Story by Joshua Elie
Photos of “Uncle Pat” from the Elie family album
I was doing some cleaning in my warehouse the other day and ran across my old snow skis. Seeing them reminded me of my godfather Dr. Patrick C. Easto, “Uncle Pat” to me. He was a sociology professor at Eastern Michigan University for 34 years, though what I remember most about him was his mastery of the art of schmooze. To call him a ladies’ man would be far too conservative, and he really loved to party “high society.” What made him even more entertaining was, before he would come up here to the “sticks” two or three times a year, he would read books about everything we do up here for fun.
Fishing with Uncle Pat
I was maybe 8 or 9 and already an avid angler when he decided he wanted to “teach” me how to fish. He bought the fanciest rod and reel and filled a tackle box full of all that stuff that only seems to work on TV. He insisted we had to be to the lake at dawn for “dock knocking,” which is when you cast your line onto the dock and slide your bait off, to land as close to the dock as possible. I do not endorse this technique. Before the first cast he showed me a “secret” trick. Take a bead of sweat off your forehead and use it to lubricate where the sections of rod fit together, so they come apart more easily later. It works, too. First cast his bait didn’t land on the dock, but the top half of his rod did.
After he hooked a couple docks, he decided we should go deeper because that’s where the “big ones” are. I think he missed the part in the book where it says to put the choke on when starting an outboard engine. After countless pulls, each including a colorful metaphor and a lecture about my father’s aversion to engine maintenance, we made it all the way to the middle of the lake and back to the loading ramp, without firing the engine once!
Uncle Pat was now ready for a drink and a nap, which he exclaimed boisterously upon reaching land for the whole lake to hear.
Skiing with Uncle Pat
He used to come up every year for my birthday to take me snow skiing at the most expensive resorts. I don’t think he was all that interested in skiing because he spent most of his time in the lounge, where he chatted up the ladies and pointed out the window, bragging up what a great skier I was and how much he enjoyed spending time with me. The art of the schmooze at its best.
He really did enjoy spending time with me, though. One year he called my mother, sadly telling her he couldn’t take me skiing for my birthday because he twisted his knee while skiing and had to have surgery to put in a bolt. I remember her laughter when she told him I wouldn’t be able to go, anyway, because I broke my leg skiing a week earlier.
I hit a jump, ascending about 20 feet into the air, and landed perfectly. All I could hear was the cheering from the people riding in the chair lift. It wasn’t until I tried to slow down and hit a patch of ice … Oh, snap! This was back in the days when we had straps on the skis instead of brakes, and those are what got me. My boot came out of the binding. I do not suggest anybody else do this, but now I keep my bindings so tight that the ski will snap before my boot comes out.
After hearing this, Uncle Pat had to come up and visit. We played with Legos (the best B-day present you could ever give a child), and he taught me how to make “high society” Bloody Marys. Through the years, I learned how to make them better.
How I fancy a Bloody Mary
I am a simple country boy, by choice. It’s the only kind of life I ever want to live, though it’s still fun to pretend to be all fancy every once in a while. Put on some smooth jazz, don the coat and tie, make a “fancy” drink, light up a Cuban cigar and sit outside on the deck, watching my chickens peck the ground.
Elie’s “Fancy” Bloody Mary
1-pint or 2-cup glass
Ice
3 oz / 2 shots Polish vodka (Sorry, Russia. Poland wins this one.)
1 oz Italian dressing
1/2 oz green olive juice
1/2 T hot sauce (or to taste)
6 oz or 3/4 cup Clamato juice
1 celery stick
Fill glass three-quarters full of ice. Add all ingredients, Clamato last. Salt and pepper to taste. Stir. Pairs well with procrastination.
2 Comments
Hi Doug-
Thanks for writing in. When I was 21, I moved to the Detroit area to further my music career and ended up playing 5 nights a week and working construction 5 days a week at the same time. I wanted to look Easto up, but the fast pace of “city life” swallowed me up. After a few months, I took a break from the music and started coming “home” to the north woods on the weekends to catch my breath. Life flies by so fast that we have to find a way to make the time, ya know?
I remember your Uncle Patrick Easto. I had him for a methods of social research class at EMU in 1998. I really enjoyed the class and thought he was a down to earth, fun person to be around. Thank you for your memories of him.