times I jumped down to the deck of the Western Girl and yelled to Leon that he and Bob were holding up the crew; we were waiting for fish up on the table! Leon looked up at me and smiled. He and I were to getting to be pretty good buddies.

Leon bought me lunch at Sollies and we each had a French Dip Sandwich, their specialty. Boy did my sandwich ever slide down easy; I was hungry. After lunch, we returned to the Western girl and finished unloading by about 2 o'clock. Although we didn't have to wash off the table, the three of us had to wash the hold and swab off all the bin boards that separate sections of the hold. With all the slime, this job took a lot of effort, but Leon, Bob and I had the same taste in music and we started singing our favorite rock 'n roll songs. An hour later, the deck and hold were spic 'n span. Leon nodded his approval and told Bob and me to wait up on the dock; he was going to meet with the skipper and get paid.

Bob and I climbed up the dock latter, folded down my hip boots, and lit a well earned cigarette. A couple of cannery workers came up to us and wanted to talk about the Halibut Fishery. Obviously I didn't have a clue, but Bob had a couple of good stories to tell. When Leon joined us on the dock, he handed me 5 - $20 bills. "OK", he said. "The catch weighed out at just over 100,000 pounds of halibut. The deal was $1 per thousand, so here you go John." I looked at the $100 in my hand and replied, "Well I can't split this 3 ways; I only have $20 bills."

Leon looked at me quizzically, smiled and said, "No John. We EACH get $100." He then handed $100 over to Bob.

"Do you mean I just made $100 Leon, and it isn't even 3 o'clock yet." I was amazed.

"Yup, that's right John. It's all yours", Leon said. "Let's go up to Sollies and get a beer." I wasn't really much of a drinker and begged off.

"Thanks a lot for thinking of me Leon; I really appreciate this job", I said.

"No, thank you for giving me a place to sleep the other night", Leon replied. "I needed a friend, and you turned out to be the guy. See ya later", he said as he ambled across the cannery dock toward town with Bob.

In next weeks, Part III, find out what they mean when they say, “being in the right place at the right time”

John Mickman

Professional Halibut Flipper!

Halibut Flipping

by John S. Mickman

Deck Hand

In 1972, during my final quarter at the U of M, I caught a bad case of Spring Fever and I had some personal problems that needed to be sorted out. Much to the disappointment of my folks, I quit school and hitchhiked to Alaska. This is a tale about my arrival in Kodiak, and my first job in the commercial fishing industry.

(My wife Wendy says I need to add that I returned to MN that fall and completed my Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration.)

The first time I hitchhiked to Alaska was in 1972, and I arrived on Kodiak Island with about $60 in my pocket out of the original $145 that I had when I left Minnsota. While some of this money was the last of my life savings to that point in my life, $100 of it was reimbursed to me from my Spring Quarter tuition – which in 1972 was about $300 per quarter!

My plan was to stay in a guy’s house that I had met on campus at a party one time; he didn't know I was coming. That part worked out OK, and Paul Anderson became one of my best buddies - even to this day.

The plan had been to hitchhike as far as I could, and where ever my money ran out, I would stop there and get a job. It was good fortune that I made it all the way to Kodiak, and on the final leg of my journey, as my current 'ride' drove past the commercial fishing harbor in Kodiak, I was in awe. "What are all those boats for?" I asked the guy.

 "That's the fishing harbor", he said. "All those boats go out fishing for various kinds of fish." Only having seen the ocean one time in Boston and New York, I really didn't have the concept of commercial fishing yet. "Boy those guys must really like to fish", I commented, thinking of the many camping trips Up North our family took to catch Northern’ s, Bass and the odd Walleye. "What kind of fish do they catch?", I asked in an innocent, Minnesota kind of way.

The guy looked back at me with a grin and told me that this was the commercial fishing harbor. There were different fleets of boats that would fish Salmon, Shrimp, Halibut, King Crab, Tanner Crab and Dungeness Crab, among others.

I was amazed; "Do you mean these guys go out, catch fish and get paid for it?" I asked. "Yeah", he replied. "And they make pretty good money too. This is a big commercial fishing port and the biggest industry on the Island."

Well, we talked for a few more minutes, and just before I got out of his pickup truck he asked me what kind of job I was going to look for while I was in Kodiak for the Summer. "I'm going to get a job on one of those boats down there and be a fisherman" I told him with all the confidence in the world.

The guy was very skeptical and wished me good luck, but said there were a hundred young guys with experience trying to get a job on one of those boats and not to get my hopes up too much. "Oh, I'll get on a boat", I told him. "It might take awhile but I'm going to be a commercial fisherman." He wished me good luck again and drove off; I never saw him again.

It took four hours in a heavy drizzle to finally find where Paul lived. Kodiak is a small town, but without an address it was hard to narrow down the exact house he lived in.   However, after finding his house, I become reacquainted with Paul and convinced his girlfriend Sam that I would make a fabulous roommate (even though I didn't have any money or a job). And then finally, after 7 days on the road, I rolled out my sleeping bag in my new room - a large walk-in closet. It was perfect, and nice to have a warm, dry, safe place to sleep in. This was going to work out OK; I was sure of it.

The next morning I went down to the harbor and started looking at boats and talking to fishermen. There was a lot to learn including a whole new lingo of terms; galley, wheelhouse, port & starboard, diesel engines, skates of halibut gear, gannon's, etc. These were hard working men all, and proud of what they did for a living. It was also dangerous work and everyone had to work as a team to maximize their catch and to preserve their well being. Even so, over a dozen fishermen lost their lives each year to the North Pacific and Bering Seas. This was really interesting stuff and these guys had some awesome stories! Of course as a 21 year old kid, I could never get hurt and certainly never die. No way...

One of the guys I met was Tony Jones who was crewing on an old wooden shrimp trawler named The Pacific Pearl. Tony was about my age and knew almost everyone in the fleet. We became good buddies and he introduced me around to many of the crewmen and some of the skippers in the that had boats tied up in the harbor.

One of the first things I learned was that it was too early in the year to fish salmon, too late to catch King orTanner Crab and the entire shrimp fleet was tied up waiting out a strike. The canneries were only offering 3½ cents/pound and the fishermen wanted 7 cents/pound - twice as much! It turned out to be a long strike. The only boats working were the Halibut boats, and this was the smallest fishery in Kodiak. Bummer!

But no matter, every single day I walked the docks, walked Cannery Row, hung around Sutliff's (the marine hardware store), went into the bars the fishermen frequented and met everyone I could. One problem I identified almost immediately was that I looked like a college student, not like a fisherman. Many of the guys wore hip boots turned down at the knee to the effect of looking kind of like wide bell-bottoms; cool. On a boat named The Robbie I befriended a deckhand named Marshall who was from Australia. He was tall good looking guy who introduced me to many new things including how shrimp trawls work and how to eat kiwi's and avocado's (two things I had never eaten in Minnesota) .

 Laying on the after deck atop a pile of refuse on The Robbie was an old pair of hip boots that looked pretty beat up. "What are you guys going to do with those old boots?", I asked Marshall. "I'm going to throw them in the dumpster along with all that other stuff when I get up the energy", he said.

Just as I thought! "How about this Marshall? I'll throw all that stuff in the dumpster for you if I can have those hip boots. Deal?"

 He laughed and said, "They're yours, but they won't do you any good; they have holes at the knee's. That's why I'm throwing them away." I really didn't care if they had holes or not, I just needed them to look more like a fisherman.

"That's OK Marshall. I don't need them to keep the water out", I replied. He gave me a funny look and told me to help myself. Those hip boots fit perfectly and I wore them every day for months. I put some tire patches on the rips at the fold in the knees and that fixed the leaks.

In next week’s, Part II, find out if I ever figured out if the patched pair of old hip boots were any help in getting me a job on a fish boat!

Parking Tickets: Part II

By John Mickman

In last week’s Part I of ‘Parking Tickets, I was stopped by a police officer named Robert for a broken tail light lens. When he did the license check, he found that I had some warrants because I hadn’t paid some parking tickets…

Upon our arrival at Apache Plaza in the squad car, Robert and I both spotted the big, dark paddy wagon sitting in the shadows beneath a dim, overhead parking lot light. The scene was pretty ominous as I looked out the window of the squad car. Robert pulled up and met the two awaiting cops who were smoking while leaning against their paddy wagon. “Now John, I need you to sit still in the car while I talk to these guys”, Robert instructed. “I’m going to see if I can make this a little easier for you.”

Because we had parked so close to the paddy wagon, I could hear what was being said. Robert explained to the other two cops about the parking tickets, and told them they were not going to have any problem with me. At that point, one of the other cops took out some handcuffs and started walking toward Roberts’s squad car. “You won’t need those cuff’s”, Robert said. “You aren’t going to have any trouble with this kid.”

“Well you know the policy”, the cop said. “All prisoners that go into our paddy wagons have to be cuffed. That’s it”, and he stopped talking. At that point, Robert walked up real close to the cop with the cuff’s and said, “I’m not taking this kid out of my squad if you don’t put those cuff’s away. He doesn’t need to be cuffed. He won’t be a problem. Put the cuff’s away”, Robert directed in a way that I thought was just about right – not necessarily confrontational, but in a way that meant there would be no compromise. The three cops discussed this issue for what seemed to be five minutes or so. It was a lively discussion, but Robert flatly stated that at this time I was his prisoner, not theirs, and he simply would not turn me over to them until they promised not to handcuff me.

Robert won.

When Robert finally opened the door of his squad car I got out and was told by the two other cops that “if I don’t make any trouble”, they won’t put the cuffs on me. I agreed in as amiable a tone as I could muster, and stepped into the paddy wagon, smiling to myself that maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all. “Thanks for all your help officer”, I said to Robert before the cops closed the paddy wagon doors. “You’re welcome John, and good luck”, Robert said with a big grin on his face. I thought I could hear him softly laughing to himself as he walked back to his squad car.

I was locked in the back of the paddy wagon by myself and was transported to the Minneapolis Police Station; the Big House. After arriving, each of the cops held me by my arms and led me into the cold, stone building. ‘My’ two cops stayed with me through all the processing and I never had handcuffs put on me, although all the other prisoners were cuffed. I was fingerprinted and had mug shots taken; front and side. Was this really necessary for Parking Tickets? I guess so.

After being processed, I was put in a holding cell with a bunch of drunk guys, some of whom were passed out. I just sat there on the wooden bench; no one had really explained what was going to happen next, or when. After three or four Marlboro’s, an hour or so, one of the jail keepers came to our cell and announced my name. “That’s me, John Mickman”, I responded as I jumped up and headed for the cell door. As he unlocked the door he said, “You’ve made bail son. Come on out of the cell”.

Wow, I made bail; I wonder how that happened. And by whom?

After signing some paperwork which included a court date a month down the line, I was brought into another room where my dad was waiting. ‘Oh man, this is going to be unpleasant’, was my first thought. But, dad didn’t say a word. He just opened the door and gestured for me to go through it. I did, and then followed him to his pickup truck. He hadn’t said anything to me yet.

After we had ridden for a minute or so I said, “I’m sorry this happened dad. It’s all my fault for not paying some parking tickets”. Nothin’; he didn’t say anything. He was REALLY mad. But, I wasn’t too worried because I knew he needed me to go pine cone picking and eventually I knew I would get on his good side again. But he didn’t say anything for most of the ride back home.

Not far from our house he finally spoke up. “I suppose you’re wondering where I got the $200 cash to bail my son out of jail”, he asked. Actually, I wasn’t wondering about that at all. I was thinking about how tired I was and if he was going to want me to leave for the Black Hills at 6 o’clock in the morning – just a couple of hours away.

But, at least he was talking. “Yeah dad, I was wondering where you got that money. Where did you get it?” I asked in a sincere way, anxious to break the ice and start a conversation. My grandma and grandpa were complete tea-totalers, and my dad very rarely ever had a drink. When he did, it was a small glass of Mogen David wine at Christmas or Thanksgiving or some other big occasion. He did not drink, and as far as I knew, had never seen the inside of a bar.

“I had to go to a bar and cash a check. A bar! I never thought I would have to go to a bar to get money to bail any son of mine out of jail.” He was really disappointed in me. I apologized again and that was the end of that conversation. He never brought this incident up again. Ever. Neither did I.

When we arrived home, dad said I was still leaving at 6 o’clock, on schedule, and I should get some sleep. At 6:00 AM, I left for the Black Hills with my brothers, Jimmy and Chris and sister Jody. Over the next three weeks in the Black Hills we picked all the pine cones dad would need for the upcoming Wreath Season. We, Mickman kids, were some of the foremost Pine Cone Pickers in the country, and although young, we were an integral part of the family Christmas Wreath Business.

Actually, we had picked more than one load of pine cones and dad brought our mom and my girlfriend Helen out when he arrived at our campsite at the Hart Ranch. Dad then returned to the Twin Cities with everyone except Jimmy and Helen because we needed to pick just a few more gunny sacks of cones before our load was (over) full. One night as we laid on some big stacks of field hay, the three of us watched the Perseids Meteor Shower. The night was crystal clear as hundreds of ‘falling stars’ were streaking across the night sky for hours. Pretty cool.

After finishing the pine cone picking project, I decided to go to the Minneapolis Court House and see if I couldn’t take care of the ‘Parking Ticket Problem’ before going back the University; school was starting in a few weeks and my court date was going to interfere with some of my classes.

So, with my tail light repaired and everything else on my MGB working pretty close to 100%, I drove down to the Minneapolis Court House, and after explaining my situation with two or three police officers, I finally convinced the last one to let me talk to a judge. This was not an easy sell, but I was finally led upstairs to the office of a judge. After being handed a bunch of paperwork by the officer, the judge asked me to sit down opposite him at his desk while he looked through my file.

After he got himself up so speed with my situation, the judge looked up at me. “So tell me Mr. Mickman, how does a person get 32 Parking Tickets and end up with 32 warrants for his arrest? You understand if you had paid these tickets, it would have cost you $3.00 each or $96.00. But now with these Warrants, these tickets will cost you $30.00 each. You now have to pay $960.00.”

With that, I began the tale beginning with my volunteer work at The Whole Coffeehouse, putting myself through the University and picking pine cones for the family wreath business. I also told him about Officer Robert and his fine treatment of me, along with the story about the handcuffs and the other two cops that accompanied me through my booking at the jail. The judge seemed to be quite interested, so I told the story with lots of detail. He was amazed. I concluded by telling him that I was here at the courthouse hoping to get resolution to the problem so I wouldn’t miss any of my upcoming classes at the University.

After finishing the story, the judge looked at me for some time then asked if I had money to pay the complete fine, $960. “Well, no sir, I don’t have that much, but I did make some money picking pine cones and I could pay some of it”, I explained.

“It doesn’t work like that Mr. Mickman”, the judge said. “You have to pay the entire amount of the court’s levy. $960.00”.   

“Well Your Honor, I don’t have that much and I don’t know how I could pay it all now. Could I make some payments over time?” I asked.

“No you can’t make installment payments. It doesn’t work that way”, the judge said. Then after thinking for a few moments he asked, “Did you earn enough picking pine cones to pay the original amount of the Parking Tickets; $96.00?”

So that was it; I ended up paying $96.00 and walked out of the Court House five minutes later, a free man.

I believe that to this day, my fingerprints and mug shots are locked away in the bowels of the Minneapolis Police Station somewhere, probably with a footnote stating that I didn’t pay my parking tickets.

I also began putting money into the parking meters behind Coffman Union.