In Panoche, the humor is dry too
I thought we were going to a poker game.
But the name of the gameis pedro. The players tell me it exists only in San Benito County.
There’s no money on the table. ( What kind of card gameis that?)
Al Scioccetti, who has a mustache that would make Tom Selleck’s feel itwas missing a little panache, is dealing this hand.
“I’m 78, so, let’s see, I’ve been here 78 years,” he says. “I’m a hermitwanderer- retired miner.”
Hehas a collection of Benitoite gemstones. He tells me the “blue diamonds” can be found pretty much only in one spot in theworld, amountain about16 miles from here.
Larry Lopez, the owner of the Panoche Inn, the scene of this pedro game, is outside showing Rob a rock that he says can be found only here and at the bottom of the North Sea.
It seems there are a lot of rare things in Panoche.
The pedro gameis a Friday night mainstay. There’s a potluck — Kim Lippert has brought zucchini quesadillas to use up some of the squash in her garden.
Usually about a dozen people showup— i. e., one- third of the population of the town.
The pronunciation of Panoche is a matter of preference.
“If you’re saying the nameof Panoche Inn here, it’s Pa- noCHEE, but the rest of the time usually just Pan- OCH,” says Kim’s husband, Sam, a bigman with a laugh and a cowboy hat to match.
“It’s just never, ever ‘ panache,’ ” says Larry, who owns the place with his wife, Cheryl.
They bought it18 years ago. Larry calls it “the center of the universe.”
“You never know who will walk in that door,” he says.
It’s miles fromany town, on a lonely road between the coast and the flatlands.
“We liked that you could see so far,” Cheryl says. “I really like the way the rolling hills look in the evenings with the shadows.”
The hills are brown and have been for a couple of years. The bachelor brothers who live up the road ( turn right at the big haystack) have sent half their cattle to feedlots.
“With the sunset it looks nice and all,” says the younger brother, Jim McCullough, 82. “But look at those hills over there. Not a blade of grass. This is terrible. Four years of drought in a row. It’s theworst it’s ever been.”
His older brother Charles isn’t here tonight.
Everyone knows it’s because Charles, 88, had a real bad health spell thisweek.
He hasn’t played cards more than once or twice this year. The strong rancher’s body is failing him.
The crowd does what you would expect from friends in a time of crisis— they josh Jim even more than usual.
He hits it all back: “Oh, yes, I am handsome, aren’t I?” “What, there’s a difference between conversation and cussing?”
He’s wearing his usual checkered shirt and suspenders. Folks ask after his dog Judy.
Charles and Jim have named their female dogs Judy and their male dogs Sam since 1951.
Hewins a suspicious number of hands. Hel aughs at everyone’s bad jokes.
But on one of the breaks, he talks about the brother he has lived with his whole life. His eyes pool with tears that don’t fall and he looks off at the dry hills.
“We lost our father when Iwas 6. Hewas the oldest boy. Been more a father than a brother. Areal good role model,” he says.
“To listen to us talk, you’d think I didn’t even love him. Brothers always fight. But, no, he’s a great guy.”
Jim brought store- bought lasagna to the potluck. He needs to go back inside and pick up his foil pan and serving spoon.
He reaches downto give Murphy a pat and lets Larry’s tri- colored sheepdog, Diego, push open the red wooden door for him.
“Better get in there and say good night,” he says. “Pretty nice bunch, aren’t they?”