When I shared my thoughts about how some scents and aromas triggered memories from my childhood I shared a picture that was taken of me sitting at the farmhouse kitchen table.

Perhaps I overlooked that there was a monkey sitting on the table. My bad. I didn’t think anyone would notice. But someone did. Well, many someones noticed and they wanted to know what was up with the monkey. Thus I feel I owe an explanation.

The monkey’s name was Pete and Pete came into my life quite suddenly and unexpectedly.

My father was a good man. To me he was my personal hero. He was the kind of fellow that believed in lending a helping hand to folks when he was able to. He was quiet about his deeds. He cared not for attention or accolades. I suppose that’s why I looked up to him.

There was a man in town Daddy befriended. He really was a good guy and had been a cook in a few of the cafes scattered around town. He finally scraped up enough money to rent a building on North Church Street and opened his own little cafe. It was doing pretty well for a while, then one of his old demons came back to haunt him. He fell off the wagon. One drink lead to another. And you can figure out what happened after that. He went on a binder.

After he sobered up he discovered he was the proud owner of not only a chimpanzee, but a small monkey named Pete. Evidently in acquiring the two primates he had blown a lot of money. So much that his business was in jeopardy. It was about the time he was collecting his wits that my father happened by his cafe.

While my father had a cup of coffee the down and out fellow poured out his story. To sum it up he was broke.

One thing lead to another and my father agreed to buy the smaller of the primates just to help him make payroll.

It was winter and the little guy had to be kept warm, so my father put him inside his coat and zipped it up.

On the way home Daddy saw a man he knew walking along the road and pulled over to offer him a ride back to the country. The man climbed into the truck and off they went down the road. It wasn’t long before the fellow pulled out a tin of Prince Albert smoking tobacco and began rolling a cigarette. My father looked over and said, “I don’t mind if you smoke, but I don’t think my friend likes cigarettes.”

The guy looked over at Daddy and asked, “What friend, Mr. Harold? Ain’t nobody here but you and me.”

My father unzipped his coat and Pete’s head popped out. He looked directly over at the guy in the passenger seat. My father said he couldn’t get the truck stopped fast enough before the guy hopped out and thanked him for the lift.

Well, Pete immediately became our new best friend. My brothers and I were crazy about him. For a short while he had the run of the house. But at night we had to keep him in the bathroom. That was the only room with heat at night.

The picture of Pete and me was staged by my oldest brother who was the photographer for our school yearbook. It was taken at our kitchen table to depict a kid doing his homework while eating and listening to the radio. Of course the monkey was there to help me study. (In reality the monkey may have been a better student than I was.)

But Pete’s days were numbered. Mother didn’t care for a monkey running around her house. She ran a tight ship. Plus, Pete had a bit of a hygiene issue. To put it bluntly, he smelled bad. Keeping him closed up in the warm bathroom at night turned out to be a mistake. It wasn’t long before the odor was unbearable. Our towels smelled like monkey. Our wash cloths smelled like monkey. Everything in the cabinets smelled like monkey. Mother had had all she could stand and said something had to go. It was either her or Pete.

Gosh. If only Pete could have only cooked or done the laundry.

But for Daddy it was a no brainer. He tracked down the guy that had sold the monkey to the restauranteur and talked him into taking Pete back.

We emptied the bathroom cabinets and gave everything a good cleaning. After a while the smell faded along with the memory of Pete.

Mother was happy. And as my father would say, “Happy wife, happy life.”

There are smells and aromas that bring back memories of Christmases long ago. But the odor of a monkey isn’t one of them.

_______________
Rick Algood
December 15, 2019