History is brutal: A chat with Old Sam up at the cabin

The following in a satirical column by Edward Riche, a St. John's novelist, playwright and screenwriter. It's inspired by the rebranding of the rum brand Old Sam, as well as the Newfoundland and Labrador government's proposed renaming of Red Indian Lake in central Newfoundland.

It was after dark and the rain was picking up by the time Old Sam arrived up to the cabin. He hadn't been in years and got lost trying to find the way.

"I kept looking for signs for Red Indian Lake," he said.

"I should have warned you, they changed its name."

"To what?" he asked.

"Nobody knows," I said.

"That's a great name for a big spooky lake," he said, sitting heavily on a wooden chair by the stove. He looked tired from his long travels.

"What brings you back to Newfoundland, Sam?"

"Clearing my stuff out of the Liquor Commission."

"Heard about that. Took your image on the rum bottle for some kind of negative African-American stereotype?"

"Yep."

"But you're a pasty-faced Irishman," I said pouring dark booze in two glasses that could have been better washed.

"Look it's 2021, I don't have the energy to get into it with some merry scolds over who was/is what when in the complete absence of evidence one way or the other. I'm Old Sam, not Woke Sam.Besides, as it turns out, I'm English."

"I was sure your brother said your crowd were Irish."

"Yeah, he was really into the whole Irish Newfoundland music thing."

"Clooneywankerwas his band, right?"

"Cloonywacker."

"Sorry. Everybody identified as Irish back in the '90s."

"Budge more recently retooled his bodhrn and got it in his head he was Indigenous. They denied him his Qalipucard so he got a DNA test and sure enough, we're English with a little French, less Irish and some other sundry Atlantic shipwrecked."

"So your jolly old English mug is to come off the jug?"

"Happy to let it go. Whether rum or molasses, it's got a grim whiff of the plantation. History, right? Capitalism? Brutal."

Taxes and diabetes

"Speaking of the cane," Sam was pouring mix in his drink. "Go easy on the Coke, Sam."

"My diabetes?"

"No, with the new tax on sugary drinks the cola costs more than the rum. Sorry."

"Gotcha. Anyway, cheers!"

"Cheers!"

We drank.

"How are things in Guyana?" I asked.

"Enormous offshore oil discovery they assert will finally lift the nation out of poverty."

"Been there, done that. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it's rough," Sam said. He surveyed the shack. "Hoped to see Verna up here with you."

"That's over I'm afraid."

"Oh. Can I ask what happened?"

"She got several promotions at work so that she is now in 'a position of authority'over me. She felt it was 'inappropriate to be going up to the cabin for a bit of skin'any longer."

"Sad."

"It is. You have to take the good with the bad, and all the men she succeeded were complete incompetents. But I confess I'm lonely. We had some great times up here, Verna and I. Should have married her, I suppose."

LISTEN | Ted Blades of On The Go talks with Wally Dicks of the Newfoundland and Labrador Liquor Corp. about why Old Sam needed a makeover:

Sam reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a hand-rolled cigarette.

"Not inside, Sam," I said.

"It's torrential out there," he said.

"Sorry."

"You've started saying 'sorry' a lot.It's not tobacco, it's medical marijuana for my arthritis."

"In that case, spark 'er up." I said.

Old Sam threw back his head and laughed.

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