Painting of the Silver Fox

“Wooweee, aren’t you a tall one?” my grandpa surely must have said when the 6’7” Indian walked through the door. He showed up at the Silver Fox to play some pool with his Yakama friends.
My grandpa owned the place. Most of his customers came from the bowling alley next door. When the alley closed up shop, so did my grandpa, and he moved on to other things. But this is still during the good years, somewhere in the seventies.
The Silver Fox had the works: bar, taps, pool tables, stools. Neon lights welcomed visitors and frequenters alike. The place wasn’t big, it wasn’t fancy. It’s just the stop the working man would make before getting home to his Lazy Boy. Not like there was anything else to do in Yakima, nor would anyone in Yakima want to do anything else.
The Indian picked up a pool cue, to which my grandpa must have said, “Don’t you go breaking that. I have a wife and two kids to feed.”
The Indian laughed. Everybody laughed at my grandpa’s jokes, his teasing, and his jolliness. When we went out in public with him –no joke –he knew everyone. And if he didn’t, he soon would.
So it really doesn’t come as any surprise that not only did he get to know this particular Indian, but that the Indian came to like him and his place enough to decorate it.
“You know what, Ernie,” the Indian must have said. “Taverns like this…they could use a touch of art, don’t you think?” Maybe he went on to share what significance the fox had in Native American mythology. He surely told my grandpa how he was an artist. It was how he made ends meet.
“Well, if you’re offering, I sure won’t say ‘no’.” My grandpa probably eyed the wall opposite the bar. “Yeah, right there. We could use a silver fox right there.”
The Indian would have followed his gaze. “Hmm, a big space, but I’ll fill it.”
“What? No, you don’t have to fill that whole thing. Just sketch me something out and I’ll frame it.”
The Indian would have set down his glass, his palm flat on the bar. “Not a sketch. A full, big painting. A gift for you, my friend. Next time I’m in town, I’ll bring it by.”
“I’ll finally be able to set my stools back up! Where’re you headin’ off to?”
The Indian took a drink, savoring it. “There was a casting call for a big, ugly Indian. Needless to say, I got the part.”
Then he must have slapped the table and started toward the door. “I don’t remember the exact title…something about a cuckoo’s nest. See you, Ernie.”