The Fairfaxian/Mike Ghiringhelli
The year was 1967 and life was good for a 10 year old boy in Fairfax. My Dad had taken me on hunting trips before but not one that seemed so far away. We used to go up to the Kehoe Ranch in Point Reyes back in those days hunting for deer, but this was my first invite to the big Thanksgiving duck hunt.
My grandfather Joe , was an avid outdoorsman, and enjoyed fishing and hunting immensely. My Dad Bob, my Uncle Harry, my Grandpa Joe, and other family members and friends used to enjoy hunting on their day off from the restaurant on Mondays and Tuesdays. Back in the late 30’s and early 40’s it was not unusual to catch or shoot your food in Fairfax. Once Joe caught an 8-pound trout up at Alpine Dam. My Dad and his best friend Charlie Peri, caught a record 100 fish up at Lake Lagunitas before school even started. Why wonder they had to come up with fishing limits.
But the Thanksgiving hunt was the most famous of all. Joe loved working hard in the garden and the kitchen at the Deer Park Villa. But he really cherished taking off Monday through Thursday the week of Thanksgiving. First to hunt, and then to sit down with family and friends for a very special day of thanks. The gang would all drive up to Willows where my grandpa shared a duck club with his friends. The duck club was basically for men only. Sorry ladies, that’s the way it was back then.
Until my grandmother went up there to check it out. Antoinette was, shall we say, a spirited woman who did not mince her words. She had some strong opinions and advice concerning everything including the duck club, but that’s a story for another day, perhaps. Still the club was a sanctuary for men and as I was about to find out quite a dream for a sheltered small town lad.
The first good news I received was I found out that this trip was more important than school. At the time I was a rather active student at St Rita’s. Those were the days when the playground was separated by a line for the boy’s side and the girl’s side. Nuns had rulers and were not afraid to use them. Despite the warm atmosphere and setting of the school I jumped for joy when I found out I had a free pass out for a week!
My Dad woke me up to get a good start on the day. It must have been two in the morning. Ducks apparently get up earlier than I thought. We drove what seemed like for days. The farthest I had been out of town was South San Francisco where my mom’s parents lived. Later I found out that the trip seemed farther away because we drove so slowly. My grandfather had a friend who did the driving. His name was Piffero and he was one of Fairfax’s first cab drivers. Piffero drove so slow that he pulled over so bicycles could pass him. Life moved slower back then.
We finally arrived at the club. It looked more like a shack to me but it was cool. When I entered the place my eyes immediately opened up. No one ever told me there would be days like this. Everywhere I looked Playboy pinups adorned the walls. Every month and every year spanning at least a decade. These were innocent days. Miss Nancy from Romper Room was my idol. Captain Kangaroo was cutting edge. Hunting was much more fun than I ever could have imagined. This would have to become an annual event never to be missed I thought.
Shhh! I’m now in the duck blind and I’m literally freezing. It’s so early in the morning I was afraid to ask just how early it was. Hunting seemed fun up until now. I am in possession of a shotgun and I have shot it before. It hurts my shoulder. I have yet, in my few years of hunting, killed anything. Not at least on purpose. Soon ducks started flying overhead and shots were fired, but not by me. My dog Val would get all excited and go retrieve the fallen birds.
Suddenly I heard quacking. I opened up my blind and saw a beautiful Mallard swimming right next to me. I started up a conversation with him. Come on duck, you better get out of here. They want to kill you, go away now. But he spoke back to me. Hey you dummy. I have a broken leg here and I can’t go anywhere. Obviously. So why don’t you help me out here? That seemed reasonable to this duck hunter.
Hey Dad what the heck are you shooting at those ducks for? If you call them they just come to you. Perplexed with my conversation he looked from his blind into mine. He was in amazement. There I was holding a beautiful duck that was quacking away. The duck was my new friend. Look Dad I caught a duck. He asked me to give it to him so he could wring its neck. There would be no negotiation. No bribe could tear away that duck from my hands. The duck knew he was in the right place at the right time.
I took that duck home in a wooden crate. This was the talk of the entire duck hunting expedition. The duck stayed with me in my room for about a month. It was the greatest show and tell I ever presented to my classmates at St. Rita’s. My good friends Dean and Mitch Ongaro and their dad, Don, helped me bring the duck up to their ranch in Sonoma. The duck got better eventually and flew back home.
That Thanksgiving was quite memorable. About 60 of us gathered to share family time at the Villa. One of our guests was the luckiest duck in the world.
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