Valley icon Wes Dodds was a master of the french fry
Dodds could make a potato mouth-watering and fix just about anything needing fixing
Wes Dodds was old-school Ottawa Valley, spending his later years in a cluttered, backyard garage crammed with tools and cords and hanging hardware — every day fixing wise hands on what’s broke in this world.
A trained mechanic, he could do a little electrical, plumbing, carpentry, anything automotive, repair almost any machine with moving parts.
“He could fix absolutely everything,” said his son Kevin, 57, himself a well-known artist and gallery owner. “That was his job every day.”
Never had a cellphone or computer but, with wife Monique, built a cottage with not much more than a hammer and a hand saw, in the middle of nowhere.
He was a jack of all trades, in other words, but master of one: Wesley Gerald Dodds could make french fries very, very well.
The founder of Wes’ Hot Chips died Sunday, age 83, leaving behind a wife, two children and an Arnprior institution: a chip stand on Madawaska Boulevard that both marked the seasons and set a golden standard for deep-fried spuds.
“By the jeepers,” was one of his favourite expression at the white chip “truck,” though it has barely turned a wheel since 1963.
“You want it halfway?” being another. (It means first taking the box half full to add salt and vinegar, then returning it to be filled up, for better top-to-bottom flavour.)
“People loved him,” said Kevin. “By yesterday, I’d had 500 (Facebook) messages.”
Though he sold the business about 30 years ago, it continues to be a landmark in the Valley and Kevin says his mother is still peeling potatoes for the “new” owners, the Post family, who operate from the same spot, same old truck with the canopy and red lettering.
There were secrets to making the tasty sticks.
In earlier interviews, Wes — once dubbed the Gretzky of Grease by Citizen word-wizard Bruce Ward — explained that his eight fryers were not commercially bought but homemade using converted furnace burners, while the potatoes underwent a two-stage cook.
The first batch of oil cooked the middle, while the second batch cooked the middle-to-outside in much hotter oil, giving the fries a slight golden crust. (Kevin said another secret was adding the right amount of salt to the oil.)
In the era when Hwy. 17 still went through downtown Arnprior, the TransCanada went by Wes’s doorstep and, long weekends especially, the chip stand “made a killing,” Kevin said, with cars lined up in both directions.
But his parents worked exhausting hours from about March 1 to roughly Thanksgiving, Kevin said, recalling that he and his sister Cynthia would sometimes sleep in a second truck that was attending fairs and festivals.
“It was unbelievable how hard my parents worked. We never, ever had a holiday.”
Peeling would begin at 3 a.m. or 4 a.m., he recalled, and 50-pound bags were flying out the door, maybe as many as 50 a day. (They did hire staff, including the children, who worked for $1 an hour.)
In “retirement,” Dodds maintained several properties he owned in town, spent winters in Daytona Beach, Fla., and religiously scouted out garage sales. A child of the Depression, he was a collector or pack rat, and Kevin said his various properties are crammed with his findings.
“He came from a home where you never threw anything out.”
Dodds was raised on a farm outside Almonte, said his son, had a Grade 8 education and a strong Baptist upbringing. Even in his later years, Kevin said, his father enjoyed a fiery sermon and followed numerous preachers on television in the Billy Graham mould.
His death was sudden and unexpected. About a week before he died, Kevin said he came in from the garage and told Monique, his bride of 61 years, that he “overdid it” and his back was especially sore.
The next day, things took a turn and he could barely walk. He was taken to hospital in excruciating pain.
Over the next couple of days, he was diagnosed with a “spinal cord abscess,” a rare condition that can prove deadly. The infection spread from cysts around his spine to his vital organs, Kevin said, and a barrage of antibiotics could not stem the damage.
“By Sunday he was in a deep coma,” Kevin said, recalling the pain Wes endured his final week. “It was an absolute horror show to watch him die.”
Wes learned to cook fries on the farm and remained proud of a legacy forged in hot oil and homemade cookers, Kevin said.
And so, in his funeral bouquet, nestled in a bed of ribbon and red roses, was a chip of the man, the most Wes thing of all: a single, beautifully shaped potato.