The Shambling Man

Victor McLaglen was one of my father’s favorite actors.

The British actor had starred in such classics as The Informer, The Quiet Man—for which he won the Academy Award--and She Wore A Yellow Ribbon.

My father loved to quote a line from Gunga Din where McLaglen, as Sgt. McChesney, tries to negotiate out of standoff where he and his buddies are hopelessly outnumbered by suggesting both parties go their separate ways and “no ‘arm done!”

I recently watched McLaglen in his last role, where he portrayed Harry Wittman, a punch-drunk prizefighter in an episode of Rawhide, which starred Clint Eastwood as Rowdy Yates.

Keep Those Doggies Movin'

The episode, entitled “Incident of the Shambling Man,” was directed by McLaglen’s son, Andrew V. McLaglen, opens with a chilling scene of the old boxer staggering around the plains throwing punches at non-existent opponents.

Victor McLaglen was a fighter in his younger days, touring in circuses, vaudeville shows, and Wild West shows, often challenging all comers.

His tours took him to the US, Australia, where he joined the gold rush, and South Africa, and he even fought heavyweight champion Jack Johnson in a six-round exhibition match.

The Rawhide episode was broadcast on Nov. 7, 1959. Thirty days later Victor McLaglen had a heart attack and died. He was 72 years old.

I’ve been thinking of my father a lot these last few days.

On Wednesday I finally decided throw out this creaky old recliner that I had brought over my family’s house.

Here and Chair

It was threadbare, the springs were broken, and the footrest was coming apart. I don't even sit in the damn thing; I just pile clothes and other stuff on top of it.

It had been in the family for years, but I got this sudden urge to rid myself of that chair. I put out a request on Yelp, got a quote and set up an appointment.

I felt good about taking this step until Wednesday morning when the guilt started.

This was my father’s chair, the one he sat in every night to watch TV—including Victor McLaglen movies.

If a man’s home is his castle, like Ralph Kramden used to say, then this chair was his throne. And I was throwing it into the trash.

The young man I had hired walked into my apartment and hefted that chair with shocking ease.

When he turned it over, I saw all the springs were rusted and I knew I was doing the right thing.

That night my father appeared to me in a dream.

Dropping Weight

In this delusion, my oldest brother was insisting I take a plane trip somewhere and since I have a terrible fear of flying—there’s no good kind--- I kept dragging my feet.

My father showed up late in the dream and tried to help me get going, but I realized that I would never get through security in time for the flight.

Last week I had another dream where I locked myself out of my apartment. Since Freud says there are no accidents I wonder if I’m telling myself to move on.

I am very slowly letting go things in my life. I look at something for years, it starts to bug me until I finally throw it the hell out.

During the holidays I finally decided to use a holiday candle I had been given 25 years ago.

More recently, during my Irish vacation I finally decided to get rid of my old-I mean old—green windbreaker, which I had for God alone knows how along.

The thing had lost its shape over the years, the color was fading, and the armpit was torn. It was basically a rag with sleeves and pockets.

Losing of the Green

We were in Galway when I decided I couldn’t wear that thing another second more.

It took some effort to break the fear of letting go, but I finally stuffed the jacket into my hotel room’s trash basket and checked out.

Getting rid of the emotional baggage is more challenging. I realized why I was so creeped out by the image of Victor McLaglen pummeling the empty air. It hits me where I live.

I think of the way I hold onto grudges, repeat painful memories, and refuse to make the changes that will help me. Maybe me and the Shambling Mam aren’t so far apart.

I have this empty space in my living room now. I may move a table over that spot but for now I’m going to enjoy the open space and all the possibilities it has to offer.

And I’ve got more room for shadowboxing.

Comments

Bijoux said…
The emotional baggage attached to material items can be hard to lose. I’m glad you have been letting go.
Rob Lenihan said…

Oh, Bijoux, that is spot on!

Material items really can grip our emotions. But letting them go is so liberating. It's just a matter of overcoming all those memories.
This was a timely post for me to read, Rob, as in the past few weeks I have been thinking of my mother who died nearly 8 years ago. It doesn’t help that her birthday is approaching in early Sept. after her death, my brother, husband and myself dealt with emptying my childhood home, which looking back seemed easier then the memories coming back now after so long. I too can remember certain pieces of furniture or other items, none of which I kept. Thankfully, we had already relocated to an apt and had to let pieces we had bought in our VA home go, so no room to add more stuff. And, in many ways, I am thankful for that.

Letting go is hard and the recliner obviously meant something to you because it was your father’s. You will still always have those special memories as you showed in this post. Letting go of physical things is easier than the emotional attachments. I know that as well, my friend.
Rob Lenihan said…

Oh, Dorothy, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts.

The birthdays of departed our loved ones can call up all sorts of emotions. And clearing out your childhood home is a heart-breaking experience.

Physical things come and go, but as you so wisely noted, the emotional attachments are much harder to get rid of.

Blessings upon you and all those you love.

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