The Wiener People at Head of the River

The Wiener People at Head of the River

By Jack Rawlins

”You know, Leroy, every time I fish off this old dock it reminds me of a story.  Happened right up the hill there in Head of the River Cemetery where we parked.”

“Gramps, everything reminds you of a story.”

“When you were little, you used to like my stories.”

“Still do when you tell me one I haven’t heard 20 times.”

“Did I ever tell you about The Wiener People?”

“You mean like leprechauns?”

“No. We don’t have leprechauns in South Jersey, for Christ’s sake! I’m talking about The Wiener People.”

“No you didn’t, but I feel you’re about to.”

“Leroy, do you want to hear the story or not? If you do, shut off your cell phone like I do when I’m fishing, and take that damn plug out of your ear.

“Yeah, I want to hear it.  There’s no such thing as Wiener People. But tell me anyway. You’ve got five minutes.”

“Leroy, you can kiss my wrinkled old bottom. Besides, I need at least ten.”

“I’ll give you eight.”

“Smart ass.  Just remember, I’m telling you this for your own good. Don’t want you growing up thinking there ain’t no Wiener People.”

“Gramps?  Please don’t start with day one.  Just tell me the story. Okay?

“Well, it was a late afternoon, pretty day just like this and I was cuttin’ through the cemetery back to my pick up when I spotted it. Looked like a little door, lessen a foot high, and maybe two hands wide, crunched down  ‘tween the roots of that big old white pine. See it up there where I’m a pointin’? Had a little brass hoop in the middle like the pull on a castle door.

“Well, soon’s I seen it, I know’d it was a trick. Your great grandmamma told me all about The Wiener People when I was little. Scared the crap outta me sometimes. But when the sun was shining, I never took no mind.

“Like I say, when I seen that itty bitty door, I know’d it was a trick. If there’s anything the Wiener People are not, it is careless. They wanted someone to find that door.

“I says to myself, I’ve got half a notion to kick it down. But it was only half a notion. I’m afraid of those little devils. Just as sure as my name is Tom Craven, they’d do me like they done Old Tony Murray.  Remember Old Tony?  Oh, hell no.  You weren't even potty trained when he passed on. Well, they drove him crazy.  Didn’t just annoy the hell out of him,  Leroy. They drove that poor soul crazy. He died in a nut house.

“First, though I’ve gotta go back a bit … give you a little background.  During The Depression, when I was about your age…you’re fifteen right?...there was an outfit called the WPA. It was a gov’ment agency. Created work for people that didn’t have none. Paid them a little to work on projects like building bridges.  And that’s how Old Tony got tangled with The Wiener People.

”Tony was crew boss when they built that bridge ‘cross the Tuckahoe right over there. See where I’m pointin’? Well, when they dug holes for the footing, they dug up six gold coins. Tony said he was in charge so he’d take the coins to an expert.

“Well, when word got out it started a gold rush. Crowds of people where splashing around in the river digging along the banks, and digging holes  anywhere they thought they’d find it.”

“Find what Gramps?”

“Why, Blackbeard’s pirate treasure, of course. Lots of old timers said Blackbeard and his crew buried tons of loot in the dunes down by Corson’s Inlet. Then he sailed down to the Carolinas, got caught and got his head chopped off.

‘Thing is, The Wiener People saw him bury the stuff, and soon’s he dropped below the horizon, they dug it up. Then they floated it up The Tuckahoe here to Head of the River.’

“Gramps. Where did they get the boat?”

“Hell. I don’t know. They probably snitched it. Maybe they rented it from Bob’s Marina. That ain’t important.  What’s important is they got it up the River and hid it ‘round here somewhere.

“Well, a week after they found those coins, some museum hot shot come down from Philly and checked them out. Said they were honest to God for real valuable Spanish Doubloons.  Told Tony he should put them in the bank

“Tony was a hard head. Never listened to nobody. So ‘stead of putting them in the bank, he put them in his fruit cellar. And that’s when The Wiener People got on his case.

“Every time he left his old Model-A truck for a few minutes, all the tires went flat. When his wife hung out the wash, soon’s she turned her back it was all on the ground. His prized beagles disappeared and folks said The Wiener People ate them.

“He couldn’t get to work on time because he always had flat tires. He was demoted to just a regular pick and shovel. Every night some of his chickens went missing, and The Wiener People treated his garden like their own vegetable stand. They stole his cow and let loose two pigs that he had fatted up for slaughter.

“Tony checked the coins in the fruit cellar every day, but it only took The Wiener People a few days to find them. Still they kept on him.

“One night Tony heard The Wiener People scurrying ‘round and cackling on the roof. So, the next night he took his shotgun to bed. When he heard them again, he jumped up and blew two holes in the roof.  But the cackling only got louder so he emptied a whole box of buckshot at them. The next morning his wife went home to her mother.


“After that, Tony took to sleeping in a chair in the yard with his shotgun in his lap. But that didn’t stop The Wiener People. One night when he went to the privy, soon’s he sat down they pushed it over right on the door side. He had to squeeze out through the poop hole which was hard to do without falling in the pit.

“Well, there’s a lot more that happened. Enough to drive any man crazy. And it did.
His wife stopped one day just to check on him and found him sitting in the pigpen babbling like an idiot. Which ain’t surprising ‘cause that’s what he was.


“Now, let’s get back to the cemetery: I never put much stock in those stories about the pirate treasure, but when I spotted that door I sat down on a toppled tombstone to study it. And I got to thinking…. I’m 80 years old. It’s a little late to become rich and famous. But maybe this is my chance.

I says to myself, I says, Tom Craven, suppose The Wiener People are ready to come out of the closet, so to speak, to let the world see them for what they really are?  Of course if they really have Blackbeard’s treasure they can come out and buy anything they want.  But hell, even if they don’t have a penny, I could get them on the Oprah Show, and Good Morning America, and all the radio talk shows.

There ain’t much call for freaks anymore, with reality TV and all, but whether they’re cute or ugly as sin. I bet they’d pull big crowds.

Don’t know how long I sat on that old tombstone. I thought and thought. And you know how hard that is? Ever see that statue of the guy sucking his fist all bent over like he’s taking a dump?”

“Gramps. It’s called “The Thinker,” and it’s by Rodin.”

“Whatever.  I sat there cogitatin’, ruminatin’, and speculatin’ for hours--- all the time staring at that little door not more ‘n  ten feet away.

“Gramps, you’ve only got two minutes left.”

“Damn it, Leroy! I’m coming down the stretch.If you don’t want to hear it, wire up and shut up ‘cause I want to hear it myself.”

“Please, Gramps. I was only kidding.”

“Okay. So I set there with the sun dropping behind the trees and making shadows from the tombstones reach out to one another like dominos. And it’s making a shadow on that little door. The shadow gets wider and wider--- makes it look likes the door is opening a crack at a time very, very slowly. I ‘spected they was peeping at me.

“Leroy, you know I’ve seen action in two wars. I’ve got a lot of guts for an old fart. But now I’m thinking I better haul ass.

“So what did you do Gramps? Did you run?” 

“Well, I’ll tell you what happened.  A big plane headed for Atlantic City flew over real low and loud. At the same time I could hear the traffic over on Rt. 49.  That quick I come to my senses. I says to myself, ‘There ain’t no such thing as a Jersey Devil. There ain’t no Abominable Snow Man living in Florida, and there ain’t no Wiener People under that tree.’

“I  walked over, knelt down and knocked on the door, polite like. No answer.  I was goose pimply right up my backside, but I grabbed the handle and pulled.

“It weren’t no door at all! Out come a wooden box with my end painted to look like a door. The top had two hinges, a rope handled. And no lock.

“I says to myself, Tom you’ve been had. But then I says to myself, maybe robbers left it here. Maybe it’s full of money. And if I pick it up maybe they’ll find me and shoot me. Or maybe there’s a body part in there, like a head or a hand. And I’ll get arrested for murder.”

“Come on Gramps! You opened the box?”

“Of courses I opened the box.”

“And?”

“There was a stubby pencil and two pages of directions with goofy clues. I figured it was part of some motor cycle gang’s cross country treasure hunt.

“I was disappointed. And I was steamed. I tore up the directions, except for the bottom of a page with no writing on it. Then I wrote a little note and put it in the box.”

“What did the note say, Gramps?”

“Fuck you people”

“Gramps, you’re a poor sport.”

“Maybe.  But that ain’t the end of it. I was still cussin’ and fumin’ when I got back to my truck. And there it sat with four flat tires.”

“Did you have a spare?”

“What the hell good is one spare with four flats?  I celled AAA for road service. Then I opened the truck door and my old ticker skittered. There right in the middle of my seat was a gold coin!

“I know’d then that weren’t no biker’s box.  The Wiener People were funning’ me. Follow their clues and they’d had me stumbling around these woods for the rest of my days, cackling their little asses off at my expense.

“ I’m too old to run, but you can bet your little behind I did a high speed shuffle in a cloud of dust right back to that box.  The lid was open and my note was still there.  I snatched it up, crossed it out, and scratched a new one.”

“What did the new note say, Gramps?”

“It said, ‘Sorry. Enclosed please find one gold coin.’

"And for a special touch, I signed it, ‘Respectfully, Tom Craven.’”

“Why did you give them back the gold coin?”

“Cause I don’t want to die in a nut house like Old Tony, that’s why.”

“Come on, Gramps.  Let’s go. It’s getting dark.”

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Word Count 1,997.