Published: March 07, 2006 01:47 pm      

Aunt Maude and Spring cleaning times

It was March’s first Saturday — the day for Aunt Maude’s annual ritual to get Uncle Mort out of the house so she could light into serious spring cleaning. She thought of “suggestions” that always worked in early marriage.

Back then, one of two ideas always clicked: “Why don’t you play a round of golf or round up buddies for fishing ... ?”

***

She recalled laughing about his brags when he dipped under three digits on golf rounds. He called the double figures his “vital statistics” that could be precursors to the luxuries of life in professional golfing.

Aunt Maude figures that he would be lucky to win third place in a miniature golf foursome, and she has some current “vital statistics” for the old guy, lamenting: “He’s seven and a half around the noggin, 44 inches around the waist, 110 around the golf course and a nuisance around the house ... ”

***

No, golfing was out of the question. Besides, he wouldn’t even remember where to find his golf clubs. And he hadn’t untangled the lines from last year’s bungled fishing mission, so that was out, too.

Then the perfect “suggestion” crossed her mind: She’d ask him if he’d like to ride up to the county seat town. He could share news from the thicket, catch up on political news and play dominoes at the feed store ...

***

Uncle Mort fell for the idea. He double-timed it to check the tire pressure on his golf cart and fill the gasoline tank brimful with two gallons of the precious liquid.

Off he drove, negotiating the winding 15-mile route at about the same mph. He coasted the final 50 feet — anything to save a few drops of fuel, you know. Hearing the shuffle of dominoes before his feet hit the porch made him wonder why he didn’t go to town more often. The best reason, of course, is that Maude isn’t into heavy cleaning that often ...

***

A threesome was already playing, so Uncle Mort was exceedingly welcomed. It didn’t occur to him that they needed a fourth player in case they switched to a game of “42.”

Besides that, they figured he’d be a probability to finish fourth if they stayed with dominoes all day. First place seemed assured for the town’s police chief 40 years earlier.

“As much as you played during duty hours then, you ought to be good,” one of the players joked ...

***

Folks didn’t mind losing to the old chief, though. It was worth it to hear him tell stories about law enforcement during the years when alcoholic beverages were available for sale only in distant counties.

Many accounts had to do with bootleggers, who seemed always to have bottles — usually in the shadows or dark of night — of whatever imbibers wanted to drink. Under a sign reading “Near Beer Sold Here,” a bootlegger scrawled: “Real Beer Sold Near Here ... ”

***

“I’ll never forget the time guys were forever getting drunk IN jail,” the old chief said.

“Turns out that they drilled holes in the mortar to the outside. They used straws to suck wine from jugs held by friends out in the alley. Saw one of ‘em with his face against the wall and yelled at him. He jumped back, and luckily the straw fell inside the cell.”

Another time, they got a “telephone tip” that a bootlegger had liquor stashes all over his garden, with each bottle covered by a plow disc. “The caller was right,” he said, “But what he didn’t tell us was that rattlesnakes were also planted under each disc ... ”

***

Then he switched to a quarrelsome night at the radio station. He settled the issue, but in the process, riled the station owner. “When I sign on in the morning, I’m going to give you ‘Hail Columbia’ for as long as it takes to drum you out of office,” the nettled radio guy yelled.

Chief Bill figured he was serious, so he turned on the radio at 5:30. After playing the National Anthem, the station owner said, “Go back to bed, Bill. I changed my mind ... ”

***

Hours passed quickly as the chief poured it on in domino playing and “rolled on” in story telling. Mort was sad when shadows lengthened, and it was time to go home.

He figures that at least monthly, he ought to suggest “sweeping out” to Aunt Maude, while he rides into town to conduct some business. On a Saturday, of course ...

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Dr. Newbury is a speaker and author in the Metroplex. His column appears Tuesdays. He may be contacted via e-mail at newbury@speakerdoc.com.