A teenager in a JROTC uniform came into the library this evening. I recognize him, but he doesn’t come in very often. I noticed his nametag, which read “Lundgren.” Immediately my mind went to that great Nordic god and pop culture icon Dolph Lundgren. And although I hate it when people do it to me on account of my last name, I asked him if he was related to Dolph. To my surprise, he said “yes, he’s my uncle.”
Now, I know what you are thinking, he’s being sarcastic, right? That was my initial assumption. But two things about that haunted me. First of all, he didn’t say it in a sarcastic manner. He is a very polite young man and a junior military something-or-rather. Secondly, I seriously doubted whether or not that this kid would know who Dolph Lundgren was. To test this hypothesis, I asked every other kid in the library if they knew who he was. None of them did. Only private Lundgren (or whatever his rank was) knew. This scored highly in his favor. I neglected my duties at the desk to go and question this child further.
I asked him where Dolph was from, how they were related, how tall he was, what his middle name was, etc. etc. He seemed to know what he was talking about, and clarified how he was related. It seems that his grandparents adopted Dolph and raised him as their own. (Not here in MO of course). This sounded truer than if he would have said that Dolph was his father or something. At this point in my research I became very excited. I interrogated him severely, using every means at my disposal. The water fountain was too far away to make water boarding a possibility however. At this point the kid seemed to become offended by my demeanor in not believing him.
I told him, “Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that if it’s true, it’s one of the most amazing things ever. And I don’t want to get my hopes up if it isn’t true. If I could have some mutual connection with Dolph Lundgren it would make me extremely happy.”
He looked at me strangely and stuck to his story. I then went back to my computer and did what no serious researcher should ever do: went to Wikipedia. The article said nothing about adoption, and mentioned Dolph’s parents only.
“Aha!” I shouted, “Liar,” I cried , as I ran back across the library to confront the hapless youth. “Dolph wasn’t adopted. He lived with his parents, you errant knave!” I cried. “That’s not true,” he insisted, “he lived with my grandparents. Where did you get your information, Wikipedia?” Somewhat chagrined, I lied to him. “Of course not boy, I am a librarian. We don’t do research that way,” I bluffed. He wasn’t buying it. “Well, tell me the website you went to,” he demanded. “I don’t answer to you,” I proclaimed, as I left again. Then I decided to look up some other sites, including dolphlundgren.com and IMDB.
It turns out that Dolph went to live with his grandparents at the age of 13, because of an abusive father. This was becoming eerie. Some of the pieces were actually starting to fit together. My mind was racing, my heart pounding. Could it be that I was staring at the nephew of Ivan Drago? The kinsmen of He-Man himself? I searched my conniving brain for a way to prove or disprove the kid’s announcement. Just then, as if sent by Providence, one of our regular patrons walked in. This man shares my name, and then the similarities end. He is an African American gentleman, over six and a half foot tall, and a naval soldier. The wheels began to turn.
“Brandon,” I said, “Can you come and help me with something?” “Sure thing Brandon,” he replied. I led him over to the teen area, with him towering over me in the likes of Zeus himself. The teens eyes all looked up, and their jaws dropped. They thought that they were in some serious shit. “Well, Mr. Lundgren,” I said with great cockiness, “This is my friend Brandon. As you can see by his uniform he is a bona fide military man, and thus your commander. If you lie to him, you will be de-commissioned.” Young Lundgren protested that it’s not the way things worked in JROTC, but I silenced him. “Tell him, under your oath as an officer, that Dolph Lundgren is your uncle,” I commanded. The boy looked up at the soldier and told him that it was true. Dammit! I thought, this is getting likelier by the minute. I tried one more time. “Okay, forget the fact that he is in the military. Look at him. Do you see how huge he is? He could take Dolph Lundgren. Are you going to lie to this man?” “I’m not lying,” he said,” I’ll bring you a copy of the adoption papers. My jaw dropped; it seemed that we’d come to an impasse.
I thanked Brandon for his help, and was left alone with the teens. As Brandon left he whispered to me, “De-commissioning is what they do to ships, man.” I got up in the face of young master Lundgren and said, “Listen to me. If you are telling me the truth, it’s the most amazing thing I’ve heard all day. If you get Dolph Lundgren to come in this library and say ‘I must break you’ then I’ll give you whatever you want.” “But I haven’t even met him,” he protested. “I don’t care. If you have a connection to Dolph Lundgren, bring him here, and make him say the line. Then I can die a happy man.” The boy said that he would see what he could do, and left, probably frightened. I emailed Dolph’s agent and asked him, but I probably won’t get a response. If the kid brings the adoption papers in, I’ll probably pass out.
Also, there was a creepy guy in here who looked exactly like Philip Seymour Hoffman, during one of his ‘beardy’ phases. He was trying to submit a book he’d written to the library, and writing poetry for our page. I probably should have kicked him out, but I was in the middle of a noble quest. Thus, two celebrated Hollywood actors entered the Willard Branch Library this evening, in one way or another.
