This month’s featured writing is from Patricia Dudziak Kerr: My Neighbor, the Barefoot Businessman.
Patricia fell in love with writing while working on her thesis and doing original research at the Intermountain Social Research Lab in the Boise State Sociology Department. She graduated with a Master’s in Sociology and Public Administration in May 2025. She retired two months later, and one month after that, she joined the Osher Institute. It has been pure joy for her. The Personal Writing SIG helps her continue learning how to write, but now her writing is about her lived experiences. Osher has truly been a bright, energizing blessing in this new chapter of her life.
My Neighbor, the Barefoot Businessman by Patricia Dudziak Kerr
(Osher on Demand, May 2026)
A metal screen covered the top of a 55-gallon barrel. Inside the barrel, a fire blazed, fueled by driftwood that washed up on the pristine beaches of San Felipe in Baja California, Mexico. A dozen Sea of Cortez clams cooked atop the screen, each the size of a large man’s hand. My neighbor understood that the clams were not just food but a way to support his wife, five daughters, and three sons. It must be true: clams make you horny.
My neighbor’s shack was built from the material gifts the sea washed up on the shore. It was his home and restaurant, although the restaurant was really just his patio area. The patio’s floor was white sand on which tourists and locals sat on wooden boxes and metal chairs from the ’50s that were rusty but clean. The patio was decorated with whale bones, much as ranches in the U.S. post antlers by their entryways. My neighbor placed whale bones at the patio entrance and tossed a few onto the shack’s roof, with others just lying around.
My neighbor never wore shoes. His bare feet were his footwear, serving him as well as any work boot if not better. He could walk across sharp, barnacle-covered rocks without hurting his feet, to reach the soft clay sand where the best clams could be harvested.
He was strong and stocky but of average height. He could pass for a very tall dwarf from The Lord of the Rings. His hair and beard were a unique driftwood brown; both were blown into their unruly shapes by the ocean wind. Celebrities would pay a fortune to get that look. His dark reddish face was authoritative but gentle and kind. His eyes were black as coal, with the brightness of stars.
As the years passed, he became a legend and icon known simply as “The Clam Man.” Anyone who visited San Felipe in the ’70s or ’80s remembers him. People called him eccentric or peculiar, but looking back, I don’t think he was. He was just himself, and that made him unforgettable.
As with any business, he had a slogan. His was “My clams make you horny!”