From Uncle Vellanoff's Journal

"Tis Certainly True"

       As much as we enjoyed the people in the small towns it was always nice to get into a big city.
   One such place was Boston. We had several Irish troupe members who had family in the city so we always knew they were good for some home-cooked-meal invitations. We were never disappointed. These Irish were very hospitable people. Their sense of humor was legendary, and much enjoyed.

    One troupe member had a brother who was a Boston cop. What else? At dinner one evening he told us this story:

    “One morning I got a call from Father O’Malley. He had gotten up and as it was a fine summer day, went to the window to get a deep breath of fresh air. He noticed that there was a dead jackass in the middle of his front yard. He promptly called the station. The conversation went like this:

    “‘Good morning. This is Sergeant Carey. How may I help you?’

    “‘And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O’Malley at St. Ann’s Catholic Church. There’s a jackass lying dead in me front lawn and would ye be so kind as to send a couple o’yer lads to take care of the matter?’

    “I thought I’d have some fun with the good Father so replied, ‘Well now, Father, it was always my understanding that you people took care of the last rites!’

    “There was dead silence on the line for a long moment. Father O’Malley then replied: ‘Aye, tis certainly true: but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin first, which is the reason for me call.’”

 

And Then She Was Just Gone

    One time when we were traveling across Texas on our way to El Paso, we stopped in Odessa. We played in the Globe Theater for three nights to standing-room only audiences. During the day, we had time to look around town. Several of us were walking down Main Street and were nearly out of town when we came to a large hole in the ground next to the street. There was a faded sign by the hole. The only part of the sign we could read was the words “Funeral Hom.”

    We asked an elderly man who was walking nearby if he knew the story behind the hole and the sign.

    He looked at us, smiled, and asked, “Y’all really want to know?” When we assured him that we were truly interested, he began.

    “An old cowboy, when asked by his granddaughter the secret of his having lived so long, gave her some advice. He told her that the secret was to sprinkle a pinch of gunpowder on her oatmeal every morning.

    “The old cowboy finally died when he was 105 years old. The granddaughter followed his advice without fail until the age of 104 when she died. She left behind 12 children, 35 grandchildren, 20 great-grandchildren, 18 great-great-grandchildren, and that 45-foot hole where the crematorium used to be.”

    Having told us that, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled off down the street, whistling to himself. Whether or not any of that was true we had no way of knowing, but it was a good story and the best explanation we thought we were likely to get.