Enjoy U.P. Stories from the View of a Yooper Join us for a trip through Michigan's rural Upper Peninsula in this collection of fictional short stories. Let the characters ofView from the SideRoad surprise you with their resilience, humor, and unpredictability. Whether it's a sailor who shuns water, an old maid who wants to shoot her cats, or a man who keeps his lover in the junk drawer, the stories range from witty to wry to weepy. Sharon is a master of the short form. As readers of her newspaper column and previous collections will attest, she never disappoints. Her stories will keep you turning the pages and thirsting for more. 'Penned by Sharon Kennedy, a hidden gem in the wilds of Michigan's Eastern Upper Peninsula, this book is a fine collection of humorous, satirical, and poignant stories.'--Jim Dwyer, Writer,Mackinac Journal 'View from the SideRoad weaves vivid tales with warmth and humor. The author really knows how to captivate the reader with tantalizing stories.'--Jill Lowe Brumwell, Author ofDrummond Island: History, Folklore, and Early People 'Sharon Kennedy is one of the Upper Peninsula's premier writers. A well-read columnist in the Eastern U.P., she has turned her attention to writing books and U.P. literature is the better for it. Her stories are reminiscent of Cully Gage's,Northwoods Readers, but with her own spin and style.'--Mikel Classen, Author ofTrue Tales: Forgotten History of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, recipient of Charles Follo Award / Historical Society of Michigan 'For some sailors, climbing the career ladder on a Great Lakes freighter involves paying a pungent price as illustrated in the story, 'Tank, ' a wonderfully funny portrait of what can happen to a lifelong bachelor oblivious to any sense of personal hygiene. This book is an entertaining read.'--Rich Hill, Author ofWest of the River, North of the Bridge From Modern History Press
Tank
Tank had sailed on theJoseph L. Block, a Great Lakes freighter, for more than 30 years. He was short, overweight, bald, and dirty. Especially dirty. He had this thing about water. He didn’t mind sailing on it from March through the end of the season in mid-January, but the thought of standing underneath a shower or sitting in a tub made him cringe. Other than being dirty, Tank had no faults. He was a good Christian from Trenary, a tiny town in Michigan’s Western Upper Peninsula famous for its Finnish cinnamon dunking toast. He didn’t drink hard liquor, smoke pot, sniff cocaine, stick needles in his veins, or chase women. He had no wife or children that he knew of, no close friends, no family other than his elderly mother, and no lawyers chasing him. But Tank did have two things he treasured—his red 1999 Ford F-350 diesel truck and his mother’s Pomeranian, Punk.
I met Tank in January of 2005 when we shared a room at the Holiday Inn near the Great Lakes Maritime Academy in Traverse City. The company we worked for, ArcelorMittal, owned theBlock and had sent some of us men for two weeks of training. We were engine room wipers which means we pushed a broom or mop and didn’t do much else. Once we passed this class, we’d be certified Q-MEDs. Don’t ask me what that means because I didn’t ask when I was told I’d become one if I was sharp enough to pass the tests. I could have cared less. I was happy pushing a broom and occasionally mopping the engine room floor, but I was pressured into this classroom business by my gal, Rita.
Anyway, I rolled into Traverse City late Sunday afternoon. I was driving my gray 2004 Chevy S-10 pickup, and I was tired. When I got to the hotel, I asked the little lady behind the desk to point me in the direction of my room. She handed me a card for 304 and told me to take the elevator and follow my nose. I’ve stayed at lots of motels and hotels—some dumps, some high class—but I never stayed in one that had a peculiar odor like this one. It smelled like somebody had died a long time ago, but the authorities had just found the body and decided to leave it where it was. The stench worsened as I got to my floor.
