For the Class of ’24

In May of 2023, I went to Chapel Hill, NC, in order to take my daughter to the airport on a Sunday morning at 3:00 a.m.

She had a flight leaving the Raleigh Durham Airport, connections in Seattle, on to Seoul

It was Graduation Weekend. Commencing Commencement

I went up on that Saturday and was home that Sunday before 9 a.m.

While I was in Chapel Hill for that limited engagement, all I heard about was how much fun a Friday night party was for my daughter’s sorority’s members soon to be graduates held at the Horace Williams House Museum on Franklin Street

“They had a band”

“They had the best barbecue”

“It was in a tent on the lawn”

It was ALL I heard about during my less than 24 hours in the Old North State

So, being someone with executive functioning skills, I sent a text to a pal who had a daughter in the Class of ’23

Three texts and an email later, I was in touch with a lovely lady in Charlotte, NC, who gave me the entire playbook: the contact at the Horace Williams House, the contact for Wilber’s Barbecue in Goldsboro, NC, the contact for the tent/dance floor/stage/tables/linens in Cary, NC, and the contact with East Coast Entertainment for the band.

Starting over a year ago, calls were made, contracts put in place, items procured

A mom in Charlotte offered to do the flowers

Decisions done damn it

“We want to do the same party” was all I told people

“Have you procured the [fill in the blank]?”

“Yes, ma’am”

“Have you contacted the port-o-potty company?”

“My friend, [Who will now be ever called Mr. Port-o-Potty] has a pal in Fuquay Varina who can do that for us at cost”

“Call me in January to finalize”

“Let’s set the menu in February”

“The band’s rider is simple: a room, a full meal, water, and sufficient electricity”

Done

Done

Done

From May of last year through May of this year, I emailed a group of Moms and Dads whom I’ve come to know since that fated Covid year of 2020-2021 when we moved our daughters at least three or four times

I would email and ask for money to be sent to my Venmo account

Without any questions, without any push back, without any hesitation, my Venmo would fill with requested funds in a day

Without question

How trusting

I guess I could have stolen it and gone on a great trip

A week before the event, there were flurries of calls and texts and emails, including with the Town of Chapel Hill Police Department

I obtained the appropriate Noise Permit from the Police Department

We were able to have the band play until 11 p.m.

That being said, we agreed that the band would stop by 10:30 p.m. as the Horace Williams House borders a residential neighborhood

The morning of the party, I met the equipment company at 7:45 a.m. My pal Mr. Port-o-Potty, as I have now named him, my lovely wife, and I met the portable toilet company in the driveway of the Horace Williams House. Luckily, Mr. Port-o-Potty has a truck full of equipment, including extension cords of proper gauge that we used to plug in the portable toilet trailer, complete with air conditioning and stereo system.

How many college graduates does it take to rig up a portable toilet trailer? 3…it takes 3

By 9:45 a.m., we had tables, chairs, dance floor, stage, all under two tents on the lawn

“Do y’all put out the table cloths?”

“No, you do, Sir”

Fair enough

That afternoon, my bride and I went back to the Horace Williams House and placed Carolina Blue table cloths on 16 round tables and black table cloths on serving tables and bar tables

Who knew that draping polyester takes so long?

Our pals from Charlotte had already brought perfect arrangements with white and blue hydrangeas, blue muscari, and hosta leaves

We placed those on tables

After a quick change, it was back to the Horace Williams House by 3:45 p.m. to finalize everything

The folks from Wilber’s in Goldsboro arrived right on time, having bypassed a wreck on I40

“We got to get this bah buh cue to Chapel Hill!” is what one of the gentlemen from Wilber’s told me. “We were goin round that damn wreck”

We helped the band set up, too

Bounce is their name

If you ever need a great band, contact them through East Coast Entertainment

I knew they were going to be good when one of the female lead singers announced she needed some space, to, and, I quote, “Throw on my sequins”

A quick shower dumped rain on us at 5:45 p.m., then the skies opened up that perfect Carolina blue

By 6:00 p.m., the graduates and their parents arrived

Hugging old pals

Meeting parents whom we had not yet met

“Thanks for organizing this”

“Twas nothing”

As folks filled tables and started going through the buffet, I let everyone know that the dining room table was covered with individual servings of banana pudding

“Revoke my Southern card, but I hate banana pudding,” I announced to everyone, too

“Is this Wilbers?”

“Best Eastern North Carolina barbecue ever!”

“I love their hushpuppies”

The assembled devoured the barbecue, both pork and turkey, green beans, slaw, macaroni, hush puppies, and banana pudding

The band played opening songs in the form of what we all call Beach Music

As the buffet wound down, the band cranked up

By the time the opening disco diva sounds of “First I was afraid, I was petrified” swept across the crowd, the dance floor was full

The speakers were actually on the dance floor itself as the stage had a sinking spell when the speakers were placed upon them during set up and sound check

But, we made it work

By 9:15, a good time was being had by all

Everyone brought their own bottles, ice, cups, mixers, beer, wine, High White Noon Claws

Everyone shared their bottles, ice, cup, mixers, beer, wine, High White Noon Claws

Not the host, but definitely the Party Dad, I came around a corner and one of my daughter’s pals ran up to me

She’s from Little Washington, NC, and has the best accent

Absolutely the best

“Hamlin, there’s someone in there calling the police! Are we going to jail?”

Not on my watch, young lady

Sure enough, inside the front room of the Horace Williams House a grown man seethed and shook

I approached and introduced myself

“I have just called 911! You cannot have this party here!”

The veins in his neck bulged

His rage rollingly boiled

“This should not be a party venue”

Well, Sir, it is and has been since the 70s. We also have a Noise Permit

The lady who manages the place came in and spoke to the complainant. They were old pals

“I have told you that we have every right to have parties here,” she said

She pulled me aside and said he does this all the time

He did it two weeks ago during a wedding reception

Trying to disarm the man, I asked where he lived, what he did for a living, how much family he had

“I live a block away; I moved here two years ago”

“I teach at a university, but not this one”

“I have young children”

Lawd, he moved to the alleged nuisance

Lawd, a dookie

Lawd, a dad

“How old are your children?” I asked

“They are 14 and 12,” he spat at me

“Well, Sir, I can guarantee you that they are awake and on Tik Tok at 9:25 on a Friday”

Oh, boy, I pushed his button on that

“THEY ARE NOT ON TIK TOK!”

Well, they aren’t asleep at 9:25 on a Friday. I kept that to myself.

After that, I felt taps on my shoulder from another of my daughter’s pals

“Mr. O’Kelley, the police are here”

So, out into the night I went knowing there was a lawn full of people ready to raise my bail if needed, with a number of licensed North Carolina attorneys sprinkled about the tables

Extending my right arm, I introduced myself to the officers and handed them the Noise Permit

“You’re fine, Sir” was the immediate reply

“We have to walk the party to make sure everyone is fine and secure”

“Yes, Sir”

“Sorry to be here, Mr. O’Kelley, but he calls every week”

“Yes, Ma’am”

So, the police walked around the tent, circled the dance floor, asked for a decibel level reading

“Y’all are at 91, and can go to 130,” one of the officers told me. “He’s probably at 60 at his house, which is conversation level”

As we discussed the sound levels, the numerous complaints made by the dookie, the fact that the Horace Williams House has been a venue for fifty years, I realized that the police were definitely on our side

“They had this same party here last year, and he complained”

Looking back over the leftovers of the buffet, I turned to the cops and said that may be we should give him some green beans and slaw as it was obvious the man was definitely backed up

They laughed

On a cold Friday morning in New York, my bride and I sauntered, strolled, ambled up that toniest of sections of Madison Avenue heading to a certain store in the mid 70s

As it was not quite ten o’clock, we wandered further up said avenue and ducked into the Sant Ambroeus for some more warm caffeinated beverages.

Who doesn’t love some Italian coffee drinks?

It being a high in the mid-40s and low in the mid-20s, we were dressed for the weather.

I had on a corduroy suit, sweater, long scarf, wool fisherman’s beanie, top coat

A legit corduroy suit in the color of “dark stone” from a favorite UK maker

How now brown cow?

Seemed legit for the weather

Stepping into Sant Ambroeus, Madison, b/t 77th and 78th, we observed a man in shorts (!) drinking from his cup and saucer at the end of the coffee bar. His shorts and his jacket matched. His black socks and shoes matched.

My bride thought he worked there

I knew better

As he sipped his drink, I removed my outer coat, took off my wool fisherman’s hat, unwrapped my scarf

I was abandoned by my bride who walked over to look at something in the bakery display case

As I walked by the man in shorts, he said, “I like your suit”

I replied, “Thanks, Mr. Browne”

He nodded

I nodded

No other words exchanged.

Recently, I had the ultimate privilege to serve as an usher at a funeral

For a 22 year old

For a 22 year old

For a 22 year old

I have been to this funeral

Many times

I’m from Beaufort, SC.

As my maternal grandmama used to say, for a town its size Beaufort has a lot of tragedy

I have buried the dead

I have mourned

He whom every grief hath known that wrings the human breast and takes and bears them for His own that all in him may rest also wept

There were so many young people in the church

Hundreds of them

“Son, please take off your baseball cap.”

“Oh, sorry, Sir”

All dazed with grief

Sobbing and crying as one expects

Through the hymns and the readings and the First Song of Isaiah

Then, the deceased’s mother took to the lectern to speak about her recently departed boy

Without shedding one single tear

Without cracking her voice

Without missing a beat

With love

With conviction

With visible heartache and careworn brow

At the end of her remembrance, she said the following which is a paraphrase since my racking sobs prevented a direct quote

At the end of her time, our Rector commented that it was one of the most powerful things he had ever heard in a church

Agreed

This is what she said, more of less

…. So many of you young people have asked me what you can do.

This is what you can do.

Pick up your Bible.

Read it.

Pray from it.

That’s how you will honor my son and our family …

Silence

Then more sobs like you’ve never heard

Audible gasps and choking

The other ushers and I could not look at each other

The sexton said he had to go outside

A friend helping with the reception in the Parish Hall said they were just all openly sobbing

And then we sang Jesus Loves Me, This I Know

Jesus wept

John 19:25-27

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus therefore saw His mother, and the disciple whom He loved standing by, He said to His mother, “Woman, behold your son!” Then He said to the disciple, “Behold your mother!” And from that hour that disciple took her to his own home.

Let us behold this boy’s mama and do what we can

So, what can I do?

Pick up your Bible

Read it

Pray from it

That’s what we can do

During Lent

and always

April is the cruellest month, breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain

T.S. Eliot. The Wasteland. 1922. First published in The Criterion in the UK and in The Dial in the US.

I, too, will show you fear in handful of dust.

But, not in April

In this, January, the cruelest month of all

We start out so hopeful

January 1

With its Hoppin’ John, collards, Bloody Marys, and 364 days to look forward to in the year

The Natty soon after

Then, the long slog til the 31st

But we muddle through

Seasonal affective disorders

Vitamin D deficiencies

Soups

Stews

Freezes

Hard freezes

Moving plants in

Moving plants out

Basketball season

Depression

Need for light early in the day

The joy of the Christmas season fading in Epiphany

The oncoming days of Lenten disciplines

All through January

Moving at a geological pace

Dropped resolutions

Dry January

Get back to the gym

Gonna drop 15 lbs

New Year, New You

Whatever that is supposed to mean

But, I love it

All of January’s calm, quiet, hibernating qualities

I love the cold

To paraphrase Ludwig Bemelmans, “[H]e loved winter, snow and ice”

From Madeline, Ludwig Bemelmans, Viking Press, 1939

I love pulling out the sweaters, the coats, the hats, the flannel

I love curling up at night in front of some binge worthy show

I love going to bed early

I love the recharging of January

I love her, two-faced god that she may be

Epiphany season

A time for revelation, stock taking, evaluating

While huddled under a blanket

While reading

While sleeping through what are truly long winter naps

While being grateful for not having to attend events, to make the small talk

While catching up on those tasks put off until after the holidays

Only one day to go, kids

Only one to go

Growing up, my parents proudly displayed their first edition Take Joy! The Tasha Tudor Christmas Book on the living room coffee table

First published in 1966, I can’t tell you the hours I spent pouring over every page of that book around Christmas.

What can I say?

It was the 70’s and 80’s. Cable was nascent and limited. Three t.v. channels otherwise, four if one counted PBS, which was really only good for Sesame Street, The Electric Company, and Mr. Rogers.

We had a lot more free time on our hands than the youth of today

Boredom? What’s that

I would open the book every year it was out and read it from cover to cover

More than once

Like every day

Poems, carols, receipts, Fra Giovanni’s prayer in letter form telling a discouraged friend to “Take Joy!” from whence came the title of her tome

The Nativity According to St. Luke, “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed”

Which, led me to win an entire week of no homework in math class in the 6th grade around this time of year

Our math teacher, a retired Marine Corps Colonel, one Colonel Piper, would have row races to see which row could complete math problems fastest and with the most mastery. The prize: no homework

Upon the blackboard in his class in the upper left corner, the Colonel had written the letters “PSRTQ” in bold print

Piper Says Read The Question

Good advice, Marine

For most of that fall in his class, my row consisted of me and four other over achievers

Finally, around Christmas a classmate complained that we had been exempt from homework for almost two months

Colonel Piper shifted the rows

Well, one December, before exams, which we had starting in the 5th grade at our school, he did one of those coded word problems connected with math wherein words are revealed by correctly solving the math problem

I have no idea what the math problem was, but I started and came up with “And it came to pass….”

Having read the KJV of Luke 2 time and time again that season, I raced through the problem from “And it came to pass” straight on through “Peace on earth; good will toward men”

We won thanks in large part to Mrs. Tudor’s inclusion of that Gospel passage in her book

When St. Linus the Evangelist recites St. Luke’s Gospel to Charlie Brown and the other Peanuts gang, I mouth the words with him, because of Mrs. Tudor

What else did she include?

Excerpts from Dickens of the Cratchits’ humble Christmas dinner as seen by Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present along with their overflowing gratitude for even their meager meal

The young couple, each of whom puts their new spouse’s wants and desires before their own interests in that tale of grace and irony, in O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi

Dylan Thomas’s A Child’s Christmas in Wales in which the postman rat a tat tatted all the time

The Reverend Doctor Clement C. Moore’s telling of a visit from St. Nicholas

Carols and carols and more carols

When I arrived at boarding school in 1987, that December I attended my first wonderful Christmas carol sing and concert in the Chapel right before exams

Who needs a program when you already know all the verses to Hark! The Heard Angels Sing or It Came Upon the Midnight Clear or I Saw Three Ships on Christmas Day or O Little Town of Bethlehem? Not me

I can tell Jennette and Isabella to bring a torch

One of my classmates said “How do you know all of these verses?”

My reply, “Tasha Tudor’s Take Joy!”

His reply, “We have that book. I’ve never read it”

Guess his being from New York City and all meant he had a lot more options for entertainment than we did in Beaufort

Unlike my New York classmate, I do have a dear pal from the Eastern Shore of Maryland who is a huge fan. In fact, she has given additional Tasha Tudor books to our girls for Christmas. You know who you are.

Having never traveled to Sweden, I still knew about the Santa Lucia Queen wearing a crown of candles and handing out goodies to all assembled

Having never been to the Tudor family farm, I still knew about their traditions, including putting a creche in the bread oven. Wouldn’t it burn up?

For years and years, I begged my parents to give me their copy of Take Joy!

No chance

And, well, thanks to the silliness that is social media, a lovely book seller at Pease Porridge Press whom I follow posted a picture of a first edition Take Joy! with a reasonable asking price. (@myoldbooks if anyone wants to follow along)

I immediately slid into some DMs and have proudly displayed my first edition Take Joy! for years now

At least once during Advent, I sit quietly and read Mrs. Tudor’s book from cover to cover with her watercolor illustrations

Sometimes tears flow from my eyes. Sometimes gut busting laughter erupts.

But, mainly, the emotion is the one on her cover

Joy

I pray you all find Joy this Christmas, especially any of you experiencing losses, bad news, upsetting events. It’s a tough time of year for so many

I pray that you, too, remember the words of the Angel, “Fear not!”

As there is no peace in that Little Town of Bethlehem this Christmas, I pray that that the Angel’s further message of Peace on Earth, Goodwill Toward Men will once again be heard by both sides in that ages old conflict

So, Take Joy!

Merry Christmas, kids

I leave you with this prayer in letter form from a Sixteenth Century Franciscan friar, architect, scholar

Fra Giovanni’s Christmas Prayer

I salute you! There is nothing I can give you which you have not; but there is much that, while I cannot give, you can take.

No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take Heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in the present. Take Peace.

The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach is joy. Take Joy!

And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you, with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away

Fra Giovanni Giocondo to his friend Contessa Allagia Aldobrandeschi, Christmas Eve. 1513.

“Give me your earrings, Jew”

“From the River to the Sea”

“It depends upon the context”

“October 7th was our Fourth of July”

And, here we are

During Hanukkah

In the US of A

Where, now, anti-semitism is o.k.

Where, now anti-semitism is o.k.

If you’re a college President testifying before Congress

If you’re an Oscar winning actress

If you’re a graduate of Tik Tok University

If you’re under 30

If you’re on 5th Avenue

If you’re in London

If you’re in Paris

And, here we are

I thought it was “Never again”

Apparently, I was wrong

I will celebrate the birth of a young Jewish boy in a stable, in a manger, in what is now Palestine

Where the annual Christmas celebrations have been cancelled due to the war

Where I can think of nowhere more where the Prince of Peace is needed

From the time of Abraham, these lands have been in turmoil…kingdoms, empires, nations, invaders, protectorates, and then more kingdoms, empires, nations, invaders, protectorates until the late 1940s….and then more nation against nation

More complicated than any other part of the world

But, calling the Israelis colonizers is not correct. Hell, everywhere has been colonized. Since God placed Adam and Eve in the Garden. Literally everywhere….no, really, everywhere

From Timbuktu to Tibet to Texas to Tokyo to Toledo to Tijuana to Trieste to Twickenham

And, yet, the Israelis are stigmatized

And, here we are

With “Death to Israel” being chanted in this country

Death to Israel

My Jewish pals are not o.k.

I wouldn’t be either

Jesus wept

So do I

And, here we are

Happy Hanukkah to all my Jewish pals from one who looks like the ultimate goy. I may just light a candle tonight.

So, we went to a party

A birthday party

Where The Tams played!

Now, if you’re of a certain age (read as 35 to 95) and are from a certain part of the world (read as the Southeast) and know how to shag (read as the dance not the British definition), then you know The Tams

Be young! Be foolish! but be happy!

Be young! Be foolish! but be happy!

Don’t let the rain get you down, it’s a waste of time

A waste of time

Have your fun, live your life in the bright sunshine

The bright sunshine

Well, it’s the same ole story all over the world

Girl meets boy; bot meets girl

So, be young, be foolish, but be happy!

(J. Cobb, JR Cobb, Ray Whitley, 1967)

If you fall into that demographic above, then you just started singing and may be doing a step ball step step ball step shift weight movement thinking about adding a pretzel as you read those lyrics

If you fall into that demographic, then you have danced to this song at least once or twice

The current singer is 54 and the son of the original singer, so he was not signing at The Pavilion on Pawleys are at old school OD in Myrtle or at any of the over beach music venues up and down the Carolina Coast. All of that was before his time and my time.

Interestingly, at the same party a dear pal who is from Atlanta, and, yes, he is really from Atlanta, confessed that he hates beach music and things shagging stinks

OUCH

But, this is the same City that 500,000 dead Confederate soldiers died to prevent as one of my favorite college professors half jokingly used to say

I, however, love beach music and love The Tams

My parents reared me on it

In fact, on the way home from the party, I called my parents to discuss

They were so nostalgically happy for us that we got to see The Tams

The fact they weren’t there left me…. hurt…hurt…hurt…yes I [was] hurt like I’ve never been hurt before….

Sorry, that was, too, easy

And, you just sang along with that one, too

During Be Young! Be Foolish! Be Happy! the dance floor was packed, jammed, overloaded

What Kind of Fool (Do You Think I Am) also produced the same crowd on the boards

Taking a minute to use the facilities, I experienced what may be one of my favorite auditory moments

James Lipton always asked “What sound or noise do you love?” when he did those pompous interviews on Inside the Actor’s Studio

“A baby’s laugh”

“Horse hooves on cobblestones”

“My children saying “Daddy” when I walk in the door”

“Frying bacon”

Well, nope, not me

I love the sound of a good damn band carried across a party venue and heard muffled in the sounds of a restroom. Alone.

I’ll repeat

I think one of the greatest things to hear is a muted performance from afar knowing the party is still rocking and rolling and I’m at the moment neither rocking or rolling

I’m sure some therapist could analyze that one all day

But, I had to get back as soon as possible

Because, after all, it was The Tams

And, as my sticker said, I came to get down

Yesterday, August 28, 2023, my family joined a club

One that no one wants to join

I was on a call. I saw I had a missed call from my bride. Then another. Then another.

I told the folks on the other line, “Y’all. Something’s wrong. I have to go”

Sure enough.

“There’s a shooting in Chapel Hill. On campus. [Our daughter] is at her house”

“Noooo”

Well, from 1:45 until 7:00 there were calls, texts, messages on social medias

“Is [your child] ok?”

“Yes”

But not really

Our asking “Is [your child] ok”

“Yes”

But not really

All the local folks with children at Chapel Hill checking on each other

College pals checking in on each other

Our younger child’s school calling to check in with us to see if they should inform her of what was happening at her sister’s university

Calls from parents, aunts, uncles, folks in NYC, folks in CA, Godfamily across the Pond

So many messages

A call around 3:30

“Dad, our doorbell rang”

“Do NOT answer it”

“Dad, I’m scared”

Me, too

Me, too

Turns out it was just the mail man

I know there were a lot of Carolina blue tears

“Is everyone ok?”

Nope

Sure aren’t

Speaking of Carolina Blue, our mortal and most hated rivals down 15-501 let everyone know that there was only one color of blue yesterday. Thank you, Duke.

And, this club is one I never wanted to join. No parent wants to join. And, yet, our memberships swell

I was fine all through the afternoon

I was fine through the all clear announcement

I was fine on calls to friends and family

I was fine until our Chancellor gave his press conference. He’s been through a lot during his tenure.

Then, I was not fit for company

May not be for a while

We had a family member who was prone to lachrymose spells. Well, let’s just say I took up Aunt Carrie’s mantel and wept freely. Not that jagging cry with heaving shoulders. Just that one where water leaks from tear ducts without control for several hours

I pray none of you join this club.

Its dues are way too high and the membership is too large.

There are no benefits.

None.

With love and thanks to our friends, family, and all those who put the University of North Carolina on their prayer lists. Go Heels! And, yes, it’s still a Great Day to be a Tar Heel.

Rob Lowe tells a great tale of filming Tommy Boy with the late great Chris Farley. (Remember, it was he, Rob Lowe, who says, “These shoes are worth more than your life”. But, I digress)

Lowe regales on his podcast with the story of being out to supper with Farley one evening. As Farley devoured two steaks, he topped each bite with a pat of butter unwrapped from those little gold foiled packages in a pewter crock at table.

Upon being asked what he was doing, Farley responded, “It needs a hat”

Well, I finally caved at my age

He needs a hat.

I bought a full on, sun covering, Guatemalan made, straw woven, hand blocked, sun proof, water proof, leather strapped hat with wide brim. No, I don’t yet paint pictures of hay fields. And, yes, I still have both ears. But, damn if I don’t resemble Vincent wearing it. Full shade. Full stop

Paja touquilla

Palm shoots harvested from the mangroves and sold to dealers, soaked in water, smoked in sulfur, bleached, stripped, braided and woven

All to keep the sun off my face after fifty years of sunburns and questionable spots. We 70s kids will have to answer for all of that over the next 20 years

Technically, a cowboy hat in Guatemala, it looks like I’m about to audition for the remake of Evil Under the Sun. Or, perhaps Lust for Life.

Every year my parents hosted a Christmas party. One year, one of the guests had suffered a fall and had to have surgery on an ear. He arrived with one ear covered by a bandage. Our funny friend Jim Gibson leaned into me and said, “I didn’t know Billy painted”.

Well, wearing this lid some may think I’m destined for madness in a wheat field expecting return mail from brother Theo.

My children are mortified by me in the hat

My lovely bride says it will take some getting used to

Like the Mad Hatter in Alice, I am 7 3/8 in hat size. Or was he 7 1/8? Or was it that his hat could be purchased in that style for 10 | 6/?

Either way, I’m sure he and I are both crazy, mercury poisoning notwithstanding

If you see me round, just know that I can’t produce a starry night, or irises, or sunflowers

I cannot say enough good things about Delta Airlines. They get a lot of flack, but they did right by us on all levels on our recent trip cross the pond to see our Godfamily and for my wife and daughters to visit Harry’s House at Wembley Stadium

On the way there, a storm across the Northeast meant we would miss our connection to Heathrow.

Well, thanks to one Jean-Louis in Charleston, he had us on a later flight to Gatwick. Great thinking, and “Merci, Jean-Louis”

After a lovely time in London, it was time to board the flights back to the US.

Upon arrival in New York, we huddled with the other yearning masses at JFK in Jamaica, Queens.

“Anything to declare?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m glad to be back in the States”

“Welcome home, Sir”

USA! USA! USA!

Upon arrival from international flights at JFK, one must pull one’s luggage and give it back to the Delta baggage folks

Let’s just say, I think Rick and Sam had less chaos as they fled Paris in Casablanca.

Twas a bit of a zoo

We found our checked luggage and were hurried and harried to get our bags to the Delta baggage folks across the terminal

In an effort to improve all efficiencies, the baggage folks were grabbing and shoving and moving the bags along

As part of that tide of humanity, we tossed and handed and rolled our bags along, too, including my rolling hard plastic cased gray with green tag carry on bag. Without a Delta luggage tag

I didn’t notice that the bag was gone until after we had gone back through security

“Where’s my carry on?” I asked my family

“Where’d you have it? Did you have it at Customs? Did you give to to the baggage folks?”came their questions in reply

“I know I had it through Customs”

Seeing my frustration and confusion, a TSA Agent came over to me and asked what was the problem. He would end up being my best friend: Travis. His family had moved Nawth in the 1920s from Georgia.

Well, Travis took pity on me and said he’d cut through all kinds of lines with me and take me back to the baggage drop off on the other side of security.

It’s amazing what a badge and a uniform can do to part seas of humanity

“Step aside. Step aside”

Wink wink

Nod nod

So, back I went to the baggage folks who said they didn’t remember my bag

Why not? Aren’t you memorizing the thousands of pieces of luggage?

“Are you kidding me, Sir?” asked the capable baggage handler

“Looka here [insert Queens Flatbush accent,]” he said further. “No Delta tag, it ain’t getting on the plane. But, this happens all the time. There’s a lost and found form on line and Delta will call you if you have a tag on it with your name on it”

Feeling dumb, I thanked them and then relied on Travis to get me back through security

“Let’s face it, man, you’re not exactly the terrorist profile”

Feeling dumber still, I popped into the first bar I saw and had a double.

My family assured me the bag would turn up

As we were boarding the plane, sure enough, Delta baggage at JFK called and advised they had my bag, could I identify it, did I have a picture.

Yes, yes, yes

“We can’t get it on this flight, but when you get to Charleston, go to baggage and they will be waiting for you to get it on a flight tomorrow”

So, I did as told

The lovely lady at baggage claim in Charleston said they were waiting for me and needed some identification so they could put the bag on the next flight in the morning

“Will my passport work?”

“Yes, Sir”

Apparently, Delta really was ready when I was!

By noon the next day my errant luggage awaited in the Delta baggage office in Charleston

Keep climbing, Delta

I love the way you fly, and return lost items to jet lagged fools