What's Andy Cooking?

'My Life for the Last Month-or-so'

Part 1: Out 'West'


So, I've always had trouble with the idea that easterners think of anywhere beyond Ohio as 'The West.'

For me, the West has always been synonymous with the Coast. When I think 'going out west' I think temperate rainforest, sunset over the water, sandy beaches, and the rainshadow effect. I don't think plains, farms, or cowboys.

While I realized that this vision of the West was certainly a unique one based on the fact that I lived beyond what easterners defined as the West, I still thought of Washington and the coast as part of the western frontier. As part of that lawless ideal of homesteading and the Oregon Trail.

Ok, so maybe it's not.

You might have guessed where this diatribe is leading. That's right, Montana. And let me tell you, the story that I'm here about to unfold is a tale of life without borders, without rules. It's subject is the living epitome of the modern western frontier; a contemporary Wild Bill, if you will. Or Wild Kenny, to be proper. Well, here goes . .


Lindsey's family seems thin, at least compared to mine. This is thin both in the sense that there aren't many living relatives that she can relate through blood, and in the sense that even with such tenuous 'relativity' these family members are spread all across the country. In contrast, my family seems like an inbred band of northwestern bumpkins for the fact that nearly all thirty of my cousins live within 10 miles of each other.

But a good thing can be said for Lin's brittle web of a family tree: travelling anywhere has the possibility of a free room and a few meals. In fact, this is certainly the only reson this story exists as I'm going to tell it, since it all takes place in and around Kallispel, Montana where Lindsey's mother's cousin (Sassi) lives with her son. Confused yet? So am I. In fact, I'm either going to refer to this lady as Lin's Aunt, or simply Sassi from now on.

Really though, the only reason Sassi is important at this point in the story is for two reasons. First, she has four cats that drove my allergies to critical levels, and second, she has a son, Kenny, who lives with her amid the nests of fur and litter boxes.

Kenny, as I was introduced to his existence, is an ex-con. Let's just get that out there. Now, on the train ride out to MT, Lindsey let's me in on the fact that he indeed has a criminal record, though she knows little about what the charges have been against him. In fact, she's only really met him once when she was in Montana last - about six years earlier.

Ok. So this Kenny guy has a checkered past. Who hasn't? (*cough*)

Well anyway, as far as Lin knows, it wasn't for anything truly serious. Maybe just a few times he ripped off an electronics store or something. Who knows?

Our first day into town, Kenny comes by to look at the car which we'll be using to drive up to Glacier Park. It's at this point that we discover the room we've selected to stay in is actually Kenny's. This is revealed when he comes in to remove the battle axe from the night stand, just so we don't hurt ourselves stumbling about in the middle of the night. Thanks for the thought, Kenny.

So the car gets what it needs and we head up to Glacier. And the weather turns on us. And we run out of money.

Back in Kallispel for the last two nights, I'm already nervous about the high dander content, as well as the possibility that there might be some sharpened weapon waiting to fall off a shelf as I trip my way to the bathroom in the night. This is when Lindsey and I make a plan to head to dinner (I've tracked down a few choice pubs) and a movie, both within walking distance. But, as you might have guessed, Kenny gets himself involved in our plans.

Let's put this right out front: Kenny is an intimidating guy. Though not exceptionally tall, he is rather butch in a biker sort of way. That includes the stringy jet black hair that's pulled into a ponytail and the scraggly six-inch goat that shoots strait down from his chin. His voice sounds like he routinely swallows the burning embers of a menthol while cruising down the Montana open highway.

And not to mention he's pushy.

"Oh fuck, man," he says, "you don't want to go to Moose's."

I don't?

"We should go to Del's instead."

We should?

Great. So now he's not only invited himself along, but he's determined to head for his favorite drinking hole, a full forty minute drive out of town. Nervously, we protest.

"I think we were looking foreward to just walking somewhere, Kenny," I say, "Are you sure we can't convince you to walk with us?"

"Does this body look like I starve it?!" comes the glaring response. "We're going to Del's, man."

Ok, so using the excuse of getting back in time for the movie, we at least ensured that we wouldn't be stuck out in the boonies all night with a drunk Kenny and his drunk cronies. In fact, this is where dinner started to turn good.

For the duration of the meal, Kenny held an enlightening conversation on what it means to be a Montanan, the nature of life, and the merits of vegetarianism. No strong intimidation, except for that feeling of embarrasement from the fact that Lin and I are both placing our napkins back in our laps after wiping our mouths clean. Of course, there's still the ride home.

We get into Kenny's car, confident that he can get us back home safely and in good time to see our movie, while our conversations continue. Kenny points out a few of his friends houses along the way, and begins a monologue about friendship.

"A true friend is one that doesn't close their door when you mention the word 'felon'," he says. "A true friend would take a bullet. Shit, I've taken three of 'em already."

Now we really perk up.

"For a friend?" I ask.

"Shit no," he replies, "from a cop, though. Where do you think I've been the past four years?"

So he begins explaining that five years ago or-so, he was driving outside of the Tri-Cities area in Washington, when a cop pulls him over with a Governor's Warrant for his arrest. Calmly, he tries to explain to the officer that he's having a bad day, and it may not be the best time for an arrest. Surprisingly, the cop isn't having it, and insists that Kenny get out of the car. So this is about when Kenny pulls out the gun.

Kenny gets all his shots off, takes a bullet in the hand, the arm, and the gut. He then proceeds to charge into a fist-fight with the officer. At this point, I don't know what else to say except,

"Did you get any good hits in?"

"Shit yeah," he says, "I knocked that fucker out! The only reason I went down was because his partner was standing right there."

The rest of the ride feels like an eternity.

Keep in mind, the last (and only) time Lindsey saw Kenny was about five years ago during a family vacation, right around the time that the gunbattle would have happened.

The jail time for shooting at an officer lasts just about that long I guess.