Column: Bob Dylan's house

column-bob-dylan-s-house

Dear Readers,

You are probably already wondering what today’s photo of the late Mayrene Griffey slapping me has to do with Bob Dylan’s House.  Believe it or not, it is a natural segue in today’s column.

The photo of Shelbyville’s favorite Avon Lady slapping me was a reenactment from an incident that occurred about thirty years ago. 

Sandy was cleaning out the bathroom closet. She found a little glass bottle shaped like an old automobile. I instantly recognized it as a bottle of Avon aftershave. My mother bought it for me when I was in high school from our Avon Lady, Mayrene Griffey.

I was overjoyed to discover there was still some left in the bottle.  Not just because of a sentimental longing or wistful affection for my youth, but because everything really was better in those days.

Coca Cola was made with real sugar. Kool-Aid was sweetened with cyclamates. Laundry detergent got clothes whiter with phosphates and young men were made irresistible with powerful after shave lotions such as Brut, Jade East, and Hai Karate. The most powerful aftershave couldn’t be purchased in a store. It was only sold by licensed distributors known as Avon Ladies. It was called “Wild Country.” 

I remember the day I got that little car filled with aftershave. I had to promise both my mom and Mrs. Griffey that I would use it responsibly and only as it was intended. There had been rumors of teenagers using it to spike the punch bowl at parties.

Twenty years later, when I splashed the Wild Country on my face it didn’t feel like I had remembered. The burning tingling sensation that I expected just wasn’t there. Something was wrong. Could it have gone bad? I told my wife I was going to give Mrs. Griffey a call to see if I was due a refund.   

My wife tried to talk me out of it. She said that Mrs. Griffey wouldn’t want me stopping by her house to complain about a bottle of aftershave purchased 20 years ago. I knew differently. Avon like Tupperware had a lifetime warranty and more importantly there was a special bond between the Avon customer and the Avon Lady. 

A few days later, I was standing in Mrs. Griffey’s living room explaining my problem. She said that she had never heard of Wild Country losing its mojo. She took the little glass car from me and poured a few drops in the palm of her hand. 

“Lean over here a little closer, maybe you just didn’t apply it properly,” she said. 

With one swift motion she transferred it to my cheek. She was right. After all these years, Wild Country still packs a punch. The stinging sensation was exactly as I remembered it.

On our recent trip to Minnesota, on our way to visit Bob Dylan’s house in Duluth, we toured an old lighthouse on Lake Superior. The lighthouse hadn’t been in use for over 50 years. Several artifacts that had been left behind by the last lighthouse keeper and his family were on display. One of the items was a little glass bottle that looked like an old-fashioned telephone.

The tour guide showing us the artifacts explained that the little bottle still had some of the ancient liquid in it. She took off the cap and offered up a smell from the past. Most declined the offer, but I took a sniff.

I instantly said, “Wild Country.” 

Our tour guide looked surprised. She said that it was in fact Wild Country aftershave, but I was the first person to have identified it as such. For me, it instantly brought back fond memories of my favorite Avon Lady.

Yada, Yada, Yada, we did find Bob Dylan’s birthplace and I took a photo of me standing in front of the house in Duluth. If you really want to see that photo, send me a message on Facebook.

Bonus Travel Tip: If you dine in Minnesota and their famous Minnesota wild rice is on the menu, get the potatoes instead. I’m not sure why in this day and age of truth in advertising it can even be called “wild rice.” It is an aquatic grass unrelated to rice of any kind. 

As Paul Harvey always said, “Now you know the rest of the story.” 

See you all next week, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.

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