AUGUST 14, 2023 – (Cont.) On the long train ride home, Cliff and I had ample time to continue the open-ended conversation that we had begun a week earlier. As the miles passed and Uncle Bruce was asleep in his compartment and Cory was snoozing in the upper bunk of ours, Cliff and I sat on opposite sides and looked out at the wild, open landscape surrounding us. Except for an occasional pick-up truck on the highway that ran parallel to the railroad, there was no sign of civilization. I contemplated the contrast between the land around us and the most densely part of the country—the greater New York area, which, of course, was home for Cliff and Uncle Bruce. We’d all had a wonderful time, and I savored the fresh memories of our week of ski runs against a backdrop of classic mountain scenery, the sumptuous meals we’d enjoyed together at the restaurant at the Alpinglow, and of course, getting to know Cliff as a friend, a cousin, a brother. Despite Uncle Bruce’s brush with a medical crisis and Cliff getting stuck on a snowmobile in shoulder-deep snow, all had ended well.
My thoughts followed a random path. I thought about Uncle Bruce, how adventurous he was to travel all the way out to Montana and ski. I wondered what would become of him; if he would be skiing when he was 80 years old, 85. Perhaps it was his non-conformity that allowed him to be adventurous. If conventions said that an older person should be retiring, as well as retired, Uncle Bruce would do the exact opposite. He would fire up, he would do the unexpected. He would stay young at heart and thus, stay young.
And yet, I knew all too well, how he ran things back in Rutherford. How Cliff was right when he described it as “The world according to Bruce.” Someday, I knew, I would be called to go out to Rutherford to sort through the whole mess, figure out what’s there, and undertake a protracted disposition of all kinds of assets—as well as a goodly amount of pure garbage. Surely it would be 10, 15, maybe 20 years down the pike, I thought, but the “someday” was a certainty. Would Cliff be long gone by that point, or would he still be around to lend a hand? Cliff’s future whereabouts and willingness were far more speculative.
I looked over at him. He was turned slightly toward the window, to afford a better view. He looked very relaxed but still awake and alert. It seemed like a perfect time to inquire. “Cliff?” I asked.
“What’s happenin’?”
“Cliff, I was just wondering, you know, about Rutherford and the property there and what’s going to happen to it all.”
“What do you mean?” he said, as he repositioned himself for an extended conversation.
“Well, as you know, as you can see, despite the little episode back there at Big Mountain, Uncle Bruce is going to live to be what, 90, 95, even 100? But there’s going to come a day when my sisters and I are going to have to take care of things out in Rutherford. Only it’s likely not going to be my sisters. They’re just not going to drop what they’re doing, roll up their sleeves and take charge of things out there. It’s going to be left to me, I just know it, and where the heck am I going to start?”
“I don’t envy you, Eric. But I think you’re capable. I think you’ll figure it out.” Cliff turned his head and glanced out the window, not to see the unfolding countryside but to gather his breath. “All I ask,” he said, looking back at me, “is that whatever happens, you’ll treat me fairly, and what I mean by that, Eric, is that you and your sisters don’t just kick me out of my space, don’t say, sorry, you don’t have a lease, so we’re telling you to take a hike. Eric, I don’t know if you realize it, but that location is so vital to my business. It’s right at the center of the world where I operate, and you probably don’t know it, but I have stuff stored all over the place there. Not just in the store, but down in the basement, out in the truck garage, in the old rug-drying room. I’ve got vaults upstairs, everywhere. It would be a huge problem for me if I had to leave.
“You probably don’t know this either,” Cliff continued, “but your uncle has never given me a lease. For years now, I’ve asked for a long-term lease, but he’s never given me one.”
Cliff’s predicament would prove to be hugely ironic. Uncle Bruce never would give Cliff a long-term lease—even after Cliff gave Uncle Bruce a long-term lease on life outside confinement in an institution, a fact that Uncle Bruce would never acknowledge, in thought or in action.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
