Thanksgiving has always been one of my very favorite holidays. It really helps me hone in on the many gifts that the Lord has given to my family and me. I’m eternally grateful for all of them. One such gift was being raised in Lawler in the 1950s. In ‘Depot Street Memories…The Lawler Stories,’ I described the community as a town of character and a town of characters. Following is a piece about one such character. Happy Thanksgiving 2012!
The Original Stormin’ Norman
No respectable young Lawler lad in the 1950s grew up without earning a nickname. His was a long one: ‘Stormin’ Norman–King of the Bloodsuckers.’
His real name was Norm McMullen; and I understand that he died a few years ago. I don’t know any of the details, but have to believe that he left this world kicking and screaming.
Norm was the first real dare-devil that I ever knew on a personal basis. He lived without fear. If there was a challenge, he accepted it. Once, when we were playing “Cowboys and Indians,” he fell off a parked railroad car and broke his collar bone.
It was a different time back in the 1950s when my friends and I swam in Crane Creek meandering through Lawler, Iowa. There is a railroad bridge over the creek that seemed enormously high to all of us. Only the bravest of the brave dared plunge into the depths below. In reality, my guess now is that it was only ten feet or so from the water. At the time, however, we viewed it as a tremendous act of courage tackled only by the bravest of the brave. Norm jumped off the bridge only when all eyes were on him—with reckless abandon and great flourish shouting, “Here I come! Tarzan–King of the Jungle!”
There followed a huge cannon ball splash as he savored our admiration for his bravery each of the dozens of time we saw it that glorious summer. One day, however, there was a startling modification to his ritual. Waiting until he was the center of attention, Norm stood at the edge yelling at the top of his lungs, “Here I come. Tarzan…king of the…” Down he went into the murky waters of Crane Creek only to quickly emerge with the final words of his proclamation, “…eeeeek. Bloodsuckers!”
Sure enough. Our hero was covered with tiny black leeches that drove the rest of us to the sandy banks of the creek in shear terror.
That day a new moniker was born: “Stormin’ Norman–King of the Bloodsuckers.”
Norm had an innate sense of adventure and courage that would be good for all to emulate. He wasn’t the type of guy who wore a belt and suspenders at the same time. He wouldn’t take a map to go on a trip. I’ll bet he bungee-jumped when he was fifty.
I admire people willing to take risks and hope for the best. They know full-well that the proverbial dive into deep water holds elements of danger. But they do it regardless, believing that the potential reward outweighs the risk.
Hat’s off to you, Stormin’ Norman. May your dive into the murky Crane Creek water those many years ago be an inspiration to us all. Despite those blood suckers, you’ll always be ‘King of the Jungle’ in my heart and mind!
Bill Sheridan
william_sheridan1@msn.com