Early in the evening I couldnâ€™t get to my site. I donâ€™t know why. Sometimes goofy shit just happens. I went outside in the 94 degree temperature to do a little reading and to smoke a CAO Gold Robusto. The temperature dropped into the eighties. Like I said, sometimes goofy shit just happens. I put the cigar out and closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew it was dark and three hours later. The Bookerâ€™s Bourbon may have had something to do with it.
So, I came inside and fired up the net, and I was able to get to my site. Go figure.
Once there, I saw that V-Man is sporting a â€œMr. Cleanâ€ tee shirt. Very cool, and it reminded me of a story that sounds like bullshit. Iâ€™m thinking I should tell it, knowing it to be true, but also knowing that it sounds like bullshit.
Anyway, hereâ€™s the story.
Back in the late fifties, I was a Boy Scout. In fact, I was a patrol leader. The troop met once per week in the basement of a local Presbyterian church. However, every other week, my patrol held a patrol meeting. Each meeting was held at the home of a different patrol member.
One week, the meeting was held at the home of Mike Morgan, a member of the patrol. (That is his real name. So, if there is a one a zillion chance that he will read this, he can confirm or deny this story.)
Anyway, Mike Morgan was damned near twice the size of the rest of us eleven and twelve year olds. We all wore the â€œstylishâ€ shoes and clothes of the day, but Mike wore flannel shirts and work boots and looked seven or eight years older than the rest of us. He also seemed like a bit of a hick to me, but he was, nonetheless, a nice guy.
So, when I arrived at Mikeâ€™s house (actually it was an apartment over a store on the main street), I had expected to be greeted by a â€œmom,â€ which was what usually happened at patrol meetings. Instead, Mike himself came to the door and led me upstairs to the apartment, where several other patrol members had already arrived.
Before the meeting got underway, Mike explained that he lived in the apartment with his dad. I suppose he read the â€œmom-lessâ€ angst on everyoneâ€™s face. I remember secretly thinking that, being mom-less, might go a long way to explaining Mikeâ€™s general lack of â€œstyleâ€ in shoes and clothing. I felt bad for having thought of him as a â€œhickâ€.
Then he dad walked into the room.
He was HUGE, and he had a completely bald head! (Only Yul Brynner had a completely bald head back then.) He was a lot bigger than Mike, and he wore the same kind of flannel shirt and work boots that Mike wore. He was a nice man, but I couldnâ€™t help staring at this menacing looking giant.
Once his dad left the room, Mike explained that his dad was a professional wrestler, which I thought was pretty amazing. Then he said, â€œDo you know that stuff called â€˜Mr. Clean?â€™ My dad was the model for â€˜Mr. Clean.â€™â€ At the time, I had absolutely no doubt that Mike was telling the truth, and I believed that until this day.
So, when I came across V-Manâ€™s post, I decided to tell my little â€œinside story.â€ However, for the hell of it, I Googled â€œMr. Clean,â€ and I found THIS. WTF??? According to â€œWhere Are They Now?â€ the original Mr. Clean was an enforcer for the mob, who was eventually plugged at the behest of Carlo Gambino, once he became too popular and began running his own scams.
Was Mikeâ€™s father the mob guy who would later wind up being shot in the head? Was he really a professional wrestler? Was he a guy who just happened to look like â€œMr. Clean,â€ and maybe was a model for a then-current version of the label? Or, was the whole thing a Mike Morgan bullshit story?
Damned if I know.
And that’s the story.