Who's on First?

I started another blog before this one. I thought that I would write little vignettes of general interest. I tried my hand at it. Larry Copeland put it best when he said, "Who wrote this stupid stuff?"

Larry, who now goes by the name, Larry, came to our house last week for a visit; for the first time in forty years. I said, "How've you been?" He said, "How long've you got?" Just like old times.

Betty thought it was confusing, having two people called Larry; so we decided, since Larry is taller than I am, that he would be called "Big Larry" and I would be called "Little Larry."

Familiar Quotations

Over the years, Betty and I have accumulated a wealth of sayings, by ourselves and other people, that have become famous only to us. Every enduring couple must have them - the shared stuff that binds each to each. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Back during our Hillsboro days, we used to go to the Krystal drive-in on West End by the Parthenon. On Friday nights, the place was always packed and you were lucky if you could find a free space. Once, when we were there, we noticed a car full of good old boys, riding around and around, looking for a space. On about their fifth time around, one of the guys leaned half way out the car window and yelled, "WHY DOESN'T SOMEBODY LEAVE?"

For some reason, that tickled us, and we laughed about it all the way home; and we have laughed about it ever since.

Richard Cotten

Richard Cotten and I grew up in the same neighborhood and shared that bond that exists between people who go to grade school together. More than that, we were both chased by Bobby McGriff down the same alley behind Richard's house. After school. Every day. Bobby McGriff was a Shepherdian bully - the name alone puts him in the same league with Scut Farkas.

But Richard and I were like every other kid we knew - we had no concept, then, of what we might do with our lives. Or even later: I remember going to Career Day at Hillsboro and listening to a physician say that it took him twelve years to become a doctor. That one statement saved me from medical school. Richard, one day, came to school with a guitar. After that, I never saw him without it. He practiced playing it during class. I don't know how he got away with that, but that's all he wanted to do.

He went to Vanderbilt, anyway, and took a degree in physics, but had no use for it. He just wanted to play in his band. Bob Dylan once said about himself that he was just a song-and-dance man. Richard would have thought that a very high calling.

Randomly Accessed Memory

Peggy Sue Lauderdale got a prize that night - for being the most, the longest, the farthest, I don't remember. I don't remember what the prize was, either, but she came down front and I presented it to her. She whispered to me, "You've got people on the floor, back there. They're in pain." I took the microphone and said, "Is Doctor John in the house?" Nobody laughed. Except Peggy.

Her name didn't go with her face, but we didn't know that back then. We thought it did. Aristocratic, to the family born, but without pretension. I always wondered what it must have been like to go through high school with your name in a popular song. I mean, "Oh, Lauderdale" was just about my favorite record, back then.