The Porter Creek Incident

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The kids were finishing up getting settled in the crowded car. Brenda, our oldest, had taken her seat on the front bench seat between Sandy’s folks, Pap and Grandma. Amy, Dee, and Derek struggled to get comfortable with cousins Dustin and Darin in the back seat.

“You guys are going to have your hands full this next week with this bunch,” I said as I gently pushed the rear door closed.

“We will be busy,” Pap said. “But it will be a fun busy.”

His first grandson, Russ, gave Pap his name fifteen years earlier. Russ called him Papas, but the name was shortened to Pap over the years. Pap was a retired longshoreman. in his sixties, he was starting to show his age.

Pap was old school. His voice was gruff, and he only said things once. His sons knew that he was not to be argued with, me not so much. He tolerated the grandkids pretty well.

Sandy and I stood and watched as the car pulled out of our driveway in Sweet Home. We were looking forward to a week by ourselves.

“Those kids are going to be tired of bumping into each other by the time they get to Myrtle Point,” Sandy said as she gave a final wave. “I hope Dad can keep his cool all the way.”

“They will do okay,” I said. They are excited to have the whole bunch.

***

As they approached Roseburg, almost two hours into the drive, Brenda leaned against Grandma as the ruckus in the backseat was intensifying.

 “Are we going to stop for lunch?” Brenda asked.

“Yes,” Grandma said. “We will stop at Porter Creek. It’s not far past Roseburg and Pap’s favorite.”

With that statement, there was a minor groan in the backseat. 

“The food at Porter Creek is awful,” Darin whispered to Derek.

Derek was our picky eater. That was the worse thing the Darin could have said to him. Feeding Derek at home usually resulted with his mother fixing him something special every night, much to the discus of his sisters.

At a restaurant, it was a real struggle. Usually, we would end up with a plain hamburger, and I would usually have to explain to the waitress just what Derek meant by a plain hamburger.

“When he says a plain hamburger, he means plain, bread, hamburger and bread,” I would explain. “That means no butter on the bun, no mayonnaise, no mustard, no lettuce, nothing! Just meat and bun.”

After Pap and Grandma got the kids all seated at a couple of tables, they placed their orders. Pap took the order from the kids and relayed it to the waitress. Pap always had difficulty with the four younger kids, all their names started with “D’, Dee, Dustin, Darin, and Derek. He usually had to say the whole list before finding the correct name.

Derek ordered a plain hamburger. There were no special instructions for the waitress.

True to form in a small country restaurant, the food came slow, and keeping the kids entertained was difficult for the grandparents. Pap’s patience was wearing thin by the time everyone had their food..

Derek looked at his hamburger. It had lettuce, tomato, onion slice and pickle on the side, but the bun was loaded with mayonnaise, mustard and some kind of special sauce. There was no way he was going to eat this burger. He folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

“What’s the matter, Derek?” Grandma asked.

“I ordered a plain burger,” Derek said. “This has a bunch of stuff on it.”

Grandma walked around the table. “We can just scrape this stuff off, and it will be fine,” she said.

“I ordered a plain burger,” Derek repeated. “I won’t eat this.” 

Now Pap realized what was going on.

“Listen up, Derek,” Pap said. “I paid for that thing, and you will eat it!”

Derek sat there, arms folded and a frown on his face. He didn’t say anything.

Everyone finished their meals. Derek sat there frowning. He never took a bite.

Pap motioned to Grandma, pointing to Derek’s burger.

“Norma, you wrap up that burger, and he can eat it when we get home or for dinner tonight,” Pap said.

Derek didn’t say a word as Grandma carefully wrapped the burger in several napkins. His frown deepened as he realized another battle was pending.

Everyone loaded in the car again, assuming their previous positions. Nobody dared to say anything about Derek’s burger. They all knew that Pap had a temper when provoked.

The ride to Myrtle Point was less than an hour from The Porter Creek Cafe. However, Oregon’s Highway 42 was notorious for its curves.

When they arrived, Grandma carefully put Derek’s burger into the refrigerator.

“I will warm it up for dinner,” she said to Derek. “Do you want a bite of something to tide you over until dinner?”

Pap overheard that exchange.

“If he wants something to tide him over till dinner, he can take a bite or two of that burger,” Pap said, in a gruff voice.

“I’m not eating the burger,” Derek replied. 

“You will go to bed hungry then,” Pap said.

Grandma tried to hush Pap. She could see that there was a test of wells brewing, 

“Derek, you run along and play with the others outside,” Grandma said as she ushered him out the door. Then she turned to Pap. “Brenda says that Sandy usually cooks something special for him at home.”

“Will, this is my house,” Pap said. “I paid almost two dollars for that hamburger, and he damn well better eat it.”

Nothing more was said. At dinner, Pap retrieved the hamburger from the refrigerator. Norma intercepted him and stuck it in the microwave. But it eventually ended up in front of Derek. 

Derek just folded his arms and sat there.

“That’s your dinner tonight,” Pap said. “If you don’t want to eat it, you can go to bed hungry.”

“I am not going to eat it,” Derek replied. He sat through the meal.

When everyone got up to run outside to catch the waning hours of sunlight, Grandma caught Derek as he passed through the kitchen. She handed him a toasted cheese sandwich, and, without saying a word, pointed to the table on the back porch.

Derek sat and ate his sandwich. Grandma went in and talked with Pap to keep him distracted.

In the years following, whenever Pap’s memory comes up, the discussion always seems to include the Porter Creek Incident.

Photo by Mart LMJ on Pexels.