Big and burly…gruff and lumbering…wide as he is tall, this guard man…all gussied up and poured into a smart blue uniform. He is district security for my elementary school. He sports a shaved head while bellowing his greeting to me in the parking lot. ‘Good morning!’ Birds scatter noisily as I watch him unfold himself out of his car, twisting his bulk this way and that to get out from behind the steering wheel. He waves a large waxed paper bag up over his head in triumph.
‘You know that bakery on Ridge, the one with the giant doughnuts?’ I nod politely even as my mind races to try to picture which bakery he is talking about. He surges on. ‘I get one every Friday…you could cut it into quarters and serve four meals…I mean, excuse me! It’s that big! It’s a big doughnut and it’s Friday!’ He cocks his head to the right as he talks with excitement. This hulk of a bumbly man with his black security pants and shoes…and I note that he wears no socks. He is barefoot in those heavy work shoes and he is a happy go lucky doughnut lover, this giant of a man on an exhausted Friday.
Despite all his unwieldy bulk and blast, he’s a sweetheart, this Clifford Avenue giant. Used for his sheer bulky size to intimidate the sixth and seventh grade boys who rally around the classroom in one-upmanship and bravado…he will roll them over, tough little boys who threaten the calm. ‘I’m gonna call the cops right now, and have you up on assault. You come with me and watch me do it!’ He stabs a thick finger at their collective chests and stomps off with the subdued students in hand; this big, hefty man with the world’s largest doughnut. It isn’t about anything rational. Sheer size and the threat of his roar squelched the obdurate boys back down to size. He worked hard this week for this sugary treat and he will have his victims and eat his pastry too.
‘You know, I go to the gym all week to try to keep the weight off’…he laughs in a raspy, whisky raw voice…rabbly and scrappy and points with a thick bent thumb toward his bulk. I think about this, wondering where indeed, he has put the extra weight he worked hard to work off. Whatever may have been worked off seems to be standing in front of me; this mountain of a man…sockless, pastry chewing, coffee swilling boy. He’s a tough edged sweetheart on this burnt out Friday…hovering over the rabble, scrabble boys who are old beyond their years. They are held in check by a giant dressed in uniform blue…the man with raw, red bare legs…with the big old angry soft heart and an even bigger doughnut…
690 Saint Paul 