Dad's Stories - Part 1

My father (who died in 1988) was an avid story teller. He would entertain me endlessly with his stories. Dad, as with most story tellers, never let little things like facts interfere with a good story. I thought I'd reproduce some of his stories here. I make no claims as to their truthfulness, nor that I even remember them correctly, only that they're as close as I can recall to the stories he told me.

At some point before I came along my Dad worked with two guys named Carl and Monk. Carl is a pretty shadowy figure, but Monk was bigger than life and a great number of Dad's stories revolved around him. For this first installment I thought I'd offer a Monk story.

First, a bit about Monk. Monk was a nickname (duh!), I know my Dad told me his real name at some point but I've long since forgotten it. His friends called him Monk because he looked like a gorilla, medium height but broad and strong, with more hair on his back than most men have on their heads. Dad claimed Monk was the strongest man he ever met, that Monk could chin himself from ceiling joists, holding on from underneath by his fingertips.

Dad, Monk and Carl were merchant seamen. When their ship was in port they'd room together, if the ship was in for overhaul or repairs they'd get jobs. At one such time they had a furnished apartment and had jobs on a late shift. Their landlord was cheap, he'd turn off the heat at night, so when the three guys came home is was cold enough to see their breath in their apartment. Well one evening Monk said he wasn't going to work, he wasn't feeling well. When Dad and Carl got home Monk informed them that he'd found them a new, better place to stay. Monk had even packed their belongings for them and had them waiting for them, Dad and Carl didn't even have to go into their old apartment, they just grabbed their stuff and went off to their new place. All went well until they received a letter to appear in court, it seemed their former landlord was suing them for damages to the apartment. It seemed that Monk had painted the apartment before they moved out. It further seemed that he'd painted it black. Further evidence showed that the black paint he used was paint he'd gotten from the shipyard and was meant for painting the stacks on the ships. This paint was apparently about the consistency of tar, and it was on the walls, the wood work, even the kitchen cabinets. The only way to get this stuff off the walls would be to burn the place down.

Upon appearing in court, Monk produced a contract that he'd made with the landlord. He told the landlord he wanted to paint the apartment at his own expense to cheer the place up. The landlord, cheap as he was, jumped at the chance to get his place painted for free. He signed a contract giving Monk permission to paint the apartment "any color he liked". Monk told the judge "Your honor, I like black." Case dismissed.

Is this story true? In the spirit of Winston Churchill, of course it's true, or it ought to be, and more and better besides.