As a child I lived in the Town of Franklin, Sprague's neighbor to the north, sort of. Bill lived in Norwich, Sprague's immediate neighbor to the south, sort of. Occasionally, we would drive through Sprague to visit family friends or head to relatives in Jewett City. As we'd drive by the Catholic Church and the Academy of the Holy Family, my Mom would always mention Fred's News or as the locals called it, "Libs"! Her comments really were not positive by any stretch of the imagination. I later found out Daddy only acknowledged Mom's statements, he never agreed with them. The area in which Fred's News was located was always of hub of activity. Young people congregated on the sidewalks on warm summer nights, the bar right next door always had the door open and you'd strain to see inside since it was a "forbidden" territory. Right next door to that "no fly zone" area was Allen's Hardware. It was only after I moved to Sprague that I understood why everyone called him "Old man Allen". There was the senior Allen, the junior Allen and grandson Allen. My Dad always called him Mr. Allen when he stopped at the store but when referencing him in conversation, it was "old man Allen!" I never realized there was more than one of them until I moved to Sprague as a young adult. The old movie house was also in between Fred's News and the bar. It was razed sometime around 1963.
Later in the seventies when there was a need for more housing, some apartments were put in where the bar once stood. The the former movie house location was now the parking lot for these units. Most of these building looked their age and since the Town was no longer a textile hub, these apartments over the years housed a variety of memorable characters. After our purchase of Fred's News, we were dubbed the "caretakers of the block", mostly because we were trying to upgrade the image of our new eatery and we wanted a safer environment for our kids to grow up in. This building was owned by a businessman in the area who just happened to own more than just of few of these places. The locals called the place, "LaPere Estates." One of the more memorable residents was Stacy. He shared the apartment with his friend Gene, both were deep-sea fishermen and at times would be out to sea for a week or more. Stacy was a very small, slight man that loved to party and fight. I think he learned to fight because he would tell whopping big unbelievable stories. When his audience would tell him he was full of shit, the little guy would challenge them all. "Full of liquor" as his roommate Gene would say, Stacy would get his ass kicked. Ironically, most of his stories were true and the man must of had nine lives. He had spent quite a bit of time on the Bering Sea going after Alaskan Crab, had a Russian girlfriend that was drop dead gorgeous, and had netted a three-foot long, thirty pound lobster on his last trip out! We can confirm the lobster story, it probably gave me more than just a few extra gray hairs! I was unlocking the walk-in cooler on the back loading dock, getting ready for our day to begin. I never heard him come across the driveway, nor did I hear him stop at the door of the cooler waiting for me. What I did hear, was out of the blackness of the early morning, a slightly inebriated fisherman in the loudest squeakiest voice imaginable, "Hey Diane, look at what the F#@% got caught in the fishing nets! Couldn't throw the poor bastard back 'cause he lost a Goddamn claw and he would of died if we threw him back. He all yours, ya want him? "What I want is for you to please let me know when you are approaching in the darkness at 4:00am and there isn't usually anyone else out here but me. You gave me a Goddamn heart attack!!!" "Oops, sorry" was all he managed to mutter. With that he said "I'm tired, going home to bed. He's all yours"!!!! What the hell was I going to do with this monster at 4:00am in the morning?!
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