“Why shouldn’t things be largely absurd, futile, and transitory? They are so, and we are so, and they and we go very well together.” — George Santayana, philosopher, essayist, poet, and novelist

Coming home from second grade in Allen Park, Mich., I got into a childish argument with another kid. She made a statement that I couldn’t let go unanswered.

“My dad is tougher than your dad,” she said, “or anybody in this whole school’s dad.” Well. She didn’t know my dad. He was tough. He was strong. He was a World War II vet. His ship had hit a mine, somewhere in 

the South Pacific.

My dad exercised regularly. He had a commanding voice and demeanor. He worked in an office, not all that impressive in terms of toughness, but he camped, and boated sometimes courageously in the Detroit River, sharing the water with the big Bob-Lo-Boat or Great Lakes freighters. We had a 14-foot runabout with an Evinrude outboard motor. But my dad wasn’t cowed by those big vessels. He was disciplined. He spoke his mind. He was, most people would agree, a tough man.

Whether he could “beat up” another dad was not important, and would not have ever happened. Critical thinking skills are, as yet, undeveloped that age. Most of the kids thought that their dads were strong and powerful.

The course of the argument between the little girl and I went something like this; She: “My dad’s tougher than your dad.” Me: “No, MY dad is tougher than your dad.” I had a louder voice, perhaps, but

she was very persistent. The argument was unresolved.

Until the next day. On the way home from school, again, with the sidewalks crowded with lots of children, headed home for milk and cookies, that same girl displayed a big, glossy, framed photograph of her father. He was in a wrestling ring, wearing a huge belt. Her dad was Leapin’ Larry Chene.

He was the U.S. Champion Heavyweight Wrestler. He was on TV. He was known for his Flying Scissors Headlocks. He jumped over his opponents in the ring – until he’d catch them with his signature move.

It didn’t look good for Little Basura. The other kids seemed to think that, by virtue of her dad being the U.S. champion, the girl had won the argument. I continued to promote Dad’s invulnerability, as I saw it, but my assertions seemed lame, even to me.

Later he proved his toughness in staying with my mother through years of challenging medical treatment, until her death at age 54. That was real toughness, and real strength, and real love.

Remembering this from more than a few years back, I googled Leapin’ Larry Chene, and found some information, as well as a video of one of his wins, from back, as they say, in the day. I also noticed some comments, including one that says the family is still in the Downriver Detroit area. I don’t know if Townbroadcast is widely read in Southeast Michigan, but I certainly hope so.