On Pricilla Ann Perry — John Znidarsic

I grew up with Mikey. He’s the chef. He’s also our Chief Merchandizing Officer. We have Dawg Van cups, t-shirts and corduroy blazers. Bruzzer and I were in the same fraternity at Denison. He grew up in Warren, OH with Ralph, J. For a dozen years he lived a knockdown sand wedge away from Dewey in Shaker Heights. Bru worked for Ryan at PNC. Ryan owns the Dawg Van. That’s the crew.

Somewhere between five and eight Sundays, Mondays or Thursdays a season the six of us make the trek down to the melting pot of America — the Muni Lot. If you want to get a flavor of the Muni — follow this guy. He’s a friend of the Van.

Here’s the deal with the Muni. It gets a rap as being an unruly party. That’s 100% true. There is literally nothing that happens in the Muni that could, would, or should surprise you. But that act of putting a few thousand people on random and hitting the simulation button and seeing who ends up where talking to whom is what makes the Muni lot incredible.

It’s also where I met Pricilla Ann Perry. She’s Ryan’s aunt. 69 years old. Hails from mid-Maine. Absolute rock star. But, I knew none of this while I was riding down to the Muni. I was in the back, with Mikey and Ryan’s sister Megan who was in flip flops and a t-shirt (it was 41 degrees), brought a half-eaten veggie tray to the tailgate, and would leave 35 minutes in to go catch a flight. Pricilla was sitting on a cooler towards the front. Cackling with enthusiasm, asking Ryan to honk at passersby and shouting in a Northeastern accent. She came with a guy I presumed to be her son, Warren (that’s not his name but I can’t remember it and he seemed like a Warren) and his fiancé who was very quiet but revealed on the way home that she does Burlesque shows in Portland, Maine. She assured us they were tasteful. It was a conversation with more questions than answers.

Here’s the deal with the tailgate. There’s downtime. I guess in theory it’s pretty much all downtime and that’s what makes it magnificent. Point is you gotta keep occupied. So after walking the lot and tossing a few tight spirals with Mikey I ate a bagel with cream cheese, poured a beer off the side tap on the van, and drifted into a folding chair.

That’s where I met Pricilla. We talked about Maine. Bar Harbor. Bangor. Portland. Politics. Raising children. Love. Marriage. Careers. Cars. And family. We covered some ground. And, it was absolutely enjoyable. Delightful, really. I think that’s what I texted my bride. That I was having a delightful conversation with this 69-year old Mainer who ended up at our tailgate.

To say that Pricilla told a lot of great stories is an understatement. But, as she volleyed and served in the conversation my favorite was not really a story, but more of a one liner. She mentioned that she was a traveling nurse for a woman’s health organization. I drifted in thought. Thinking about how cool it was that people who support a cause with their entire being actually exist in this world and Pricilla turned to me and said, “That’s me. Pricilla Ann Perry. PAP. Get it? HA! It’s what I was born to do!” And she let out a mighty New England laugh.

I like PAP. I asked her if she’d allow me to take her picture for a blog that I write that nobody reads. Of course she said yes. I know she’ll never read this. But, I’m glad I met her. She’s why I love the Muni Lot.