and they auctioned off all the desserts. There were cakes and cupcakes and fudge and a gazillion pies. The auctioneer was a beefy fellow, a fisherman wearing a well-worn red long john shirt, with glasses on the end of his nose and a great sense of humor. He knew every single person in that gymnasium.
"What we have here is a gen-you-ine deah meat mincemeat pie,'' he says.
"ooooooooo" goes the crowd.
"15, 15, am I bid 15?'' he begins.
There's a shout from the back of the room: "Does that mincement come from the neck a the deah?''
There's a quick check with the baker, who is busy in the nearby kitchen washing dishes.
"Yes it does, right from the neck,'' he assures the buyers.
The price begins to rise.
"20, 20, 20 dollars?'' the auctioneer asks.
"20 dollars and 62 cents,'' offers one woman, counting out her change on the table.
"22, 22?'' counters the auctioneer.
Another shout from the opposite side of the room: "That isn't road kill, is it?"
Lots of laughter this time.
"No, absolutely not,'' the auctioneer asserts. "I have it on good authority that this here deah was killed on Back Cove Road.''
More hearty laughter.
"25, 25, 25?'' he continues.
"Wait a minute here,'' another voice shouts out. "I need to know if it were a Chevy or a Ford that hit that poor deah!"
The room fills with hoots and hollers and a few men pound their hands on the tables and the pie goes for $40. And one of the cakes goes for $40. And even six little chocolate cupcakes bring $40.
People in this poor, small fishing village, spent $40 for a cake they could make for $3.50, all to help a neighbor who had lost his home to a fire.
My right hand to God, every word of this is true. And I am swelled with pride for these people and how they care for each other.