Cherokee Hat Trick by Brian Whitaker
A Story based on a bad day on a great vacation
A story based on a bad day on a great vacation.
The sport of hockey has a term for a player that scores three goals in a game; it’s called a hat trick. The player usually goes on to be named the #1 star of the game and receives nationwide attention for his superb gamesmanship. I don’t play hockey, but one time I reluctantly pulled a hat trick in Cherokee, North Carolina.
The beautiful Smoky Mountain cool June morning betrayed what was about to transpire. The sun gleamed down over the pine green mountains as we traversed the North Carolina hilly terrain in my GMC Sierra. The tourist trap known as Cherokee was slowly awakening as Brooke and I neared US 441.
The Royal Canadian Navy (Canadian Geese for those of you reading in Port St. Lucie) was bobbing up and down the Oconaluftee river as we drove by. Robins hopped along the roadside dew-covered grass in quest for their breakfast. A male summer tanager buzzed the truck, singing sparrows danced in and out of the green bushes. It was an Audubon Society member’s sanctuary; happy birds were ubiquitous.
I parked the Sierra, we got out of the truck and headed for the Cherokee museum. I felt comforted that my wife was assisting me on my lifetime mission of tracking down my Cherokee heritage.
I’ve always been a little apprehensive about doing this, why? I have no clue. But once I finally found my great grandmothers full name, then my plans finally went to full afterburner. I snickered for a moment as I remembered the second grade play I was in, the Pilgrims had set sail for the new world and I was dressed as an Indian. It was my job to tell Plymouth Rock to be ready for the Pilgrims! She asked me what was so funny, I told her. She giggled and said how sweet it was. Ever the officer and gentleman I opened the door for her.
A soothing Cherokee flute filled our ears as we walked into the lobby of the museum. It almost felt like I was being mystically transported to another time and another place as the music kissed my ears. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the music, “Ethereal.”
Brooke smiled, she went ahead and signed the visitor list at the entrance filled with authentic American Indian products made in China. She used our middle names since we were still on our mission of national security. Yes, Tiberius and Louise Wolf made paid a visit to the Cherokee museum.
The moment of truth had arrived; time to go find my great grandmother in the tribal roles of the Cherokees. Anxiety grew with every step, years of wondering were about to be answered. I ignored the Mountain wolf t-shirts, the wolf wall clocks, as well as the before mentioned made in China souvenirs. I was telling myself to breath as I walked into the book section. My head felt like it was full of helium when I walked into the section with the tribal roll books.
I knew what year my grandmother was born so I went with the roll that was nearest to her birth year. I picked up the 1909 roll and scrolled through it. One section done, no grandmother; I leafed to the next section, still no grandmother; I jumped to the third section, still no grandmother. I shook my head and took a deep calming breath.
Brooke wrapped her soft arm supporting arm around me. “Don’t worry luv, you’ll find her,” she smiled. Her encouragement sent me on to the fourth and final section. I skimmed ahead to find her last name. I came across a page that was near dead onto her last name. My itchy finger slowly went up the page…Margaret, Margaret, Margaret…MARGARET!!!
I found my great grandmother! My luv instinctively cupped my mouth with her hand so I didn’t make a fool of myself or bring unwanted attention; though I think lots of inquisitive visitor have had the same reaction when they found their relatives on the rolls. She gave me a big hug and told me how happy she was that I found my grandmother.
My finger ran up to the top of the page and the Graf Zeppelin that was my heart exploded in a fiery inferno. I was totally dejected. I went from the heights of Clingmans Dome to falling off Fontana dam. “Ryan, what’s wrong?” Brooke asked as I blankly stared at the title of the page.
“Non eligible…”
Being disillusioned wasn’t a strong enough term I would use as I gazed down at the disheartening word. If this were true everything I had been told was a lie. Dozens of articles I read told me to be ready for this, but I didn’t think it would happen to me. I remembered a writer calling and asking about my grandmother for a book he was writing. No way was this going to happen to me I arrogantly thought until now, I closed the book in total defeat and set it back on the shelf.
My fiery wife quickly offered her moral support. “Maybe she didn’t have the right paperwork, Ryan. It was 1909 after all or she didn’t file it on time. Government, you know, lots of red tape, paper work, paper cuts, and nauseating migraines luv.” She smiled and finished with a tempting offer, “Why don’t we go to that Dairy King you told me about? We can have some lunch and think this way through.”
I love Brooke, I gave her a great big smooch. I didn’t care if people saw me or not. The Dairy King, what a perfect way to drown my own Cherokee tears. Filled with renew spirits I escorted her out to the Sierra. My disappointed head would clear after a scrumptious meal and then I could email relatives that knew more about my grandmother than I did on what went wrong at the museum.
Moments later I could hear Yogi Berra in the backseat stating that it was Déjà vu all over again as the Dairy King came in sight. The dilapidated building was vacated; old faded torn posters were littered all over its broken windows. Doves had made a nest in one of the rain gutters. Another dark cloud moved over me and poured ice cold rain down upon me. Brooke placed her comforting hand atop of mine as we kept driving up 441, there was one last hope further up. I could feel an unwelcoming presence tapping at my left ear.
The last bastion of drowning my sorrows in a mega sized ice cold Coca-Cola was nearing. It was a burger place that loved to brag about how many billions upon billions of hamburgers they have sold since 1955. I hoped the management had changed hands, the last time I was here things weren’t pleasant in Pleasantville. I wondered if it would still be around if I ever returned, I dismissed the thought with a wave of my hand. It was a silly thought to think the place with the golden arches would fail.
I blinked. I didn’t see the golden arches. I blinked again; still no golden arches, but there was a Dairy King sign sitting where the golden arches were a few years back. It had gone out of business! The Dairy King bought it and moved to this better location! That dark cloud hanging over me rained itself out. I rejoiced that I could drown my sorrows in a tasty bitter snow storm!
I was shocked, but this was a good shock. I stepped out of the truck and gazed up at the sign. Even though I could smell smoke I closed my eyes and gave thanks to the Almighty. I opened them as I continued around the Sierra. My fiery wife hopped out of her side and grimaced, “What’s that smell?”
“Dunno,” I replied and looked at the Dairy King. I could see some roofing work being done. There was a vat of tar sitting on the roof, its smoke billowing into the air. “There,” I stated as I pointed to the guilty vat of pew. I grabbed her soft hand, wrapping my hard hand around it. I escorted my bodacious one to the entrance.
That is until I realized I had stepped in fresh wad of pink bubble gum. I looked behind me and I had laid a trail of stringing sticky gum behind me. I glanced down at my shoes and rolled my eyes. The gum was covering the sides of my shoes. Worse, I couldn’t rub the gooey stuff off my shoes on the concrete.
I tried the grass, it stayed on. I rubbed it on a concrete curb, the ornery stuff stayed on. I was sorely tempted to take my shoe off and rub it on the wooden table under that large tree, but I decided it wouldn’t be fair to the employees to do that. Finally I had to grab a stick to remove the offending gum.
Brooke patiently waited by the door as I washed my hands. I walked out and she pointed to one of the tables as she mouthed something. I didn’t quite catch it and she mouthed, “Children.”
I groaned, not because found the guilty party. I felt my trigeminal ravaged ear suddenly bracing for a sudden painful scream. We got our order and sat far away from them. One of them got a little excited eating his scrumptious ice cream treat and squealed, but thankfully the other little tykes comported themselves.
I took one bite into my juicy burger and closed my eyes. MMM, it was delicious. A couple of fries were next, followed by a swig of 21 oz. Coca-Cola drink. Yes, that nanny mayor of New York City would not be happy, too bad, it’s my right. We were having a grand ol’ time eating our lunch. Another delicious bite and I heard a faint siren in the distance.
The siren grew louder, we played it off; Cherokee is a busy place, not as busy as Gatlinburg. I hope it doesn’t turn into North Carolina’s Gatlinburg. I took another bite and the siren grew louder. I was very thankful my sensitive ear was away from 441, the fire engine or police car would zoom past without affecting my over sensitive ear.
Heh, much to our chagrin the fire engine pulled into the Dairy King parking lot. Two fire fighters dressed in their equipment hopped out and walked into the restaurant. I played it off and went back to eating some more fries. They were having roof work done, the work accidentally tripped an alarm…happens all the time. I heard the manager protesting the same thing, I was positive I made the correct deduction.
“EVERYBODY OUT!”
I glanced over at the door in total disbelief. My gut told me to take the tray, my brain said it would only be for a few minutes and I would be back to my scrumptious meal! More fire trucks pulled in as we walked out into the smoky Smoky Mountains…more fire trucks were pulling in. Cherokee’s police cars blocked off 441 in both directions. Sherlock Holmes and the flying rodent of Gotham would not be happy with my deduction skills.
441 was blocked as well as our exit to 441, the fire hoses were spread across the entrance and exit; we weren’t going anywhere until they put that fire out. I could feel my stomach saying, “I told you so,” as it growled for more grub. Thick noxious black smoke was rising from the tar pit, the roofer got it too hot and now you can clearly see fiery flames escaping from the sides.
The children were sitting under a shady tree at the hotel adjacent to the Dairy King. They were frightened by the fire. Brooke and I joined them and their chaperon under the tree. Together we watched for 45 minutes as the firefighters fought that measly pit in vain. Finally they broke out the foam and the Great Fire of Cherokee was put out.
The little ones were starving so the woman briskly corralled them into her minivan and took off for Captain Pepperoni’s Pizza Emporium without asking for a refund. The owner had watched from a row of hotels from across the street. He walked up to us and asked how much we paid for the food.
I shrugged my shoulders, “Maybe $11.”
He smiled, kindly opened up his wallet, and gave us the $11 dollars. He profusely apologized for the incident. He thanked us for coming and invited to come back some other time.
I smiled and took the money. This is about where I knew I was in deep kimchee. I saw my hand began to shake, my glucose level was low. I needed to eat something quick or our classified mission of national security would be jeopardized for the next 24 hours.
The nearest eating establishments were on the other side of town. The Loco Taco and another Golden Arches were there, but the speed limit was a paltry 20 MPH. I enjoy traveling through the town at slower speeds, it’s pretty, relaxing, scenic; but, I needed to EAT!
The trip seemed to take forever, we hit every red light in Cherokee. Mercifully we arrived, I parked in the first parking spot I found and hopped out. Brooke said to go, I hastily engaged the afterburners into the fast food chain that bragged about how many billions of hamburgers they have sold. It was busy, but they were efficient enough to get our meals out quickly.
The shakes were easing, but a new threat was on the horizon. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which was hours ago. Lunch was prolonged, throw in blaring sirens and the stress from learning your great-grandmother was on the Non Eligible List and you have the potent ingredients for a first class mind numbing, nauseating, vacation wrecking, trigeminal neuralgia migraine.
Yes sirree, I put the biscuit in the basket, thrice. I scored a trey, Hat Trick, a painful hat trick at that; finding the wreckage of the classified X-51 would just have to wait for another day. I would’ve been proud of this day, if I were a hockey player.
The sport of hockey has a term for a player that scores three goals in a game; it’s called a hat trick. The player usually goes on to be named the #1 star of the game and receives nationwide attention for his superb gamesmanship. I don’t play hockey, but one time I reluctantly pulled a hat trick in Cherokee, North Carolina.
The beautiful Smoky Mountain cool June morning betrayed what was about to transpire. The sun gleamed down over the pine green mountains as we traversed the North Carolina hilly terrain in my GMC Sierra. The tourist trap known as Cherokee was slowly awakening as Brooke and I neared US 441.
The Royal Canadian Navy (Canadian Geese for those of you reading in Port St. Lucie) was bobbing up and down the Oconaluftee river as we drove by. Robins hopped along the roadside dew-covered grass in quest for their breakfast. A male summer tanager buzzed the truck, singing sparrows danced in and out of the green bushes. It was an Audubon Society member’s sanctuary; happy birds were ubiquitous.
I parked the Sierra, we got out of the truck and headed for the Cherokee museum. I felt comforted that my wife was assisting me on my lifetime mission of tracking down my Cherokee heritage.
I’ve always been a little apprehensive about doing this, why? I have no clue. But once I finally found my great grandmothers full name, then my plans finally went to full afterburner. I snickered for a moment as I remembered the second grade play I was in, the Pilgrims had set sail for the new world and I was dressed as an Indian. It was my job to tell Plymouth Rock to be ready for the Pilgrims! She asked me what was so funny, I told her. She giggled and said how sweet it was. Ever the officer and gentleman I opened the door for her.
A soothing Cherokee flute filled our ears as we walked into the lobby of the museum. It almost felt like I was being mystically transported to another time and another place as the music kissed my ears. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the music, “Ethereal.”
Brooke smiled, she went ahead and signed the visitor list at the entrance filled with authentic American Indian products made in China. She used our middle names since we were still on our mission of national security. Yes, Tiberius and Louise Wolf made paid a visit to the Cherokee museum.
The moment of truth had arrived; time to go find my great grandmother in the tribal roles of the Cherokees. Anxiety grew with every step, years of wondering were about to be answered. I ignored the Mountain wolf t-shirts, the wolf wall clocks, as well as the before mentioned made in China souvenirs. I was telling myself to breath as I walked into the book section. My head felt like it was full of helium when I walked into the section with the tribal roll books.
I knew what year my grandmother was born so I went with the roll that was nearest to her birth year. I picked up the 1909 roll and scrolled through it. One section done, no grandmother; I leafed to the next section, still no grandmother; I jumped to the third section, still no grandmother. I shook my head and took a deep calming breath.
Brooke wrapped her soft arm supporting arm around me. “Don’t worry luv, you’ll find her,” she smiled. Her encouragement sent me on to the fourth and final section. I skimmed ahead to find her last name. I came across a page that was near dead onto her last name. My itchy finger slowly went up the page…Margaret, Margaret, Margaret…MARGARET!!!
I found my great grandmother! My luv instinctively cupped my mouth with her hand so I didn’t make a fool of myself or bring unwanted attention; though I think lots of inquisitive visitor have had the same reaction when they found their relatives on the rolls. She gave me a big hug and told me how happy she was that I found my grandmother.
My finger ran up to the top of the page and the Graf Zeppelin that was my heart exploded in a fiery inferno. I was totally dejected. I went from the heights of Clingmans Dome to falling off Fontana dam. “Ryan, what’s wrong?” Brooke asked as I blankly stared at the title of the page.
“Non eligible…”
Being disillusioned wasn’t a strong enough term I would use as I gazed down at the disheartening word. If this were true everything I had been told was a lie. Dozens of articles I read told me to be ready for this, but I didn’t think it would happen to me. I remembered a writer calling and asking about my grandmother for a book he was writing. No way was this going to happen to me I arrogantly thought until now, I closed the book in total defeat and set it back on the shelf.
My fiery wife quickly offered her moral support. “Maybe she didn’t have the right paperwork, Ryan. It was 1909 after all or she didn’t file it on time. Government, you know, lots of red tape, paper work, paper cuts, and nauseating migraines luv.” She smiled and finished with a tempting offer, “Why don’t we go to that Dairy King you told me about? We can have some lunch and think this way through.”
I love Brooke, I gave her a great big smooch. I didn’t care if people saw me or not. The Dairy King, what a perfect way to drown my own Cherokee tears. Filled with renew spirits I escorted her out to the Sierra. My disappointed head would clear after a scrumptious meal and then I could email relatives that knew more about my grandmother than I did on what went wrong at the museum.
Moments later I could hear Yogi Berra in the backseat stating that it was Déjà vu all over again as the Dairy King came in sight. The dilapidated building was vacated; old faded torn posters were littered all over its broken windows. Doves had made a nest in one of the rain gutters. Another dark cloud moved over me and poured ice cold rain down upon me. Brooke placed her comforting hand atop of mine as we kept driving up 441, there was one last hope further up. I could feel an unwelcoming presence tapping at my left ear.
The last bastion of drowning my sorrows in a mega sized ice cold Coca-Cola was nearing. It was a burger place that loved to brag about how many billions upon billions of hamburgers they have sold since 1955. I hoped the management had changed hands, the last time I was here things weren’t pleasant in Pleasantville. I wondered if it would still be around if I ever returned, I dismissed the thought with a wave of my hand. It was a silly thought to think the place with the golden arches would fail.
I blinked. I didn’t see the golden arches. I blinked again; still no golden arches, but there was a Dairy King sign sitting where the golden arches were a few years back. It had gone out of business! The Dairy King bought it and moved to this better location! That dark cloud hanging over me rained itself out. I rejoiced that I could drown my sorrows in a tasty bitter snow storm!
I was shocked, but this was a good shock. I stepped out of the truck and gazed up at the sign. Even though I could smell smoke I closed my eyes and gave thanks to the Almighty. I opened them as I continued around the Sierra. My fiery wife hopped out of her side and grimaced, “What’s that smell?”
“Dunno,” I replied and looked at the Dairy King. I could see some roofing work being done. There was a vat of tar sitting on the roof, its smoke billowing into the air. “There,” I stated as I pointed to the guilty vat of pew. I grabbed her soft hand, wrapping my hard hand around it. I escorted my bodacious one to the entrance.
That is until I realized I had stepped in fresh wad of pink bubble gum. I looked behind me and I had laid a trail of stringing sticky gum behind me. I glanced down at my shoes and rolled my eyes. The gum was covering the sides of my shoes. Worse, I couldn’t rub the gooey stuff off my shoes on the concrete.
I tried the grass, it stayed on. I rubbed it on a concrete curb, the ornery stuff stayed on. I was sorely tempted to take my shoe off and rub it on the wooden table under that large tree, but I decided it wouldn’t be fair to the employees to do that. Finally I had to grab a stick to remove the offending gum.
Brooke patiently waited by the door as I washed my hands. I walked out and she pointed to one of the tables as she mouthed something. I didn’t quite catch it and she mouthed, “Children.”
I groaned, not because found the guilty party. I felt my trigeminal ravaged ear suddenly bracing for a sudden painful scream. We got our order and sat far away from them. One of them got a little excited eating his scrumptious ice cream treat and squealed, but thankfully the other little tykes comported themselves.
I took one bite into my juicy burger and closed my eyes. MMM, it was delicious. A couple of fries were next, followed by a swig of 21 oz. Coca-Cola drink. Yes, that nanny mayor of New York City would not be happy, too bad, it’s my right. We were having a grand ol’ time eating our lunch. Another delicious bite and I heard a faint siren in the distance.
The siren grew louder, we played it off; Cherokee is a busy place, not as busy as Gatlinburg. I hope it doesn’t turn into North Carolina’s Gatlinburg. I took another bite and the siren grew louder. I was very thankful my sensitive ear was away from 441, the fire engine or police car would zoom past without affecting my over sensitive ear.
Heh, much to our chagrin the fire engine pulled into the Dairy King parking lot. Two fire fighters dressed in their equipment hopped out and walked into the restaurant. I played it off and went back to eating some more fries. They were having roof work done, the work accidentally tripped an alarm…happens all the time. I heard the manager protesting the same thing, I was positive I made the correct deduction.
“EVERYBODY OUT!”
I glanced over at the door in total disbelief. My gut told me to take the tray, my brain said it would only be for a few minutes and I would be back to my scrumptious meal! More fire trucks pulled in as we walked out into the smoky Smoky Mountains…more fire trucks were pulling in. Cherokee’s police cars blocked off 441 in both directions. Sherlock Holmes and the flying rodent of Gotham would not be happy with my deduction skills.
441 was blocked as well as our exit to 441, the fire hoses were spread across the entrance and exit; we weren’t going anywhere until they put that fire out. I could feel my stomach saying, “I told you so,” as it growled for more grub. Thick noxious black smoke was rising from the tar pit, the roofer got it too hot and now you can clearly see fiery flames escaping from the sides.
The children were sitting under a shady tree at the hotel adjacent to the Dairy King. They were frightened by the fire. Brooke and I joined them and their chaperon under the tree. Together we watched for 45 minutes as the firefighters fought that measly pit in vain. Finally they broke out the foam and the Great Fire of Cherokee was put out.
The little ones were starving so the woman briskly corralled them into her minivan and took off for Captain Pepperoni’s Pizza Emporium without asking for a refund. The owner had watched from a row of hotels from across the street. He walked up to us and asked how much we paid for the food.
I shrugged my shoulders, “Maybe $11.”
He smiled, kindly opened up his wallet, and gave us the $11 dollars. He profusely apologized for the incident. He thanked us for coming and invited to come back some other time.
I smiled and took the money. This is about where I knew I was in deep kimchee. I saw my hand began to shake, my glucose level was low. I needed to eat something quick or our classified mission of national security would be jeopardized for the next 24 hours.
The nearest eating establishments were on the other side of town. The Loco Taco and another Golden Arches were there, but the speed limit was a paltry 20 MPH. I enjoy traveling through the town at slower speeds, it’s pretty, relaxing, scenic; but, I needed to EAT!
The trip seemed to take forever, we hit every red light in Cherokee. Mercifully we arrived, I parked in the first parking spot I found and hopped out. Brooke said to go, I hastily engaged the afterburners into the fast food chain that bragged about how many billions of hamburgers they have sold. It was busy, but they were efficient enough to get our meals out quickly.
The shakes were easing, but a new threat was on the horizon. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which was hours ago. Lunch was prolonged, throw in blaring sirens and the stress from learning your great-grandmother was on the Non Eligible List and you have the potent ingredients for a first class mind numbing, nauseating, vacation wrecking, trigeminal neuralgia migraine.
Yes sirree, I put the biscuit in the basket, thrice. I scored a trey, Hat Trick, a painful hat trick at that; finding the wreckage of the classified X-51 would just have to wait for another day. I would’ve been proud of this day, if I were a hockey player.
Other Short Stories by Brian Whitaker
Cherokee Hat Trick
The Pharmacy
Gabepentin
Shakespeare My TN Buddy
Having a Good Time-TN Version
1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit
Going Down
Cherokee Hat Trick
The Pharmacy
Gabepentin
Shakespeare My TN Buddy
Having a Good Time-TN Version
1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit
Going Down
Disclaimer:
All information contained on TNnME web site is for informational purposes only and at no time should any content on TNNME be considered medical or legal advice or imply any action should be taken. It is in no way intended to be used as a replacement for professional medical treatment. TNnME makes no claims as to the scientific/clinical validity of the information on this site OR to that of the information linked to and from this site. All information taken from the internet should be discussed with a medical professional!
All information contained on TNnME web site is for informational purposes only and at no time should any content on TNNME be considered medical or legal advice or imply any action should be taken. It is in no way intended to be used as a replacement for professional medical treatment. TNnME makes no claims as to the scientific/clinical validity of the information on this site OR to that of the information linked to and from this site. All information taken from the internet should be discussed with a medical professional!
Photo used under Creative Commons from Mr.Sai
