Vending Machine Rant

One night in the Nautilus Marine break room, a tall, bearded, drunken hillbilly staggered into the break room to buy something from a vending machine. He was dressed in a camouflaged jacket and rubber boots. He claimed the change machine short-changed him 25 cents which triggered what can only be described as a complete reversion to savagery.

I recorded his comments in a journal I was keeping at the time:

"A tall bearded hillbilly...claims the dollar bill changer only gave him 75 cents back for his dollar. His initial comment was, 'Hey!...It only gave me 75 cents!! But, hey!...That's all I need!' After he finished his snack though, he started beating on the change machine and yelling for somebody to 'Call the fuckin' cops'. 

He tried to write on the wall that the machine owed him money, but his pen was dry; so he hurled it against a nearby table and sat down with his face in his hands. Soon, he started to demand that somebody, 'Call the fuckin' cops'!!"  

"He says, 'If I robbed a liquor store, they'd call the cops on me; but this machine can rip me off a quarter and the cops don't even care.'" 

"Now he's swaying a lot. He can barely hold his head up straight. He's saying, 'Fuck America' and 'God Damn America' over and over and over again. Now he just added, 'God Bless Alaska'!! He'll be asleep soon." 

"Oh! He got a second wind. He's raving (to nobody in particular, just in case anybody's listening) - 'I live like an animal!...I'm a savage!!...If you don't believe me, if you think I'm full of shit, just live with me for a year - I'll show you how an animal lives'!!! ... 'I've been sleeping by railroad tracks and under trucks for years, usually with no heat"! [Jonnie comments: "ha ha, "usually"?] 'We're living in the end times...and when the cities fall, I'll be thriving'!!"

Packing Crew, Nautilus Marine; Valdez AK, 1991.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Sep. 27, 2004]

Alaska, 1990, pt. 2

Kennicott, 1990.

On the road to Valdez, we took a 60-mile detour to visit McCarthy and Kennicott, an abandoned mining town. It wasn’t the most convenient stop, but we figured if we didn’t check it out then, when would we? The journey involved a treacherous 30-mile drive down a rough dirt road in the middle of nowhere. By the time we reached McCarthy, we had managed to ruin two tires.

Getting to McCarthy is an adventure in itself; you have to cross a river on a hand tram. So, we lugged our flat tire across the river and found a guy on the other side who specialized in tire repair. To our surprise, he fixed the tire for a surprisingly low fee. Considering how far we were from civilization, he could have charged us anything, but instead, he was shockingly fair.

McCarthy itself had a population of barely twenty-something people. It was quaint, but also a bit eerie, especially considering the dark history: years ago, a resident computer programmer went on a rampage, shooting up the town and taking out half the population, which amounted to about ten people. A real testament to the wild side of life in the Alaskan wilderness!

Plant foreman, "Mad" Max, Paul processing, me processing, & me on boat.

Well, after a pit stop in Anchorage, we finally made it to Valdez. We arrived with recommendations for Nautilus Marine, feeling confident with solid references and mutual acquaintances with some of the plant management. However, as it turned out, in the middle of salmon season, Nautilus hires just about anybody.

Icing salmon on the dock, working & playing in the ice house, packing w/ Erin.

Nautilus was hard work and long hours, but it was also a lot of fun. Every week, the community would host "The Feed" at a local church, where fishery workers from all around could come for a free meal. We also made it a point to have a drink at the bar where Captain Hazelwood got drunk before causing the Exxon Valdez oil spill.

Continued from Alaska, 1990, pt. 1

The Drunken Boat

Valdez Harbor, crack of dawn.

Surviving journal fragment, providing a pretty accurate picture of what it was like hanging out with Donald Kilbuck in the late 1990s:

July 1, 1998 - In the early evening, I was surprised by a knock at the door. I looked through the peep-hole and saw Donald Kilbuck laughing his ass off in the stairwell for no apparent reason. He's tired of his job in Valdez and has returned to Anchorage. Further questioning revealed his Native Corporation Check is due so he won't have to worry about work for awhile.

He plans to use the money from his check to ferry his van to Kodiak where he'll stay until his next Native Check arrives. Then he will use that money to deliver himself back to Anchorage. Well, we all need something to do.

I ended up joining him on a spontaneous 6-hour drive to Valdez where he planned to deliver a bag of clothing to his friend, Patrick.

The roadtrip scenery was beautiful as always, but especially so considering the sunny weather, there was none of Valdez's characteristic rain. We rolled in to town around 2:00 a.m. & hung out at Ihe Sugarloaf Bar which is owned by the Village Inn (Donald's workplace for the past month). 

Posted above the bar, for all to see, was a chalkboard with the message, "Today's Specials" painted on the top section of the frame. Instead of drink prices, the board said, "You're In Good Hands With Allstate - Jon D. Gilliom" & then my phone number! Donald's doing obviously. I have no idea how long it had been up there.

I was pleased to learn the bar did not close until 4:30 a.m. & started in on beer by the pitcher. Donald was determined to wait around until 3:30 a.m. & then go wake Patrick up & give him a ride to work (he works at the Sugarloaf too). The bar was a lot of fun & there were a lot of cool fishery workers in town from all over the country.

By closing time, Donald returned without Patrick. Apparently it was Patrick's night off & he did not appreciate the wake-up visit at all. As the bar began to close, a fellow named Chris offered to take us out on his boat, so we bought a six pack to go, the bartender charged us $18.00 for it! He claimed that since the bar was technically closed, he could get in a lot of trouble for selling. We were drunk enough to go through with the transaction.

At this point, we weren't sure if Chris was bullshitting us or not, but we were just going with the flow. Who cares? Sure enough, once we arrived at the dock, Chris pulled the battery out of his car, stuck it in a boat, and we were off.

As the sun came up, we were taking turns steering the boat around Valdez Harbor. It was beautiful and invigorating. When the beer was gone, we returned to the dock, reattached the car battery, and I offered to buy Chris breakfast in exchange for the boat ride. By now, it was after 7:00 a.m. and we were on our way to Sunday morning breakfast at the Totem Inn.

Donald & Chris in the cabin.

Chris, our Captain.

We really ordered up at the Totem Inn, but by the time our food came, Chris was face down on the table. I don't think he ate a bite of his breakfast. The restaurant became very full as the Sunday morning crowd was arriving. Chris was drawing a lot of looks and comments. I can't believe they didn't kick us out. Donald and I just laughed and ate as if everything were normal. We were super hungry and not about to leave, no matter how many people were staring.

When we were finished, we carried Chris out. Luckily he was able to vaguely direct us to a friend's house (or we interpreted it that way). We left him laying on the front porch and then began our three hour drive back to Anchorage.

111 for 1

Probably the only existing image of the short-lived, homemade, 
campground bar. Valdez, AK; Summer, 1991.

One fish-less day in Valdez, when work was slow, some campsite entrepreneurs whipped up a homemade bar out of pallets and scrap plywood.

They bought a bunch of cheap beer, a few bottles of whiskey, and a big can of loose-leaf tobacco; then announced the following offer to everybody on the campground (and passing tourists):

One beer, one shot, one cigarette - One Dollar!

What a great deal! Everybody was so happy.

There was no proper shot glass, but huge shots were being poured into an awkward plastic vessel, which I think was the cap from a can of spray-on deodorant or shaving cream.

They wouldn't roll your cigarette for you; you had to roll your own. But at that price, nobody cared. Some people just ignored the cigarette and considered one beer and one shot for one dollar a bargain in itself. It was fun for the few hours it lasted until the police put an end to it.

After the bar was shut down, we tore it apart and burned it on a bonfire. The above photo is probably the only evidence of its existence.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Apr. 15, 2004]

Valdez Pat

Forgot about this guy:

Pat.

 We met Pat in Valdez, Alaska, after our roadtrip from the midwest. He used to smoke pot out of a hollowed-out deer antler.

Pat samples Laura's campfire cooking as YaYa laughs (right)..

I remember him telling us his first ancestor to arrive in America spent their first night in America in jail. He said that as soon as land was in sight, his ancestor grabbed the first mate and threw him overboard because he'd been giving him shit during the entire journey.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 24, 2004]

Meet Donald Kilbuck

This is Donald Wy. Kilbuck:

Donald Kilbuck eating a tortilla in Homer, AK.

I met Donald in Valdez, Alaska, and was surprised when he told me he'd just been released from prison. I guess at some point in the past, his brother-in-law had been violent toward Donald's sister, so Donald went after him with a knife. During the trial, the judge asked Donald if he had any remorse, and Donald replied, "Yes. I wish I would have done him in." He then laughed out loud about it, so he got the full extent of the sentence. He says his jail cell gave him a really good view of Mt. Redoubt's volcanic eruption in 1989.

Here we are (with my friend James, in the back) in Cordova:

Donald, James, & me in Cordova, Alaska.

Donald led us to believe he knew people who would put us up in Cordova, so we took the ferry over with him. Cordova is inaccessible by the highway system, so it was a unique chance to visit a place that isn't terribly easy to reach. We weren't very welcome when we showed up at the local preacher's house during dinner. He looked very surprised to see Donald but did not invite us in. Instead, we spent the night in a tent, in the rain, then explored town the next day.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 6, 2004]

5 Johns in the John

Growing up, most of the jobs or classes I’ve been part of almost always had more than one guy named John. To keep things straight, we’d usually have to add the first letter of each John’s last name—John S., John M., and so on.

Things were no different in 1991when I was working at a fish camp in Valdez, Alaska. There were several Johns working there, and one day we found ourselves swapping stories about how common our name was. Note: I use the common pronunciation, “John,” but my name is actually spelled (correctly) - Jon, without the silent “h.”

That’s when we had a collective notion to take a commemorative photo of all the Johns on the crew. The setting of course was in the men’s restroom – also known as the John.

As a bonus, there was a Japanese man pissing in the background, though he almost certainly was not named John.

L to R: Big John, Blond John, Me, Bearded John, & Jon A.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 2, 2004]