Men's Book Club

The Knights Walper

Recently, a member of the women’s “Dinner and a Movie Club” asked me about the “Men’s Book Club.”  I think she had trouble getting her head around the fact that men would voluntarily go to a bar and actually discuss a book. I think she suspected that our little meetings were a front for some sort of subversive activity.  She asked me, “What really goes on in the Men’s Book club?”

I replied with the insider story of the notorious Men’s Book Club. All the lewd jokes, innuendo and gossip as seen from the inside, names, dates, places…

Beginning with an analogy:

My brother-in-law owns a 28 foot Bayliner which he keeps at a dockage in Penetanguishene.  Over the years he has invited me and others to experience the marvels of Georgian Bay aboard the Shunpiker.  One such trip took us to Manitoulin Island and back.  During this week long cruise we did some fishing with amazing results. 

My brother caught an 8 inch Pickerel and pulled it on deck after an epic battle, man versus nature, truly worthy of the Discovery Channel.  I recorded the landing of this monster with the video camera I had borrowed from my school.  To make sure the adventures lasted and before removing the fish from the hook and returning it to the water, in classic catch and release, I took the pole from my brother and gave him the camera to record me catching the same fish.  On camera who would know it was the same fish.  Its not as if they wear name tags.  We then in turn passed pole and fish to my two brother-in-laws who also caught the same fish.  Later, while playing the video during a family visit everyone was impressed with our prolific fishing abilities.  No one even bothered to question why our celebratory spirit consistently diminished with each catch.  

The secret of my little fishing ruse remained intact to this day, well with the exception of those reading this story and putting the pieces together into an ever tightening ring of incriminating evidence, other than that my secret is safe.  Captain Rick impressed upon his crew the time honoured and age old “Law of the Sea” in which whatever is said onboard stays on board. So, being true to my pledge I can say absolutely nothing about the drugs and/or alcohol, pornography and women we enjoyed while onboard.  Like the fish trick, these secrets will die with me; the rest fades into urban myth.

However, I choose to use the exemplar of the fish because of its Biblical resonance, multiplication tricks with fish seem to be a popular religious theme. Just as with the “Law of the Sea,” the mariner’s sacred code of silence practiced onboard the Shunpiker, the Knights Walper, (hereafter known as the Men’s Book Club) follows a similar exacting code of conduct.  That is to say, “What is said at the men’s book club stays at the men’s book club.”

Based on that Mason-like secret premise our modus operandi, (think of the Men’s Book Club as operating under a giant cone of silence as did Maxwell Smart agent 86 of Control), this might be a very short story, so I will have to narrate along the fringes of the past year as I experienced this liberal, intellectual group of teachers as they discussed, dissected and analyzed some of our culture’s greatest literary works.  I’m looking at a word count of about 2600 keeping in mind I must remain true to our time honoured and sacred pledge. For example, I can say nothing about the drugs and/or alcohol, pornography and women enjoyed while at the Walper, the rest fades into urban myth.  (500 words)

In addition to the Dell Classic Comic series and a few miscellaneous Readers’ Digest condensed novels we have also analytically examined one of Oprah’s favorites, The House of Sand and Fog.  Members take turns leading the discussion group each month in the basement of the Walper Hotel.  The last time I had been in this venerable old building was for my wedding reception, August 22, 1975. 

It was a dark and stormy night; I was wearing a bow tie with a yellow shirt, cuffed, plaid, baggy pants, and a green corduroy jacket with patches on the sleeves. I also had on platform shoes, very weird because I’m already over 6 feet tall.  The new height should have given me a better perspective on what was to come.  Anyway, time passed quickly, career, kids, dogs and divorce and I was back at the Walper a mere 33 years later to talk about books.  I felt like vintage wine with a twist top cap.

My turn at leading one of the monthly book studies ended sadly.  What can I say months later I am still mocked for providing a handout to the group. I thought I was being helpful in guiding the discussion.  I guess once a teacher always a teacher.  This did have other sad repercussions for me. Although I am still allowed to attend my present group since word leaked out about the handout I have been banned from joining the book club at the school I will be teaching at next year.  

Of course I shouldn’t feel bad as Casey (not his real name, but he works in Program Support) finessed an analysis of one of our novels by reading the book jacket and the short author bio.  Some members come late and rarely read the books, others of us just don’t read but  find that the company is good.  

Last month Marco led the group in a discussion of a science fiction novel entitled, Hominids. It is a story about a portal that apparently exists in a deep mine shaft in Sudbury linking us to a parallel planet Earth populated by Neanderthals. The whole time I thought the place was only famous for its big nickel, who would guess it also had a portal.  No one saw that one coming!

The novel causes the reader to compare and contrast how hominids and Neanderthals organize their society.  It seems Neanderthal’s also have Men’s Book clubs only they are allowed to give out handouts.

Now when it comes to Neanderthal’s I have to admit that I have very little exposure.  I am not a member of the Conservative Party nor will I drive all the way to Sudbury to meet one. I do know they first appeared in Europe about 200 000 years ago and disappeared just when the first humans appeared about 30 000 years ago.  I can’t prove it, but I have always suspected foul play.  Sure we had better brains and more sophisticated tools, but just look at the timing.  To add some further insight to this topic I do have one story barely touching on Neanderthal’s.  Oddly, it has to do with a visit to my dentist about ten years ago quite sometime after the Neanderthal extinction.  

My appointment was for 11:30.  I still had some time to kill and being somewhat avoidant when it comes to dentists I threw in a load of wash before getting on my rusty 3-speed bike.  It looked cool because it still had the baby seat on the back. 

Slowly I rode over to the clinic.  The dentist shared this building with a swarm of doctors (not all had left to the States for more pay and fewer hours), a physiotherapist, a pharmacist and a Jewish deli.  I parked my bike in the rack in front of the pharmacy.  Perhaps because of my high level of apprehension about seeing the dentist, I struggled with getting the bike to fit in the bike rack. It was like that round peg in a square hole syndrome, and for some reason that earned me a dirty look from the pharmacist.  I was not feeling the love as I walked toward Dr Rosel’s office.  (1000 words about half way)

Piped in soft rock music and the muted pastel-peach colours soothed my tensions as I entered the reception room.  Two kids played on the floor with their dolls oblivious of the danger they were in.  They looked up at me as I entered and awkwardly sat down.  I grabbed a magazine and started reading a Cosmopolitan article entitled, “Fifty Ways to Please your Man.”  Having only read to point 47 I quickly put the magazine down realizing I should check in with the receptionist at the desk as a little plastic sign instructed me to do.  

I dutifully identified myself and stated the obvious as to why I was there.  She briskly handed me a clipboard with a pen attached with a dirty string and quickly showed me the four places I was to sign.  She did not strike me as the kind of women who was aware of the fifty ways to please her man.  I was guessing maybe three, four tops.

After filling in the form and signing it I concluded that not one single male worked in this clinic, not one.  I was in a female, Amazon bastion.  But my over active mind was racing and I told myself that women for example see male gynecologists all the time.  What could be so bad about being semi conscious lying in a comfortable reclining chair while being attended to by a group of clinically trained professional women?  Refer to point 27 on the Cosmopolitan list.

With the exception of the receptionist I found that the staff were all rather attractive. I also concluded that to even get a job in this clinic you had to be at least and eight if not a nine.  That idea alone soothed my nervousness substantially, which was a good thing because at that moment my name was called by one of the eight’s. I do believe this was the first time I thought a white clinical jacket looked sexy.

The lengthy hallway led from the waiting area to several well equipped examination rooms.  I was made comfortable in room number 3. With precision movements a dental technician placed a bib around my neck covering my chest which had an immediate emasculating effect, somewhat like riding a bicycle with a baby seat; so I was familiar with the feeling.  The dental tech also handed me three magazines, one on body building (passive aggressive?), Sports Illustrated (stereotypical) and the same Cosmo I had been reading in the waiting room (score!).  

The muted pastel colouring scheme of the waiting room extended into the examining rooms.  The sign of female ownership reflected itself in the splendid interior decorating.  I had to concede that a male dentist would not have a facility that looked quite so attractive. (1500 words)

Dr Harley had his office in a renovated brick house on a tree lined street in the old section of the city.  It was decorated with more traditional institutionalized colours.  I don’t think he had heard of the word pastel.  Dr Harley was also a male and was my dentist when I was a kid.  Over the years he filled my mouth with lead.  Heavy metals were much more popular back then.  

I still carry a vivid image of Dr Harley bending over me with his thick dark eyebrows and narrow Neanderthal-like forehead as he was about to poke and prod the inner recesses of my gaping and drooling mouth.

Naturally, I couldn’t help make comparisons between dentistry in Dr Harley’s day and with my present dentist Dr Rosel.

With Dr Harley you knew you were in for a bit of pain; but after all wasn’t dentistry simply our nemesis for not brushing regularly, flossing or eating the right foods?  Dentists are just living proof that there is justice in the world, at least in a Biblical sense.  The verse “…an eye for and eye and a tooth for a tooth kept flashing across my retina as I pondered the intricacies of my dental past.

I was startled from my thoughts as Dr Rosel silently swept into the room from behind and out of my line of vision.  She was good!  She immediately took the high ground and had the element of surprise. 

Dr Rosel held the skull close to her body with a certain degree of familiarity, as if it were a past lover.  My suspicions were confirmed when the dental technician, also entering in my blind spot quipped, “Yes. It use to be her boy friend.”

We all laughed nervously and my nervousness remained as Dr Rosel asked me if I could tell the difference between a male and a female skull.

I confessed that I couldn’t and began to wonder where this conversation was heading.

“A male skull,” she went on oblivious to my unease, “has an enlarged sub-orbital ridge which is absent in females.”

Rosel subtly moved the conversation over to what might be the real purpose of the skull and that was to demonstrate my particular dental ailment.  She expertly explained, using the skull, why my jaw clicked when I opened my mouth and why I was suffering from headaches.

“TMJ,” Dr Rosel said under her surgical mask.  She explained that this meant, “Transverse Manibular Jaw Dysfunction.”  Having said this she swiftly departed on nimble feet.

On cue the technician was back.  Part of my treatment that day was to have impressions made for some manner of appliance to be manufactured for me in some distant laboratory and which I would be expected to wear in perpetuity.  As the young tech slapped the revolting pink gelatinous substance into the molds she began to casually relate her week end experiences at a reincarnation seminar she had attended.

“Have you ever had an out-of-body-experience?”  I think she was serious.

Before I had a chance to process her statement she told me about the key note address at her seminar.  The speaker was actually a former Nazi who had been reincarnated as a Jew with a horrific appetite for holocaust literature.

I meekly replied, “Oh really,” as she inserted one of the cold dripping castings into my mouth thereby effectively cutting off all hopes of future conversation in a two way sense.  At that moment I also fervently hoped for an out-of-body-experience to escape my treatment as my gag reflex violently kicked in and I found breathing and rational thought difficult. (2000 words)

The technician massaged my temples in order to calm me down and kick start my breathing.  She went on about her Nazi seminar leader.  I was simultaneously wondering if she was a Nazi in the present life. Before coming to any positive conclusions she began removing the fast hardening mold from my mouth.  The same process then began on my upper jaw as my ordeal was nearing an end.

Swiftly, I left Dr Rosel’s office and escaped into the bright sunshine.  I retrieved my bicycle under the hateful stare of the pharmacist’s cashier and as I peddled home I pondered the skull in Dr Rosel’s office with its narrow Neanderthal forehead just like…I stopped peddling and my thoughts chilled.  Where do male dentists go when they retire?

My word count is at 2408 so I have to make a hasty conclusion now.  As for all the dirt on the Men’s Book club as mentioned in the title, I’m afraid that just isn’t going to happen.  In the words of Captain Rick these guys would be on my back and down my throat like Jack the Bear if I betrayed their trust.  The truth will fade into urban myth because “What’s said in the Men’s Book Club stays in the Men’s Book Club.”  

Nice Try! (2611)

Marty Rempel