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Written by Bob Bassett Charlie Taylor was part of a long line of Channel 6 weather forecasters, and was just one of three who were actually meteorologists. Charlie was a likable sort and a good friend. He was tall, wore a toupee, and he knew weather. On the air, he tended to be a bit bland and all business. A smile would have helped his presentations. He never displayed anger, but was sarcastically envious of Ben Schneider who also had been a forecaster and was self-taught, which was the foundation of Charlie's distaste. One year, two week before Thanksgiving, Charlie phoned the elegant Mattapoisett Inn and made dinner reservations for his wife, young son and himself. Since Charlie's only duties at the station were the weather shows at 6:25pm and 11:25pm, he had ample time to enjoy a leisurely feast with his family. The Taylors lived in a rented, furnished home just a mile from the Inn, so Charlie made the reservations for 7:30pm. To verify and be certain the plans were firm with the restaurant, Charlie called a week before the holiday and the night before. "No problem, Mister Taylor, everything is confirmed." He was told each time. The Mattapoisett Inn is one of the nation's oldest waterfront hotels and restaurants. It's the original structure, with cozy rooms, fireplaces, and floors that have settled over 300 years. Their menu is famous for miles around, bordering on the exotic on occasion. It was a perfect spot for a good old-fashioned New England Thanksgiving. Charlie dashed from the station immediately after the early weather program and drove home to pick up his wife and son. At about 10pm that evening, Charlie approached me in the newsroom, and he bellowed: "DOES JOE MARSHALL'S PUB SEVER THANKSGIVING DINNER?", referring to the tavern we all went to after work. "Every year.", I answered. From this point on in the story, what transpired could have been a Hollywood comedy of errors, but it's absolutely true. Arriving at the Inn at about 7:15pm with his family, he was astounded to find the front door locked! Banging and banging, Charlie was losing his temper. The door was finally flung open by a drunken busboy. "We're closed!" he yelled at poor Charlie. "But I had reservations for 7:30pm!" shouted a now royally pissed-off Mister Taylor. "I called last night to confirm them!" The employee, in a drunken slur retorted: "We didn't have enough evening reservations, so we cancelled all of them." And he slammed the door in Charlie's face. What added to Charlie's fury was the sound of the employees drunken revelries inside, complete with piano and song! Charlie, not one to hang out with the gang, accompanied me to Joe Marshall's that Thanksgiving night. By now, 11:30pm, all the food Joe was served, free of charge, was all consumed, except for a handful of soggy potato chips! And to make matters worse, all of us knew of Charlie's plight and found a delirious joy in asking "How was your Thanksgiving dinner, Charlie?" as he wolfed down the soggy chips. The next day, I had the nerve to ask him what his wife and son had for Thanksgiving, not knowing that the family had purposely not shopped for food, anticipating the hearty Mattapoisett Inn meal. "HOT DOGS! GOD-DAMNED HOT DOGS!" he cried. A few years later, Charlie moved to a weather position in Louisville after being part of a stunning and sudden more by Vance Eckersley that affected both he and myself. But that wasn't the end of the Taylor saga. As they prepared to move to Kentucky, they packed everything - from paintings to silverware, all but the carpeting. Just one problem, you'll recall. They lived in a rented FURNISHED house. This was verified by Jack Delaney, also a resident of Mattapoisett, and a good friend of the landlord, who entered his property the day after good ol' Charlie took leave, only to find a shell of a home. Charlie Taylor had gotten his revenge on Mattapoisett! |
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