CONFESSIONS

Story 2: WILDLIFE PHOTOGRAPHER

Well, I'm not surprised. The granddaddy longlegs did tickle the baby, but she only smiled in her sleep. So, as it's nice and quiet I can tell you another story.

Old Leo Sauvé– short, with his thinning hair dyed black—sports a black suit, a tie, and an old, wrinkled, tan-colored beret. He surprises me, asks if I can get him a reasonable motel room. I don't think think motel booking is part of my job description. But I suggest the Ivy Rose Motel, just off the expressway. "Is that okay with you, Leo?" I inquire. "That way I know where to find you."

Leo doesn't reply, just smiles. "My car just quit on de ramp to de bridge over in de 'tates. A lady 'topped and tried to jump start de car but it wouldn work. She said I need a tow. I must have looked poor because she gave me twenty dollar," he explains in broken English.

"So, you got a tow to here last night?" I ask as we enter traffic. The morning sky blushes pink as peeled ginger; the air is clear and sanitized from an overnight rain.

"Yes. De lady used 'er cell to call a tow truck. Can you believe she gave me twenty dollar!" he exclaims. "I slept in de car last night till de shop open for bisness."

"You must be exhausted?" I ask in a sympathetic tone.

"I am. My 'at is so wrinkled."

His hat does look like it's been through the wars, but he wears it anyway; claims to be a wildlife photographer, and not of birds. According to Leo, his subjects consist of bears—including grizzlies up close—of wolves in packs, and of deer. "Grizzlies will make a sound to warn you not get any closer. If you ignore de warning, then it's your fault if you get mauled. When I was up in de territories, I was within five feet of grizzlies and they never bodder me."

I'm puzzled, can't believe a man his age would venture into the wild. On the other hand I recall close calls with female bears with cubs near the Old Banff Springs Hotel (I bellhopped there in the sixties; my college days) "Why do you take these pictures?" I ask.

"I set up my own magazine. And I write 'tories to accompany de pictures. Spent a million dollar to get it started, and then I got 'art trouble and 'ad to 'ave an operation," continues Leo. "Bypass surgery. Now I'm retired and on a pension, so I 'ave to wash my money."

I suspect I'm missing something. But I play along. "What is the name of the magazine?" I ask; imagine being this close to the possibility of death adds urgency to one's life.

"It's called The Seven Sisters," he replies. The radio is on, tuned to the local AM station. A news bulletin reports a downtown shooting. But Leo keeps talking. "My teory is to keep moving so dat you're tired at night and can sleep. I've been all over North America. I just keep driving. One time when I was home to see my dad, he said that de last time he saw me I said I would be away for five week and I didn't return for five year."

"You sound like John Muir," I interject, the geography teacher in me surfacing. "Have you ever heard of him?"

"No..."

"Well, John Muir was the founder of the Sierra Club; he would decide to take a walk and not return for five years; he walked all over North America."

"Well, I don't walk, I drive," declares Leo.

"Oh, here we are. This is the Ivy Rose Motel," I announce, pull up in front of the office. "It's reasonable and has a good restaurant."

It turns out the motel is full—Leo thinks it might have been his hat, so he takes it off. I drive him next door to the Towne N Country. At the front desk, two obnoxious construction workers are having trouble  persuading the curvacious front-desk clerk to rent them a room. To get some relief she turns to us.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"Yes. This man has his car at our shop for repairs. He needs a room. He slept in his car all night, so he needs some sleep," I explain. "What are the rates?"

"He can have the corporate rate of fifty-five dollars plus tax," she advises through pouting lips.

"Is that okay with you?" I ask Leo.

"Do you have senior's rates?" Leo asks the clerk. She's a sexy thing but he doesn't seem to notice. Probably prefers bears.

"Yes, but the corporate rate is twenty-dollars cheaper."

"Your shop must have been the password," he quips, pays up front and fills out the registration card, bids me goodbye, says he'll see me in the morning.

Now, in case the water in the lake doesn't get inside the milk pail and make lemonade of it, I'll tell you in the next story about a fireman's equipment bag filled with rocks and Playboy magazines.

But before you continue, if you liked this vignette,  please hit the star to vote and link with your friends. By the way, I always wondered if Leo was for real. What do you think?