Fulmination

A Folktale by Ivy Dillinger



My grandfather tells a story which I don't believe is true. My sister Anna believes it's true, but Anna's whimsical and irresponsible. Anna's belief reinforces my disbelief.

My grandfather was an automobile worker in the early nineteen-thirties, and one of the founding members of the United Automobile Workers of America. He and his buds were pissed about the exhausting speed of assembly lines, the crappy working conditions and the complete lack of job security. In turn, General Motors got pissed. The bigwigs threatened to hire scabs if anyone dared to strike. But strike they did, sit-down style, led by my grandfather. (The sit-down was a more effective way to strike because by staying in the plant, management couldn't physically replace them.)

According to my grandfather, on the first day of the strike, a woman in a white dress appeared. (He always says "appeared" to ensure mystery.) No one knew who she was or where she came from. She was "sexy in a non-obvious way," he says. He claims she approached him, tweaked one of his nipples and told him to "cut the crap and do what you want and realize your potential." Then he says she danced away, laughing and hugging her body and rhythmically rotating her hips. "Next thing I know," my grandfather says, "I shot a load in my pants. I swear to Jesus!"

My grandfather went on to become a fairly successful painter. One of my favorites, painted in 1967, entitled The Last Time I Remembered To Forget...



Again, like I said, I don't believe his story's true, I don't believe the woman existed, but I like what he's going for.