Earlier today, I said:
"As for mint OM-4Ti's, I've got three, and they're available at
the right price (if you have to ask, you can't afford one). I'll
even put up Alex Hawkins' hammock in the back yard for your
overnight stay. And I always have KKs."
Since then, I have received two off-list inquiries regarding the
OM-4Ti's and two more asking, "Who the hell is Alex Hawkins, and
why do you have his hammock?"
I have responded off list to the former, and regarding the latter,
I confess that it occurred to me as soon as I sent that post that
I probably shouldn't have made reference to Alex Hawkins' hammock,
because it's kind of a local, inside joke. But it is related to a
story that almost everybody in the civilized world knows the
punchline to -- although I doubt more than a few know the real
story behind, so I will fill in the blanks for any others who
might also be puzzled.
Alex Hawkins was a professional football player in the 1960s, a
pretty fair running back, who spent most of his career with the
Baltimore Colts and played a couple of seasons for the Atlanta
Falcons. After retiring, like a lot of former jocks do, Alex
opened a restaurant. Alex's was better than average and just off
the Square in Marietta, three blocks from where I worked, and I
ate lunch there once or twice a week, and dinner occasionally, for
the three or so years he had it, and I got to know him fairly
well, being myself somewhat a kindred spirit. But I digress.
Alex was a notorious boozer, womanizer and carouser, as was I back
in those days, so I describe him as such without prejudice or
judgment. His lovely but long-suffering wife had all but reached
the end of her patience with her husband's misbehavior and had
decided it was time to confront him the next time he came creeping
home at dawn half drunk and smelling of Jack Daniels and cheap
perfume. To this end, she enlisted the aid of her mother, who
came to visit for a spell.
Two days after the mother-in-law arrived, and probably at least in
part as a result thereof, sure enough, Alex failed to come home
for dinner, missed the kids' bedtime, and had not been seen by the
time Johnny Carson said good night. Mama and daughter sat up
through the wee hours, waiting, stewing, preparing for the coming
inquisition. Then, just as dawn was breaking, a disheveled and
obviously inebriated Alex crept through the back door, right into
the line of fire of the well worked up and thoroughly pissed
welcoming committee/lynching party.
His wife demanded to know why he was coming home once again at
this hour, and Alex lamely explained, "Well, I had to work late,
and all the lights in the house were out when I got home, and
since I didn't want to disturb y'all, I just slept in the hammock
out back."
Angrily, his wife told him, "Alex, I took that hammock down two
weeks ago."
After a more than pregnant pause, as he turned down the hall,
intending to go collapse into bed, Alex muttered, "Well, that's my
story. And I'm sticking to it!"
If there's another version of this tale, it would have to have
come from the wife or the mother-in-law, but I got this one
straight from the man himself, and we were both only half drunk at
the time he told it, so I think I've got pretty much right.
And, no, I don't really have his hammock.
Walt
< This message was delivered via the Olympus Mailing List >
< For questions, mailto:owner-olympus@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx >
< Web Page: http://Zuiko.sls.bc.ca/swright/olympuslist.html >
|