|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Arnold Dyre
|
|
|
|
|
Commentary by Arnold Dyre
A while back, Beverly and I were entertained at one of the Gulf Coast’s casinos by none other than Bill Cosby.
Aside from being hilariously funny, the content of Cosby’s comedic routine was philosophically insightful and revealed irrefutable natural truisms. Among other things, Cosby pointed out that however sweet and lovely it might be for a man to declare that his wife is his best friend, it simply is not true. A best friend does not remind you to take out the garbage. A best friend does not demand to know “why did you do that” when you have committed a bonehead mistake. As the famous comedian and philosopher listed countless things that would sensibly disqualify most wives from the best friend distinction, my mind raced ahead with my own list.
Duck Hunting Classic
My recollection of a duck hunt some years back looms classic among my personal experiences regarding why it is my friend, Mike, rather than my dear wife Beverly who is my true best friend.
Another friend of mine (not Mike and certainly not Beverly) introduced me to a particular stretch of flooded timber down near Georgetown where mallards can be found and where wood ducks roost. The routine was to park out on the highway and wade in during mid-afternoon to one of several flooded openings, carrying only a few decoys, and call passing mallards in for shots over the decoys. Then, just as the shooting light faded to the point of being almost illegal, the wood ducks started coming in, and we would “limit out” on wood ducks while wading back out. Usually, a game warden was waiting at the parked cars but, of course, my friends and I always had exactly the right number of ducks.
Mendenhall Trip
On the occasion of the specific hunt that is the topic of my recollection, I had invited still other friends from Laurel to drive up for a Sunday afternoon duck hunt. The hunt was good and, after the game warden cleared us, we were so happy from the experience that we did not want the day to end. Someone suggested that we drive over to Mendenhall and eat supper at the famous Round Table Restaurant. It was on my Laurel friends’ way home and not far out of my way back to the Jackson area, although I had come down to Georgetown on I-55 rather than on Highway 49.
So, that’s what we did and, still in duck hunting garb sans waders, enjoyed a magnificent down-home country meal sitting at the big revolving table right alongside decent folks who had been or were going to church.
When we finished eating and said all that we wanted to say to one another, my Laurel friends drove away, and I discovered that my keys were locked inside my Lincoln. Only a week earlier while at the courthouse in Hazlehurst, I had managed to lock my keys in the car, and the sheriff had told me not to worry, that he had someone who could open the door. He had promptly fetched from the jail a prisoner equipped with leg shackles who opened the door so fast that I did not know what he did, because the sheriff had warned me to stand back. The guy was known for also being able to pick pockets.
Not Much Help
So, reasonably fresh from the Hazlehurst episode, I asked someone at the Round Table to try to locate a deputy for me. Shortly, I was surrounded by some of Simpson County’s finest, both sheriff deputies and Mendenhall policemen. They had no lock-picking inmates to offer but, they were equipped with a device known as a “Slim Jim” and each, in turn, tried unsuccessfully to open my Lincoln. Not wanting to break the glass, I finally called Beverly!
The first thing Beverly asked me was why had I not gotten the sheriff to have the inmate who opened the door the last time to do it again. I explained that I was not in Hazlehurst but rather in Mendenhall. It then dawned on Beverly that I was supposed to be duck hunting near Georgetown, and she wanted to know what I was doing in Mendenhall. I explained about our deciding to eat at the Round Table, and I had a good deal of trouble getting Beverly focused on the fact that I needed her to come to Mendenhall and bring me her set of keys for my car.
Best Friend Answers
After I hung up from talking with Beverly, there was nothing left to do but wait. And wait! And wait!
Of course, Beverly did not show up. She sent my best friend Mike!
adyre@comcast.net
|
|
|
|
|