Northern Exposure (1990–1995): Season 3, Episode 13 - Things Become Extinct - full transcript

Oh, cool.! The
lemon-scented table lights

came in. Yeah. Ruth-Anne
rush ordered 'em.

Holling's been dying to try these.

Wow. Little glass fishes.

They're anchovies.
Usually I don't like anchovies.

Well, not on pizza anyway.

You know, I've been
looking for something

just like that to film for my project.

A rare artist at his craft.

They're fishing lures. I got 'em
over at the Bait and Tackle.

They have lots of kinds. Minnows, smelt
- Oh, that won't work.



You see, I need something really rare.

Somebody who can make something
nobody else can make...

or do something nobody else can do,
like Holling's pies.

The lemon chiffon with crushed
pineapple? And the graham cracker crust.

He got the recipe off
the back of a box ofJell-O.

Shelly, order up. Oh.

Sorry.

Nice bag.

Unakhotana?

Bloomingdale's catalog.

Ed, I hate to be obstructionist.

The last thing I wanna do is stand
between a person and his calling.

Do I really need to be captured in the
act of making a tuna sandwich now?

I'm sorry, Dr. Fleischman. Thank
you. Now, what are you doing?



You puttin' together
another Cicely slice-of-life?

This is professional.
I'm getting paid for this.

Who's paying you?

I answered this ad on the back
of Filmmaker's Market Quarterly.

Right here.
"Footage on the vanishing breed.

For more details, write Box 42039."

What's that? Like when they
advertise ecological roach killers,

and you get back a block of wood?

Oh, no, this is strictly legitimate.

I get 50 bucks, and I get my name
in the credits. Ed Chigliak.

Wait. Vanishing breed.
You did say vanishing breed.

Yep. I'm not a vanishing breed.

Well, you'reJewish. That's
pretty rare. No, it isn't.

In Cicely it is.
Lots of things are rare in Cicely.

Box lunches, public
transportation, victimless

crimes. That doesn't
mean they don't exist.

Ed, being the onlyJew in Cicely doesn't
make me the last condor in captivity.

There's Jews everywhere. There's
probably thousands of'em in Alaska.

Tens of thousands. Really?

Sure. Let's take a bigger town.
North Tongass, for instance.

We'll look for Cohen.
It's theJewish equivalent of Smith.

Yankee Doodle Dandy.

No, that's Cohan, with a "han."

This is Cohen, with a "hen."

Okay, let's see.

I mean, in Queens alone, there's
probably some 300,000 listed Cohens.

Okay, we have "Coghill."

"Coldwell Banker."

Huh. They have a Coldwell Banker.
They don't have a Cohen?

Fine. How many people
could there be in Tongass?

2,044. All right. Fairbanks.

Major metropolitan area.
They have deli, right?

Yep. Fairbanks, population 77,721.

Okay.

"Cohan, Cohan, Co-"

There's one Cohen in the entire
greater Fairbanks area?

All right, wait a minute.
How about Greenberg?

There's always a Greenberg.

Greenberg, Greenberg,
Greenberg, Greenberg.

"Greenberg." Aha. See?

Three Greenbergs.
Also "Greenberg's Florists."

Okay? I mean, there's plenty ofJews
in Alaska, Ed. There's plenty.

Oh.

I don't believe this.

I'm looking at the entire list of the
borough of Arrowhead County residents.

1,613 people. Not oneJew on here.

There's a "Brommel."
There's a "Finnegan."

There's a "Tidewater."

Oh, a "Signorelli." I guess I should
be grateful for that. An Italian.

Not one singleJew. Not one.

How do you know? What?

How do you know?
Well, you can tell from the names.

How? There are certain givens.

Schwartz, Levine, Bloom,
Meyer, Markovitz, Silverman,

Cliffner, Kirchner, Millner.

You know, anything with "ner."

"Ner"? Yeah. Or "berg" or "blatt."

Steinberg, Goldblatt.

"Blatt"? Here's a good one.

"Almquist." Almquist. No Yiddish
spoken in that household.

Now, Almquistein,
there you have a niceJewish name.

Now, look at this.

I'm marooned in a county
the size of Wyoming.

I'm the single only person
of the Hebr-Hebraic persuasion.

Wait a minute. I know this name.

"Velachiske."

Velachiske. Is that Indian?
Uh-uh. Russian.

Russian. Of course. Velachiske.

The same name of the town my grandmother
came from in Russia, I think.

Velachiske. Velachiske.
Yeah, I'm certain.

I remember her talking about it.
They all had sheep,

and the Cossacks came
and hit people on the head.

This is very possible. There's
a big Russian population in Alaska.

Velachiske. Boy, oh, boy.

What about Costner?
Costner? What about it?

Is thatJewish?

Costner as in Kevin?
No, I don't think so.

It has a "ner."
Well, yeah, it does, but it-

I wonder if lightbulbs all last
the same amount of time.

I don't know. Whenever one goes out,
I know it always surprises me.

Hey, Ruth-Anne. How's my girl?

Ira Wingfeather. I haven't
seen you in a coon's age.

I've been in Shageluk. Oh.

Say, have I got some
duck flutes for you.

Wonderful. Yeah, I was
sendin' them down to Tucson.

They were movin' as fast as I could make
'em. This whole Indian revival thing.

But now, with the recession-
Oh, wow, too bad.

Oh, aren't they beautiful.

So delicate.

And look at the pinfeathers.

Won't see anything like them anywhere.
Hand-carved, one of a kind.

I'll put them right beside the cash

register, and they'll
sell like hotcakes.

Same deal as always? 60-40.

40-60. 50-50.

Same as always.

I'll catch you later, Ruth-Anne.

Bye.

Mr. Wingfeather? Yes.

Hi, I'm Ed. Um, I saw your flutes,
and they're really nice.

Well, thank you, Ed. Yeah. You're
the only one that makes 'em?

It's a lost art, young man.
A labor of love. Uh-huh.

Well, Mr. Wingfeather, I was wondering
if it'd be possible sometime...

if I came out and filmed you
making those flutes.

- Like when, Ed?
- How 'bout this afternoon?

A self-starter. I like that.

You ever consider sales?

Touch of menthol in the towels today.

Put some camphor in the soak.

Very pleasant. Quite bracing.

I think there's pomade
and butch wax in here.

My whole airplane smelled
like a high school study hall.

Thank you, Maggie. Just
put it down anywhere. Okay.

Phew.

Is that you underneath
there, Holling? In the flesh.

Got a letter for you.
Not from the I.R.S. is it?

Mmm, no.

Quebec. Oh, well, I'll be.

Do you mind reading it to me, Maggie?

No, no. It's from my Cousin Celeste.

I haven't heard from her in a long time.

"Dear Holling. How are you? We are fine.

I write to tell you sad news.
Uncle Charlie finally bit the dust."

Uh-

"He was playing backup for Aaron Neville
at Tipitina's in New Orleans,

"and he just k-keeled over.

The funeral was Tuesday. They bury them
above the ground there, you know."

Uncle Charlie, dead?

He was my father's brother.
Taught me to tie a tie.

- Sorry, Holling.
- It's hard to believe the man is gone.

I was down in Hollywood.

I had a good thing goin'.

Little bungalow on Sunset Boulevard.

Couple palm trees, birds of paradise.

You should see this plant.
It looks exactly like a flamingo.

Did you ever work with John Ford?

No, but I saw him once
at the Copacabana, with the Duke.

John Wayne? Snider.

Center fielder for Brooklyn,
when they were called the Bums.

But you know Hollywood,
it's a fickle business.

One minute, it's cowboys and Indians.

Next thing you know, Dr. Kildare.

Should I start filming now?
No. This one's not right.

Why not? I don't know.
Just doesn't grab me.

Not that I didn't make
money in Hollywood.

There's a lot of work for extras.

And I had a good time.

Here's one.

Hey, that's a nice tomahawk.

An ax or a saw might be more practical.

This belonged to my father-

and his father before him.

Yeah, perfect.

Let's go back.

You know who was a decent
fella, Ed? Who's that?

Matt Dillon. Gunsmoke.

Give you the shirt off his back.

I was sittin' between takes,
he comes over,

shoots the breeze
just like one of the guys.

Well, here we are.

So, um, now you're
gonna carve the flute?

Now I take a nap.

Plus, it's good to let the wood rest.

Come tomorrow, we'll make a flute.

See ya. See ya.

Holling?

Yes, Shelly? What's the matter, hon?

Can't sleep? Nope.

We must've done it
a million times tonight.

I would think you'd be all tuckered out.

Fraid not.
You're bummed about your uncle.

Yeah. One minute
you're playin' the fiddle,

the next you're feeding the worms.

Death is so crummy.

How old was he? Uncle Charlie?

110.

Wow. That's pretty old.

Doesn't make him any less dead.

What are you looking for?
My silver shot glass.

What's this? My puppets.

They look like kings or something.
Look at all this stuff.

This is yours? Yeah. Here it is.

You used to play with puppets?
When I was a boy.

Neat.

What are you doing with the good
stuff, hon? I'm gonna drink it.

You uncorked that jug
the first night we fooled around.

You told me you loved me.

Then you drank me a toast.

Tonight I feel like I oughta
lift a glass to Uncle Charlie.

Uh-oh.

I know. Coffee.

Oops. Excuse me. One breakfast special,

reindeer patties, eggs scrambled easy.

Perfect. Here you go, Susan.
Oh, it was decaf, right?

Thanks.
Shel, what's this rice doin' here?

We ran out of potatoes. I hate rice too.

The little kernels
look like old rabbit pellets.

No, you know what? Leave that.
I wanna eat that rice.

Rice is good, rice is fine.
In fact, I'm glad this rice is here.

You know, in India, in China,
rice with the morning meal,

it's a- it's a common practice.

This is just a very good lesson in how
culturally habituated we've become.

You know, I'm used
to seeing hash browns.

I see this here rice, and I withdraw.

Just for my own information though.
Why not

any potatoes? Holling took 'em with him.

He took the potatoes. Uh-huh.

Wait a second.
Holling took all the potatoes?

I woke up this morning.
Holling was gone.

So were the Idahos, the frozen
spiral fries, even the tater tots.

Was he depressed?

Whoa, was he. Yeah. This
thing with his Uncle Charlie.

We were snatching life out
of the jaws of death all

night, and even all that
hanky-panky didn't help.

You don't think he'll do
something stupid, do you?

No, no, no. Don't worry.
I think I know where to find him.

She's pretty.

Wagon Train, 1957.

My tribe scalped her entire family.

Sweet girl.

Unfortunately, my wife didn't think so.

You were married? Four times.

Three times too many.

Okay, let's make a flute.

Right.

Speed.

My name is Ira Wingfeather.

I'm 68 years old,
and these are my tools.

The hatchet you saw yesterday.

The wood poker I heat on the stove...

to burn the pulp
from the center of the branch.

Heat the poker, pressing it in,

repeating the process again and again.

It takes a long time.

To begin with, I strip the bark.

Then I carve. The branch
will tell me how to carve it.

- The branch will tell you?
- In so many words.

Each piece of wood has its own shape,
which you must respect.

My father used to say...

that in each alder branch lies a flute.

Your job is to find it.

They used to say-

that the spirit voice of the wood...

would sing through
the mouth of the duck.

See how the blade rides along the grain,

like so, and so?

Hello! Anybody home?

Hey, I thought I'd
find you here, Holling.

Hand me that sack of spuds
over there, will you, Chris?

Yeah, sure.

Makin' up some of the good stuff, huh?

I had one last bottle
hid behind the still.

Aha, for emergencies.
Yeah. Care for a taste?

Sure.

Whoo!

Man, I better strap my head on.
That's intense.

Yeah. It's one of the few things in life
that a man can depend on.

Sorry about your Uncle Charlie, Holling.

It's passing me by, Chris. What is?

Life. Moving on without me,
leaving me here in the dust.

Oh, Holling, you got a great life.

A big fat zero.

That's not how I see it. You
should've known my Uncle Charlie.

Now there was a man who
lived his life. He partook.

Yeah, we'd- we'd get postcards from...

Istanbul, Hong Kong.

Shipped off on a steamer. Saw the world.

Hmm. You know, some people
they're on the run, Holling.

They're trying to outrun their demons.

I didn't have the intestinal
fortitude, Chris.

I didn't have the stuff.

Yeah, the train stopped for me,
but I let it go on without me.

Care for another snort?

I was 17 years old.

I was loadin' a sack of oats
in my old man's flatbed.

This fella sees me lookin'
at his license plate.

I say, "California."

He says, "Come on, hop in. If you don't
like it, you can come on back home.

- What have you got to lose?"
- The path not taken.

Yeah. I didn't go out
and meet life, Chris.

I didn't take it by the horns.

It took me.

You know, Fleischman,

you Hebraic people may not be drawn...

to our rugged existence
up here in Alaska,

but what ones of you there are
sure leave your mark.

Meaning? Mountains.

Mountains? Yeah.

There's a lot of mountains up here
named forJews. Check your map.

Mount Ripinski over in the Brooks Range.

Mount Goldberg over by Kaiakak.

Mount Goldberg? You're kidding.
No, no. God's honest truth.

There's a Mount Applebaum too.

MoreJewish mountains
in Alaska than Jews.

Hey, Maurice, that was it.
We're entering Velachiske.

This is it?

This is Velachiske?

They call this a town?

There's nobody here.

Hasn't been anybody here
for some time, by the looks of things.

What's in here?

Well, lot of dust.

Somebody left a pair of shoes.

Must've been a real hotbed of
civilization. A regular cultural mecca.

Kind of makes you stop
and think, doesn't it?

No, it doesn't, Maurice.

It makes me feel alone.

Alone like a stone.

Like a what?

Something my grandfather said
when my grandma died.

That he was alone like a stone
in the New World.

Hmm.

Mmm. It's too late.

Hmm? I'm 63 years old-63.

My life is half over.

This must be what folks mean
by a midlife crisis.

Males in your family don't make it
much past 40, do they, Chris?

No, sir. How did you handle it?

Huh? The midlife thing.

Oh. Not very well, I'm afraid.

How's that?

I was 22.

One day, I was 23.

Lost a whole year, Holling.

365 days down the drain.

Well, what'd you do?

Haven't the slightest idea.

Hope I had fun. Hmm.

You don't recollect any part of it?

Not a thing.

I have been able to piece together
a few small fragments of my lost year...

from the recollections of friends
and kind strangers.

I just got out of the joint and was
tryin' to put something together.

You know, workin'
in the steel mill back home.

Then my dad died.

Then my Uncle Roy Bower-

42 and 43, respectively.

Then my back went out.

Oh, needless to say, I freaked.

Been told I spent some time with...

a hostess down in Macon, Georgia.

Lived for a couple of months
naked in a cave,

down in the Jemez Mountains, New Mexico.

Naked? Yeah.

Nobody around,
so what the hell, you know.

They had this natural hot spring...

with watercress just
growin' up all around it.

I just got down on all fours,

and I just grazed.

You think slower when you graze.

2,000 Jews in the
entire state of Alaska.

Half a million people, 2,000 Jews.

551,000 people,
according to the '85 census.

Yeah, well, of those 2,000,
1,500 are in Anchorage.

There's only 50 in Juneau. One single
Jewish cemetery in the whole state.

One. In Fairbanks, and it's full.

You've been reading the phone book.

No, I haven't been reading
the phone books, Ed.

I've been looking through them,
which is an entirely different exercise.

Oh, I read 'em once.
They're pretty good.

I found a Fleischman in Chugiak.

A family of Fleischenhauers
in Anchorage,

but, I mean, they could be German.

Ira used to live in Anchorage.
He sold plumbing fixtures.

Ira? Who's Ira?

Ira Wingfeather. He's
my vanishing breed.

He makes these great little duck flutes
out of alder tree branches.

I shot 1,500 feet of him yesterday.

Well, that's, uh, a fitting subject.
Oh, it is.

He's perfect. He's the last of his line.

Well, he has children in Fort
Lauderdale. That's in Florida.

Yeah, I know
where Fort Lauderdale is, Ed.

Yeah. Well, they don't
talk to him much now,

on account of he had a faithfulness
problem with his wives-their mothers.

Your friend, Mr., uh-
No. Uh, Wingfeather.

So he's all alone up here?

With his flutes. And when he
dies, his craft will die with him.

But I will have preserved it
for all posterity.

- And I'll be a professional.
- What's his name?

- Mr. Wingfeather.
- No, the other part. You said Ira?

There has to be
a Jew involved in there somewhere.

Ira isn't an Indian name,
at least not where I come from.

His mother named him after Ira Gershwin.

Ira Gershwin. Right. Of course.

- Holling! You're home.
- Yes. I am here in the flesh.

I was worried about you, babe.
The fryer went out,

the number three beer pump quit
- Everybody go home.

Holling? Go home.

You heard me. Everybody out.

Holling, get over here.

Holling Vincoeur,
you are creeping me out.

Your breath smells like diesel fuel. How
much of the good stuff did you drink?

I happen to be fine, and I've
never seen more clearly in my life.

I'm gonna die, Shelly.

I'm gonna die and you want me
to worry about a Fria-now-or-lator.

I'm sorry you're having
a midlife crisis, babe.

But, Holling, you still have
all your hair and your same teeth.

So what if we only have
63 more years together?

We can still live each and every hour
of each and every day.

What do you know about it?

What?

Miss Northwest Passage.

Miss Perfect Little Buns that
all the guys wanna grope after the game.

How old are you anyway? What, 19?

Old enough to know
when somebody's being a jerk.

Well, la-di-da. Hey!

I'm not your whipping post, Holling
Vincoeur. I am not your board to bang.

If you wanna slide down the
slippery slope, fine. Go right ahead.

But you're not dragging
me down with you. Fine.

I just came back to get something
to eat, and then I'm out of here.

What are you looking at?

Dr. Fleischman? Yeah?

I've got a problem, Dr. Fleischman.

Well, it's not me. It's Holling.

- What's up?
- I've never seen him like this.

He's so wild and mean and- and yucky.

Holling? His Uncle Charlie died,
and now he's run away from home.

He's drinkin' too much of
the good stuff. Good stuff?

He's sliding down
the slippery slope, Dr. Fleischman.

Chris says he's havin' a midlife crisis.

- Holling's having a midlife crisis?
- Yeah.

- The man's 63.
- Yeah.

Well, wait. Actually,
it sort of makes sense

with, uh, the longevity in his family.

You've got to talk to him, Dr.
Fleischman.

All righty. Where is he?

- In the woods at the still.
- The still?

- Uh-huh.
- Still. All right.

Hey, Holling. Joel?

What're you doin' here? Gettin' wood.

Yeah, well, I can see that.
I was talking

about more of an existential sense.

Wow. It's a-a still. It's a real still.

l- I don't think
I've ever seen one before.

I mean, where would I see one?
West 4th Street, Chelsea?

It's funny. It looks like, uh,
a Rube Goldberg contraption.

Goldberg may have one, whoever he is,

but this was my father's still
and his father's before him.

Back in Canada, we used grapes,

but, uh, I go for potatoes,
apricots, whatever's to hand.

Oh. You want a slug?

Well, okay.

Wow. Strong stuff.

Yeah. It makes the best vodka
in the world. A hundred proof.

I distill it twice. That is the secret.

Go ahead and try it. You'll
like it. No. No, thanks.

A little wine is fine for me,
but vodka's not my drink.

You know, uh, hard alcohol's a
depressant, Holling. So much the better.

Well, uh, this has been
very illuminating,

but don't you think
you better be heading home now?

- Not till I'm done here.
- And when will that be?

Who knows? Maybe never.

So, you're gonna spend the rest of your
life in the woods drinking pure vodka.

No, but I'm gonna go to Texas.
I'm gonna saddle up.

I'm gonna drive a herd of cattle
clean across the Great Divide.

Well, I'm pretty sure that they
transport cattle in trucks now, Holling.

See? What'd I tell ya?
It's all passed me by.

Holling - Most guys who have a midlife
crisis want exactly what you have now.

You have a gorgeous young wife,
or almost wife, which is even better,

voted by specialists,
experts, the most beautiful

woman in the entire Northwest Passage.

You're your own boss.
Y-You live in one of the

world's few remaining
unspoiled wildernesses.

And people would-
would die to live here.

l-I don't... happen to be one of them,
but most people.

Are you trying to say
that life is worth living, Joel?

Uh, something like that.
You think life is so peachy?

I'm a doctor.
I've dedicated my life to preserving it.

Try lookin' at your own life.
What have you got?

What do you mean?

Years of education, all
kinds of hopes and dreams.

- Yeah?
- And where's it gotten you?

Trapped someplace you don't wanna be.

Aprisoner, a slave.
You lost your woman, your home,

everything familiar to you.

The best years of your life
are draining away.

Yeah.

You could die in a
plane crash next week.

You could choke
on a chicken bone tomorrow.

And what would it have meant?

Would you have been fulfilled?

Or would your life have been...

some pitiful, alienated-

misplaced waste?

Yeah.

Eat up, Ed. Plenty more
where that came from.

I love enchiladas.

Chicken or cheese.
I'm not wild about beef.

I've got another senor combination in
the freezer, if you need anything else.

Oh, no. This'll probably be plenty.

Pass me the hot sauce, Ed. Thank you.

You know, there's a whole history
to the flutes. They're very interesting.

They were used for courting.

The music was supposed to win a girl's
heart, even the most reluctant one.

Each young man had a song whose melody
was transmitted by a guiding spirit,

say, a roving wolf
or a tree or a flower.

To find the song, he would go alone
into the wilderness and fast,

until the music came to him in a dream.

- Wow.
- Yeah. That's something, isn't it?

Um, doesn't it bother you
that, you know, no one else

is gonna be able to make these
flutes once you're gone?

Nah.

- But then it's all gonna end.
- Listen. It's not so tragic.

The world used to be full of things
which are no longer:

Mastodons and saber-toothed tigers,

Indian tribes, herds of buffalo.

Everything gets gone sooner or later.
It's the lay of the land.

Things become extinct.

Huh.

"In the middle of
thejourney of our life,

"I came to myself within a dark wood
where the straight way was lost.

"Oh, how hard it is to tell
of that wood, savage and

harsh and dense, the thought
of which renews my fear.

So bitter is it,
that death is hardly more."

That's Dante, folks,
writing of his own midlife crisis.

That's the 14th century. 600 years
have passed and we're still into it.

It's at that midpoint
in our personal continuum...

when our delicate lives
hang in the balance.

We-We look behind us to see
how far we've come,

and we realize that our past isn't a
solitary trail through secret woods,

but a vista as-as big and expansive
as the ocean itself,

with our experiences
stretching to the horizon,

like tiny dot-like sailboats
sucked up into the enormous sea.

A toast to auld lang syne,

for my own midlife crisis at 22,
my lost year.

To excess, forgetfulness,
failure and blindness.

In many ways, friends,
best year of my life.

Don't say anything.
Don't even make a sound.

My head is made of glass.
My eyelashes hurt.

There's a- a felt carpet on my tongue.

I'm gonna go get something hot,
put it in my stomach,

and I'll be right back.

Did you reschedule Mrs. Tatsanotinowa?

Tuesday. Thank you.

- What's that?
- Hair of the dog.

That's a good idea. That's very
considerate, Marilyn. Thank you.

- What is that? What is in here?
- Hair of the dog.

Dog hair?

Oatmeal. Oh, thanks.

Uh, Shelly? Yes, Dr. Fleischman?

Get this out of here, please.
I can't look at it.

I just-l-I need something
warm and comforting,

but not so aggressively comforting.

Rice? Too white.

Dr. Fleischman,
what's gonna happen to Holling?

My bed's so cold and lonely.
If I don't use it, I'm gonna lose it.

I'm sorry, Shelly. I tried.
He dragged me down with him.

How about a V8?
It always used to work for my dad.

Thick. Red. Uh-uh. Um-

You know what? A glass of water. Yeah.

That sounds good. W-With
ice in it. Okay. Ice.

Hello, Dr. Fleischman. Hello, Ed.

Well, you know, I finished my movie,
and it's really good.

That's great. Congratulations.
Yeah, thanks.

Dr. Fleischman? Mmm?

Life and... art are a lot
different, aren't they? Come again?

Well, you know, I put Mr. Wingfeather
down on film for all posterity,

but when he's gone, then
there still won't be anybody

around who knows how to
make the duck flutes.

- Uh-Is this a question?
- No.

Thank you, Dr. Fleischman.

Here's your water, Dr. Fleischman.
That's great. Thank you.

Hangover? Grandfather of all hangovers.

Yeah. Holling's stuff is good, huh?

I mean, it takes you
to places you didn't

even know existed. Dark but comfy.

Sort of like the kind
of euphoria people are

said to feel right before they drown.
Exactly.

I gotta tell you, Chris.
I've been feeling

such a sense of isolation lately.

Oh, yeah? As a Jew.

I mean, I've always known intellectually
thatJews are a small minority.

There's 250 million people in this
country? There's five million Jews.

I mean, everyone in New York
was Jewish, or it seemed that way.

I have a cousin in Rhode
Island, Providence, says

it's different up there.
He feels like a minority.

Jews move into neighborhoods,
WASPs move out.

I mean, forget Providence,
forget Atlanta even, or Des Moines.

I'm the onlyJew in Cicely.

The onlyJew in the borough
of Arrowhead County.

Different. Alone.

Hello, Ed. Hey. What are you doin'
here? I thought it was a wrap.

This is for you.

What's this? The film? Yep.

- For me?
- Yep. I wanted you to have it.

Why? You don't want your 50 bucks?

Well, I want you to teach me
how to make the duck flutes.

You do?

Yeah, 'cause I was thinking
it's just like the condors.

The condors? Yeah, you know.
Which would you rather see,

a picture of a condor or a condor?

Condor, no question. Yeah.

And plus, I really like you,
and you know a lot of stuff.

So I was wonderin' if you'd
teach me how to make 'em. Sure.

Why not, Ed? Hold on a second.
I'll go get my tomahawk.

Hey.

- Marilyn?
- Hurry up. It's time.

- Time for what?
- Go home. Now.

Shelly?

Once upon a time, a boy was born
on New Year's Day, 1929.

His parents named him
Holling Gustaf Vincoeur.

He came from the hills of Quebec,

a humble trapper's son.

Like his old man and his old man
before him, he was a trapper too.

But soon there wasn't
much stuffleft to trap.

Bummer.

So he decided... to go to Alaska.

Ta-da.!

Everything was new.
It wasn't even a state yet.

This place is cool.
I think I'll stay here.

So Holling hunted...

and fished and killed many bears.

Everyone knew who he was
for miles around.

He was famous.

Then one day-

Yikes! Pow! Grr! Zap!

Grr! Whammo! Grr! Crunch! Grr!

Ouch. One bear almost killed him.

This was Jesse.
The trapper's legend grew.

But the trapper's son was very strong.

He had a very high pain threshold.

He got to his feet
and went back to work.

By this time, he owned a very nice bar.

One day, a man came into the bar...

who was a United States astronaut
who'd been to outer space.

Soon, the two were best friends.

Why did the chicken cross the road?
I don't know.

To get to the other side. Ha, ha,
ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

The two men did everything together.

They-They hunted...

and fished...

and played bridge.

One day, the astronaut
took a trip to a faraway place.

See you in a few days. So long.

When he returned, he brought back
a beautiful chick maiden.

Wow!

When the chick maiden
saw the trapper's son,

she almost peed in her pants.

He was so cool and nice,
and not to mention a total stud.

Lots of guys had looked her over
plenty of times, but not like this guy.

She fell in love right then and there.

So she walked up to the trapper's son.

If you want me, I'm yours.

Wow!

He did.

She felt like she was
the luckiest chick maiden in the world.

The end.