Correspondence: December 29, 1993

December 29, 1993
Carthage, TN

My situation has changed somewhat. I’m in Carthage for awhile taking care of the old folks. My grandmother suffered a stroke on December 12, which was, ironically, just before my father’s vacation, and he had planned to come up here anyway.

My father’s sister has been up here looking after the grandparents since August, so she was on hand to call 911 and get Grandma to the hospital. Grandpa checked into the hospital on the same day so my aunt could keep an eye on both of them.

After a week or so, Grandma was moved to a rehab center in a nearby town. She had several setbacks (which I should save for a later story) and is now in a hospital in Lebanon, while Grandpa is still in the hospital in Carthage. My father, my aunt and I have labored to provide each with round-the-clock care. (That’s three people for four shifts in two cities.)

I was able to get down to Atlanta on Tuesday and planned to return today (Thursday), but my cousin drowned and my aunt had to get back to Georgia and I had to drive all night Wednesday in order to sit here in the hospital all day today.

So that’s the deal. I bought a laptop [486 w/200 meg HD and internal modem] while I was in Atlanta, so I have a way to compute, but I haven’t worked out a reliable way to get on the Internet. I’m waiting for Grandpa’s Valium to hit, and then I will see if I can utilize the phone jack here in the hospital room.

I don’t know if I will be able to check my e-mail on any regular basis. If you don’t hear from me for a while, rest assured that I will document the events of this bittersweet comedy as they unfold, and I will try to get them onto the net as often as possible.
____________

January 17, 1994
Carthage, TN

We are still dealing with the aftermath of Grandma’s demise. Grandpa has improved some since he came home from the hospital — his memory seems to work better here. I don’t remember when I last spoke to you, but Grandpa and I didn’t go to the funeral. The weather was bad, so we kept him in the hospital. We didn’t know if he would be able to handle it, anyway. Pop took him to the funeral home the day before the funeral, and I heard that he took it pretty hard.

I sat with him on the day of the funeral. (I never saw Grandma after she died. I learned my lesson with Bob and Reba.) He was confused all that morning. He’d say, “When’s the funeral?”

“11:00!” I’d say. Mind you, I had to yell loud enough for him to hear.
“Who are they burying?”
“Grandma!”
“Your Grandma?”
“Yep!”
“My wife?”
“Yep!”
“Well, who’d they bury yesterday?”
“Nobody! You went to see her at the funeral home yesterday!”
“When’s the funeral?”
“11:00!”
“I can’t go.”
“No, the weather’s too bad! We’re going to stay here!”
“Who died?”


And so on, all morning long.

Now he tells his story to everyone (usually two or three times in rapid succession), and he adjusts the facts to suit him.

“I only saw her twice after she got sick.” (He actually saw her quite a few times in the hospital, but only for short periods of time because she couldn’t talk well, and he got choked up.) “I saw her once in Lebanon” (I don’t know where he got that), “and I went to see her when she was a corpse. I didn’t even get to go to the fun’ral!”
____________





Grandpa and BK
March, 1994

____________

July 4, 1994
Carthage, TN

... I am still in Carthage where it is deucedly inconvenient and expensive to get on the Internet. Not only is everything a long distance call from here, but the grand-parental home has a rotary dial phone with one of those old kind of lines that goes right into the wall where wires are twisted around little screws, or some damn thing. There is no jack to plug the computer into even if we had touchtone service. Stone knives and bearskins! What I have been doing is going to Atlanta every month or so and downloading a month’s worth of mail at a time. It takes me a while to plow through all of it. ...

It has been unbearably hot so far this summer. My experience of this exquisite heat has been enhanced by living with an 86 year old man. (“Turn that damn air off — I’m freezing!”) Just about everyone has set their tobacco, and the earliest batches are just about to blossom. Many peoples’ corn is beginning to show tassels. I don’t see how these people can plow in this heat. I reel on the edge of consciousness just from shutting the bathroom off from the air conditioning in the rest of the house long enough to make use of its services. As hot and as humid as it gets in there, using the bathroom becomes almost like a Native American vision-quest without the peyote. A bowel movement becomes a religious experience. (I just touched the face of God! Somebody bring me some paper!)

I have been exploring different ways to combat boredom. This whole county is like a big sensory deprivation tank; I have to provide my own stimuli. I joined a science book club, and have read several intriguing books about quantum physics and hyperspace, etc. And, in the time-honored tradition of prisoners everywhere, I am learning to play the harmonica.

Polyester Pearl

It wasn’t many years ago in my travels ’round the worl’
That I wandered into Tennessee and met Polyester Pearl.
I was shoppin’ in a Wal-Mart near the Coke and tater chips
When I espied that wonder cloth stretched across those mighty hips.
Suddenly, my mouth went dry, my pulse was doin’ ninety,
As, sneaky-like, my eyes caressed her polyester hiney.
My breath, it came in little pants as my gaze danced ’cross her thighs;
I marveled at her lips and chins, and then I saw those eyes.
Those eyes! Whose haunting beauty my heart with lust did fill;
How one it darted to and fro and the other one stood still.

Oh, they called her Polly Esther for her mama’s fav’rite aunts,
But now when people call her name they mean her stretchy pants.
She’s five feet tall and three feet wide; she is a hunk of girl.
Wouldn’t have it any other way, she’s Polly Esther Pearl.

She was a thing of beauty, a girl of poise and grace,
With that spindly cigarette of hers in a Moon Pie-looking face.
I knew beyond a doubt that, as I stood there like a fool,
I must become acquainted with this Appalachian jewel.
With that end in mind, I took aim and launched my shopping cart
At the comely derriere of the girl who stole my heart.
“Ah-ooo!” she cried and spun around a howlin’ and a-roarin’.
“Mister, I think your buggy’s wheel just rolled across my corn!”
Her chalky arms were flailing like the wings upon a dove!
Her voice was so melodious; my meadowlark of love!

Oh, they call her Polly Esther for the clothesline in her yard
And she earned the name of Pearl because she’s round and hard.
With eyes as black as asphalt and blond peroxide curl,
An angel walking on the Earth: that was Polly Esther Pearl.

Then I watched in delight as this vision from my dreams
Bent down to nurse her tender toe, pants straining at the seams.
“Oh!” I said, “I’m sorry!” all innocent and good;
I made my eyes real Bambi-wide — looked as earnest as I could.
Beads of sweat clung to her mustache crownin’ that lovely mouth beneath.
Then she wrapped a sultry smile around her missing teeth.
She said, “Oh, I’ll be all right, now don’t you worry none.
But I’d be obliged if you would rub it,” and I knew her heart I’d won.
I gently took her dainty foot, I knew nothing could go wrong:
I cast aside her Dr. Scholl’s and saw she wore her toenails long.

Oh, they called her Polly Esther, how her looks they could beguile.
If I squinched my eyes up, I could see us two walking down the aisle.
She’d be walkin’ slow and solemn-like, eyes demurely lookin’ down
Above those big ol’ blushin’ bride-cheeks in her polyester wedding gown.

We walked out to her pickup truck, a one with rusted doors,
A tailgate held with baling wire, and a muffler, one that roars.
We drove on out to her place, a yard with lots of dirt and rocks,
And two or three old Chevys a-settin’ up on blocks.
“I bet you must be wonderin’ how I can pay my rent.”
She said, “I’m splittin’ my expenses with the government.”
My heart ’uz wallerin’ with joy when she told me, “Come inside.”
And we went into that house which, like my Pearl, was double wide.
Then we sat down close together, I was all eat up with lust.
And I knew beyond a doubt that I must have Pearl or bust.

Oh, they call her Polly Esther ’cause that’s what she dresses in.
And they say the Pearl part comes from her white, translucent skin.
She shucks boiled peanuts with the deftness of a squirrel,
And she eats them by the bushel, that’s Polly Esther Pearl.

I reached out so that I could touch her lovely, satin skin;
And, gently, I began to stroke the stubble on her chin.
“Pearl,” I said, “you look right nice. I love you, every ounce.
You make me feel all wiggly-like inside where it counts.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, kind of playing coy.
But she shed that skin of polyester; I could scarce hold back my joy!
As she peeled that polyester, that elastic and those straps
Left big red lines of latitude between her fleshy flaps.
Then a madman with a shotgun threw back the door and in he came.
He said, “I’m this lady’s husband; I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Oh, my dear sweet Polly Esther, I didn’t know you were a wife!
Or that if I risked my heart on you I’d also risk my life!
How I wished you were a widow and that gun back on the rack,
But I looked at you and realized you’d look like a cannonball in black.

Her husband stood before us, his eyes were fierce and feral.
He aimed his shotgun, there I was a-lookin’ down the barrel.
What claim had he to my girl? I won her, she was mine!
I thought, I’d sooner die than cast my Pearl before this swine!
I said, “I ain’t afraid to die, if you’ve a mind to shoot, go on!
’Cause if you should shoot me dead right now, I’ll know I’ve gnawed life to the bone.”
He slowly pulled the trigger, then he pulled again and cussed it.
Said, “The dad-blame thing!” and tried again, “The firing pin is rusted!”
Now, if I live a hundred years I won’t know if that hammer ever fell.
For I politely tipped my hat and turned, and then I ran like Hell!

Oh, they called her Polly Esther; mister, mark the name.
Her husband’s trigger happy, you’d best hunt diff’rent game.
But, if you don’t believe me and you must give her a whirl,
Just you go on down to Wal-Mart and ask for Polly Esther Pearl.

* * * * * *
Now, as a special reward for reading to the end of the poem,
I present the original introduction which was sent to a friend in New York.
* * * * * *


June 29,1994
Carthage, TN

I’m sending you my poem because I said I would,
So I wrote this introduction as quickly as I could.
It’s my All-But-Final-Version, and, since you may find that distressing,
Let me put your mind at ease; all that’s left is “ballad dressing.”
Now, it seems, after all these nights of rhyming ’til I drop,
I’ve finished up my poem, and I find I cannot stop.
You’d think that, after all these lines, I’d be running out of juice.
But, instead, everything I say sounds like a poor man’s Dr. Seuss.
I’ve always heard them say, “the pen is mightier than the sword,”
And when I find a thing that works, it seems I go overboard.
Well, then, if my little pen is as mighty as it seems,
I could take on old D’Artagnan ’cause I’ve written reams and reams.

I know you must be eager to read my little verse,
But you surely won’t begrudge me a few observations first.
First of all, I must point out these are not angry words.
There’s not just one Polyester Pearl, in fact there are whole herds.
When I go into town I see, as the girls bare more in June,
That young ladies here in Tennessee don’t just blossom — they balloon!
You can tell that spring has flown and the summer has come back;
The fat chicks shed their skins at Wal-Mart and left ’em hangin’ on the rack.
(How can those legs be so white when their necks are oh, so red?
And I’ve never seen butts quite that big outside of quadrupeds!)
Finally, in closing, (you’re far away, what can I lose?)
Here’s the Polyester verse I found too gross to use:

I saw she’d bought Preparation H, and I hoped that she was willing,
’Cause I have a taste for pastry — I love a tart with creamy filling.
(I knew right then that this girl was quite a catch,
For I, too, know frustration of an itch you cannot scratch.)

Correspondence: June 22, 1992

* * * * * *

Das Katzenschtuffe will be in front of the dresser, next to the bed. I’m getting ready ... to clean die Katzenskratchenhaus so you can take it, too. Das Skieneattz will be in a clear plastic jug. I hope das Skiaittennza will be das Guderkittennz during her stay mit youse. Thank you incrediboobably much for taking care of Fraulein Skiakittennza ... I know of no one else I would trust with her quite so much. — Alan

* * * * * *

Subject: Gettenzie Kattenza
Sent on: 06/22 at 06:17 PM

Herr Alan,

Lettenzie knoe ven du arribst und ve kanst organizarung der exchangen der katten. Das Skiaenkatz awaitzen mit sharpenklaus und herrenbals. Mein haus ist herren haus, oder Ich bin thinken zie missenmuch der kittenkatz; missen der schnuglfurz und der pointenearz. Ich schleepen acht- oder neun-uhr, so kommen oder kallen zie early. Utherwise, on workendreiv Ich bringen der ballenfurz. Ich hopenzie hadd ein gut tiem.

Der Freunden, Herr R.C. Kaiser

Correspondence: February 29, 1992

To Roger, Executive Editor, TVData

I was indeed distressed upon reading your memo of February 25 regarding the workload of the syndication editors. I was distressed not at the casual dismissal of an Atlanta editor’s worklist or the derision of all southerners which it implied, but at the fact that your premise was contrary to the principles of TVData and the lofty ideals to which it aspires.

Your consideration for the syndication editors is laudable, however I think you have lost sight of our objective. The reason that TVData has been the leading source of TV information for more than two decades is because we have concentrated on one goal: to provide the most accurate, well-written and informative TV listings possible. We have one of the largest staffs of information gathering editors anywhere, continually updating and improving our extensive database. I am proud to be a part of such an experienced staff of individuals dedicated to quality listings and superior service.

The plight of the syndication editors deserves consideration, certainly. But so, I believe, do the wishes of Jim D—, the client for whom I have been requesting advance information. One of Jim’s major concerns is that he be provided the most up-to-date information for the Nashville Cable Guide. John C— echoed this sentiment when he said, “I must be able to trust that the information I’m looking at is the most current available.” I am not eager to violate this trust. I can sympathize with my friends in NPI, but the integrity of the product is at stake, and I will continue to pursue all avenues available to provide the level of service which the client expects and deserves. I refuse to compromise on quality.

I have been exploring new means of obtaining advance syndication information. My new friend, Tony G—, has been most cooperative in this regard. He has, for instance, supplied me with Cosby numbers for the entire month of April. I would consider making them available to Ann and Cindy upon request.

Experience. Accuracy. Leadership. That’s my commitment.

cc: ... Charles Scripps; Jack Howard ...

Correspondence: February 6, 1992

To Roger, Executive Editor, TVData

Hey, thanks for the cool card! When I came in yesterday and couldn’t find your anniversary greeting in my box, I thought, “Gee, that crazy Rog must really be going all-out this year. What could the Head Cheese have in mind?” Ed K— got a marching band, and I know I mean more to you than Ed K—. Whatever you were planning, it must have cost a pretty penny.

You may ask yourself, “Could I still get respect and performance from the people around me if I weren’t the boss?”1 Of course! You’d have my respect regardless of the magnitude of your tribute. We both know that building a team that works hard and loves it is one of the most challenging and worthwhile jobs the executive can undertake2, but I’m not worthy of such a sacrifice.

I fretted most of the morning. I couldn’t bear the thought of your spending money you don’t have on me, so I called to tell you that you didn’t have to do anything special. I wanted to tell you to go ahead and save your money and you could make it up to me next year. I see you got my message anyway.

PS- I am enclosing a picture so you won’t forget my face.
____________

1 J.D. Batten, Tough-Minded Management, American Management Association Inc., 1963
2 Ibid.
____________

Correspondence: October 14, 1991

To TVData Editorial Staff, Glens Falls, N.Y.

By now y’all may have noticed that my friend Nancy L— from Atlanta is in your office struggling to grasp the fundamentals of copy editing. This is, though I’m only guessing here, a very stressful time in an editor’s life — the blossoming of channel editor into NPI staffer. I’m sure she must be full of trepidation, and to undertake such a spiritual journey in a foreign land bereft of friends and family must wear upon her greatly.

I urge you to make her transition easier by showing her the same kindness which you showed me during my exile. Show her the warmth and generosity of which most Yankees are capable if they put their minds to it. Talk to her. Feed her. Take time to KNOW her (and I mean that in a nice way). You may come to realize that the Atlanta dudes are not so different as you think.

Take care of our little Nancy so that she will return to us happy and well. You have a chance to right the evils your people wrought upon mine. This is an awesome responsibility, and I hope you will do right by her for honor, God and country.

Amen.

Pee-Wee Accomplice Arrested

SARASOTA — Sarasota police reported the arrest today of a man alleged to be Pee-Wee Herman’s right-hand man. The man, who calls himself “Cool Hand Duke,” was apprehended while reading the descriptions of adult movies off the backs of video tape boxes in a local video store.

Acting on a tip that Herman had not been working alone, police have been searching the area for several days. “We were lucky to come across him at all,” said the arresting officer, “This is not my usual beat.”

The two men, who share a love of the cinema, have been spotted in area theaters together before. They were recently seen at showings of “Deep Throat,” “A Shot in the Dark” and “Bambi.”

On the night of Herman’s arrest the two men entered the theater during the preview of coming attractions. Mr. Duke allegedly left his seat prior to Herman’s apprehension in order to obtain Milk-Duds and paper towels from the men’s washroom. Although he was not observed committing the crime of which Herman stands accused, authorities are certain that he had a hand in it.

Both men will stand trial in late August. The prosecution is expected to request the maximum penalty — death by exposure. The attorney for the defense, however, is hoping for a hung jury.