'Arfn 'Arf - The First Skateboarding Rapdancer

by D. Grant DeMan

Following the Great War a very corny old English joke washed up on these North American shores, one that demands preliminary cultural clarification.. Seems it is the custom to draw a great variety of ales and beers from the taps in English pubs; thus customers who wished a mix of dark ale and light colored bitter beer would cry for an 'Arf'n'Arf.

That understood, we now proceed to the evening a patron became agitated because of closing time, and demanded one more 'Arf'n'Arf. Repeatedly he cried, "Gi' me one more Arf'n'Arf, or I will not go home!"

Finally the publican, aggravated beyond his reserved British tolerance, told him: "'A'right Sir, here's yer bloody 'Arf'n'Arf! Drink it down and be done with ya!" and handed him a foaming glass of suds.

After quaffing it down the patron screwed up his face and declared, "That is the worst(tasting drink I've ever experienced. What the Devil is it?"

To which the Publican replied, "'Arf'n'Arf, my good sir. 'Arf mine, 'Arf, the Old Lady's!"

The following story has nothing to do whatsoever with this ancient gag. I tell it here merely to get it out of the way, and on with the main tale of a man known far and wide as 'Arf'n'Arf, who never drank ale nor beer. Nor was he English. But he had many friends who were. And did.

Sometime during the mid-thirties a small boy named Hal was running for the Uplands Number Nine Streetcar when he fell beneath its grinding iron wheels. Though Hal was clearly cut in half, a miracle prevailed, his life saved and he evolved into a productive member of the community due largely to the efforts of neighbor, Calabash Thomas. Much distressed at the gushing of Hal's tears upon seeing his friends running, skating and riding bicycles on the street where they lived, Mister Thomas developed a fortuitous idea.

"Come see me Hal, and bring along those ball-bearing skates Santa gave you for Christmas, but you can no longer use," he directed. So Hal scuffled over to find Mr. Thomas in the garage rounding off the corners of a beautiful oaken plank. "See here, we'll screw those skates to the bottom of this nice board, fasten the top with some padding and a harness, and you'll be able to get around tout suite."

Before long Hal, wearing a floppy heavy leather aviation cap with appropriate goggles and matching gloves, was fearlessly zooming up and down the avenues, through the city and out to the North Ward where he visited DeMan's Store and Emporium many times on errands such as bringing legal contracts from offices. He also carried messages between those Sporting Houses and News and Tobacco Stands so important to illegal commerce, delivering liquor and other items of importance. Yes, he was absolutely fearless, though he maintained a dread of ever encountering another Streetcar Number Nine. In fact he developed a real hair-raising panicky phobia that drove him to avoid the Uplands Trolley by, oftimes, meandering blocks out of his way.

One day in Watcher's News Dipsomaniac Ned, viewing Hal's independence with admiration, said: " Goodness, m' boy, you are superior than any three fellows I know, and you're only half there!"

Ned's companion, Cecil the Cockney, then made a most timely remark: "I say, he's 'arf there, and 'arf gone. 'Arf 'n 'Arf!" And from that day forward, Hal, earned his fame as 'Arf'n'Arf, the speediest courier that ever plied the trade in the City. He'd even fetch hamburgers from the Dew Drop Inn, or Fish and Chips upon occasion, and he could be seen many afternoons assisting some ancient dowager or trembling centurion across through the traffic. Unless, of course, there was a Number Nine Car within sight.

Surprisingly, not only did 'Arf'n'Arf thus become the first skateboarder in history, but he also may claim the honor of inventing the art of rapdancing, for in his spare time, which was spare indeed, he entertained by dancing on the street with his board rocking to and fro to the accompanying jazz banjo music of a friend. The dance ended in a twirl that caught 'Arf'n'Arf spinning around on his leathered head in grand finale to the applause of enthralled sidewalk audiences.

It was while in this upside-down position that fear struck him cold, for he spied a big numeral Number Nine on the towering red trolley clanging down the street at him. With a sudden rush of adrenaline he sprung back on his feet, and, without looking back, wheeled out of range as quick as his husky arms could propel that board.

So fast was poor 'Arf'n'Arf that he failed to see the other big streetcar coming around the corner, fell beneath its wheels, and....

"The poor fellow died instantly they say, Cece," Ned was in shock.

"It's destiny that caught up with him, Old Fellow. Appointment in Samara, and all that sort of thing, you know," Cecil mumbled removing his black Bowler.

"I say, the Six would appear to be a Nine standing on one's head, no?" Ned's mouth was agape.

"Perhaps it might. Perchance that is so. Number Six is Hillside," Cece recollected.

"It was Uplands - Nine - that finally got him. Twice. Whatever, we shall miss the lad terribly."

"Indeed, who shall collect the betting slips?"

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