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To Edith and Bill, With Loveby Beth Boswell Jacks
One evening several years ago, hubby/attorney Gerald came home from the office with a briefcase full of work to tackle at home before he hit the sack. He sat there in the bedroom, rocking and reading, rocking and writing. Then, putting his papers down, he began rocking and laughing. Laughing? What kind of funny stuff was this? I didn't know legal work could be hysterical--well, maybe I did. Anyway, I noticed G-Man had begun to dictate into his little tape recorder. He'd dictate, then throw his head back and howl. He'd dictate some more, then hee haw again.
When I inquired as to the hilarious nature of the case, he explained he was about to play a joke on Mama. (I must tell you, my mother loves a good joke; she has the brightest cackle in the barn.) Well, the letter he dictated to my parents that night went something like this:
Dear Edith and Bill,
Can you believe the years that have passed since we were together? Never thought we'd reach this point, did we? I guess I still think if I were to walk in Cleveland First Methodist I'd see Billy and Beth and little dimpled Kathy sitting in the third pew, drawing on their bulletins.
Are you still playing bridge? And what about Marion and Goldie? And Gusta? You girls were so good.
I heard you had another child after we left--a curly haired blond you named Melanie, I believe. See, I've kept up with you two. I'm sure Melanie has children of her own now. How I'd love to see all your kids. Well, get your pictures out, because we're coming!
George has finally retired, and we've bought a big motor home and are heading south the first of October to see all our old friends. Is that nice Michael's restaurant still on Highway 61? If you could get all the old gang together for dinner there on 10/4, 7-ish, we surely would appreciate it.We'll be pulling in on Friday, October 3rd. You won't be able to reach us between now and then; we don't have one of those cell phones. George says they're dangerous. But we'll try to call when we get to Memphis. We've got so much catching up to do.
Oh, is it OK if we park the RV in your driveway? We'll need an electrical hookup, but we can dump the sewage somewhere in a back corner of your yard. See you soon . . . with bells on, ha ha!
Love,
Gladys
Of course, there were no such people as George and Gladys--at least, nobody my parents had ever known. G-Man had his secretary copy the letter on pretty stationary, then had our brother-in-law mail it as he went through Chicago on business.
Several days later the letter with Chicago postmark arrived in my parents' mailbox; Mama read it and went immediately into stew mode. She was totally bewildered.
"Ahhh, Edith," Daddy said, "just let them come on. We'll figure it out when they get here."
"Let them come?" she said, her eyes bugging. "They're coming whether we let them or not. We must not have liked them then if we can't remember them now. How can we get the old gang together when we don't know who the old gang is? Church folks? The square dance crew? My bridge club? And I'll tell you this -- I don't want their old trailer in my driveway and their sewage in my flower beds."
She thought we grinned because we enjoyed her dilemma. We did.
Well, it was clue sorting time for Mama. She tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. George and Gladys obviously had lived in our town. More than likely they'd been with our largest industry, Baxter Labs, and had transferred to Chicago. They must have been members at First Methodist, and this Gladys-person probably played bridge in the Tuesday or Thursday club.
The telephoning began. Friends couldn't place George and Gladys either, but they said they'd help make calls -- somebody was bound to remember. Then Mama called First Methodist. Mrs. Sultan, the church secretary, said, "C'mon to the church. I'll pull out all the old roll books." The women hashed the situation out at length at bridge clubs all over town. Could that have been . . . no, not them. Or them? Or them? Nobody could remember.G-Man and I chuckled for a couple of days over this fine joke, but decided we'd better fess up before my poor mother spent hours and hours poring over the old membership books at the church. We took great pleasure in announcing this whopper of a joke, and Mama was a good sport about it--she still has that letter, as a matter of fact.
All of us continued to laugh about this practical joke long after the affair was old news. Indeed, the letter continued to be such a family joke that a couple of years later I wrapped for Mama and Daddy a beautiful brass frame for a Christmas gift, and in the frame was a picture cut from a magazine of a smiling, gray-haired couple standing in front of a huge motor home. The picture was signed, "To Edith and Bill, With love, George and Gladys."
Contact USADEEPSOUTH editor Beth Jacks at this address: bethjacks@hotmail.com
Beth Jacks is a freelance writer and newspaper columnist from Mississippi. She's the author of 3 books and has published stories and poems in a number of magazines.Want to leave comments for Beth? Click here.
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Read about Beth's SNIPPETS books -- two collections of her columns.
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