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Thanks, Ripsnorting. I Owe You

Posted Jul 31, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:26 PM

For five and a half years, I sat next to Ronnie Blair at the Tribune’s office in Land O’ Lakes. In that time, and by Ronnie’s own admission, I irritated him only twice.

And I’m the kind of guy who can annoy children.

Through the years, I poured more than 2,200 cups of coffee for Ronnie, much of which I also made. Beyond that, I gave him the enduring moniker “Ripsnorting,” because I liked the contrast with his personality: Ronnie is so dry, he makes Bob Newhart look like Jerry Lewis.

Despite, or because of, our glaring differences – he always wears a tie and is unfailingly polite; I wear string-less shoes and burp aloud in public – we had a unique rapport. At one time, in fact, I would’ve taken a nonlethal bullet in his defense.

The goodwill ended Wednesday, when Blair’s story on Darren Liebman, a Tampa guy who runs a company called Didgeridoo Down Under, rekindled my wife’s motivation to make aboriginal instruments of her own.

Ironhead’s inspiration was stoked several months ago, when the cable company left a roughly 15-foot piece of three-quarter-inch PVC pipe in my yard. Recognizing value when she spies it, Iron scooped it into her tiny hands and horded it away in the garage – a formerly happy place I called my own.

In fact, it was the only part of the house that was truly mine. There was dirt in there, flammable stuff and various objects capable of inducing blunt-force trauma.

By the time I noticed the long white pipe, the garage was no longer mine. Pool toys, lawn chairs, yard implements and dozens of boxes of [stuff] that would have fit in an attic—if I had one—had taken over my space like malignant growths.

I vaguely knew what a didgeridoo was when I asked Iron about the pipe.

Five minutes later, of course, I knew about its origins and cultural significance Down Under, and was given a demonstration of what one might sound like.

“I’m going to make my own,” she said.

You should have seen the smile.

While looking online Wednesday evening, she yelped.

Apparently, Liebman started all this last summer when Iron and the Monkeys saw his demonstration at a library in New Tampa.

“You can buy a hand-held PVC pipe cutter,” Iron said. “I could cut the pipe into 3- and 4-foot lengths and make a didgeridoo for each of us,” meaning herself, the Monkeys and I.

Don’t you have to drill holes or something, I asked.

“No!” she said. “It’s just a hollow stick. You can paint it or carve it any way you want. Using PVC, it won’t sound exactly like it would if it was made from eucalyptus or some other wood. But, anyway, it’s good use for a leftover thing in our yard.”

I wasn’t in the best mood when I called Blair this afternoon.

“I have absolutely nothing to say other than this was assigned by an editor,” he said.

What a surprise.

“It came from somebody in Hillsborough,” he said, “so there are lots of people to blame.”

Blair, who wasn’t displaying the proper amount of sympathy, said the instrument “sounded like an electric hum.”

“You know, like a power line when something’s gone bad.”

Although Iron has never before held a didgeridoo, she is confident she’ll be able to master the instrument quickly.

“The technique is in the lips,” she said, “and circular breathing, of course.”

Of course.

“It’s just like with the trumpet,” she said.

No, she’s never played a trumpet, either.

“But I know how it’s done.”

What a surprise.

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