A few months after we arrived in our little town, we realized there were a few folks we saw pretty regularly walking along Main Street. There was the teenager with the tall ‘80s-style blue mohawk who held court at the tables outside Burgerville. There was the lanky guy we named Clyde (real name Bruce – see February 16 post) who always wore a Confederate hat and spats over his walking shoes. And then there was Pimp Daddy.
Pimp Daddy was literally a little old man whom we saw just about weekly. He walked with purpose and a slight hunch. Rain or shine, he always sported a fedora and a well-worn tweed blazer. Typically two or three paces behind him, his equally little wife scampered to keep up with him. He obviously had places to go and people to see.
Once, while we were in Burgerville, Pimp Daddy and his wife stopped in for some coffee and chit chat. Pimp Daddy didn’t seem to know a stranger. Indeed, he even chatted with Rob for a few minutes while I stood there giddily feeling like we were in the presence of a rock star. “Rob’s talking to PIMP DADDY!!”
About a year or so ago, we realized we hadn’t seen Pimp Daddy or his wife in a while. We were understandably a bit worried, but there was no way to know what had happened. Until last week’s newspaper.
Flipping through on my way to the Letters to the Editor, I came across a pretty substantial article on the Obituary page. The photo, taken in 1977, was undeniably Pimp Daddy, recognizable even without the fedora. His real name was Marvin and he died last Sunday at 92. He was born locally in the bunkhouse of lumber company and died locally in a foster care home after suffering from dementia and complications from pneumonia. His wife Mabel is still around. And Pimp Daddy’s career? In addition to semipro baseball, boxing, and real estate brokering, Pimp Daddy was once our town’s mayor.
Of course.
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