It Could Be Worse

     We did a couple performances in the West Virginia town of Beckley. It was a mining town, so our biggest audiences were on Sundays as this was the only day the miners didn't have to work. 
     The town was covered in black coal dust. Even after they washed they had this black cast to them, as if the coat dust was ingrained in their skin.  
     One afternoon after a performance, Ed was in one of these low moods. He went to a local bar, and was sitting there staring at his drink when a miner stepped up to him, grabbed his drink, and gulped it down in one swig.
     The miner then sneered, "What're ya gonna do about it?"
     At that point Ed began to cry.
     The miner's mood changed abruptly.
     "Hey man, don't cry. I didn't think you'd try. I can't stand to see a man cry."
     Ed then explained, "This has been a terrible day. To start, I muffed my lines at the show this afternoon and will probably get fired. This morning I left my wallet in the dab, and when I got it back all my money was gone. I got a call from my wife and she wants a divorce. Then she told me that our dog died."
     Thne Ed explained to this hulking miner that he bought some arsenic and had come to this bar to kill himself. He had put the arsenic in his drink.
     Then Ed said, "But enough about me, how's your day going?" 

Not a Cotton Pickin Thing
     In a small town outside of Chicago, we had finished a matinee and had been invited to dinner in the next town. There were two carloads of us. Three of us were riding with a grandmotherly lady who was an aunt of some such of our hosts.
     As we were driving along she needed something out of the glove box. While she was rummaging around in there, I noticed a large pistol. Somewhat surprised I said, "I see you have a pistol handy."
     She replied, "I wouldn't be without it."
     Something mader me ask, "Do you have any other guns?"
     "Oh yes," she said reaching under her seat where she pulled out another pistol.
     She reached in her purse and pulled out yet another handgun.
     I was astounded, "Lady, what are you afraid of?"
     "Not a cotton picking thing."
 

From Uncle Vellanoff's Journal

Funny How That Worked Out

     The troupe played the Old Majestic Theater in Fort Worth, Texas, for three weeks. Shortly after we moved on, that theater burned to the ground. I’m almost positive that there was no connection between that event and our having been there.

    Just after we started in Fort Worth we begin missing equipment. Nothing that was of much value, but it was irritating to come up to a performance and find that a prop was missing. For example, the show had a juggling act, and one night just before he went on, instead of having five pins to juggle he only had four. The act was sort of lame without that fifth pin.

    Nearly every night it was the same. After four performances got messed up, several of us decided to do something about it. The police weren’t interested in pursuing our problem as there was nothing missing that had much value.

    One evening after our performance, three of us stayed in the prop room. Jack was in a closet, I was behind a rack of costumes, and Jerry was inside a wardrobe trunk.

    About three in the morning we heard the prop room door open and a shadowy form came creeping in. It was a man, or at least someone dressed in trousers and a jacket. The individual rummaged around the room some, and then picked up an elaborate headdress one of our dancers used for one of her numbers, put it in a big bag, and headed for the door.

    He had to come past me to get out of the room, so I jumped out and yelled, “What are you doing?”

    He was obviously startled, especially when Jack and Jerry came out of hiding. The intruder dropped the headdress, and made a dash for the door. Since I was in the way he knocked me on my backside and ran out. The three of us were right behind him.

He dashed out onto the stage, stumbled over a prop, and went head first into the orchestra pit. When we got down to him, he was on his feet, but just barely. He obviously had a broken arm, and was bleeding from a cut on his head, where he had used it to smash up a music stand.

We helped him out of the orchestra pit up onto the stage, and started toward the back door where we had a car. On the way off the stage he caught his foot in a coil of rope used to raise and lower a stage light. This pulled the rope loose, which released the heavy light. Just before it hit the stage the light clipped him on the side of the head and shoulder. It didn’t cut his ear clear off, but close enough to start more blood flowing from his head, then it dislocated his shoulder.

By this time, he was screaming with the pain. We tore off his shirt and had him hold it to his ear and the other cut on his head to help control the bleeding. He was a mess.

Once out the back door, we were going down the three steps to the parking lot. Our intruder tripped and fell down the steps landing on one knee, which nearly tore off one pant leg. The knee was bleeding and he was limping.

Nothing more happened besides the intruder getting his hand caught in the door as we were putting him in the car. He swore like a sailor. We thought it was an overreaction, but later found out that the door broke three of his fingers.

Luckily, the police station was only a block away. Otherwise, the guy could really have gotten injured, being so clumsy and all.

Word got around that it was not a good idea to mess with our troupe, so we had no further trouble with missing props, or come to think about it, anything else. Funny how that worked out.

Philosophy 101

This sounds like something we would have studied in philosophy class. Well, what others might have studied, I have to admit that I didn’t study much for philosophy class. I couldn’t see the point.

    But the question today is this:  Is it okay to speed in order to get to court in time to take care of a speeding ticket? A conundrum? Perhaps. Although the state police officer who stopped this Vermont driver doing 112 mph on the Interstate didn’t have a problem deciding what to do. The driver has been charged with “excessive speeding and negligent operation,” according to the AP report.

Heads Up - Incoming Brisket

    What happens when you hit someone with a hot brisket? Or to be more specific, what happens if you do this in Kentucky? It so happens that you get charged with misdemeanor of wanton endangerment.

    How do we know this? It happens that two people were sharing a cooker at the Central Kentucky State Barbecue Festival. Evidently there was some disagreement, and one contestant threw a hot beef brisket at his fellow contestant and hit her on the head and shoulder. The brisket was estimated to be between 200 and 250 degrees. That’s hot beef. We don’t know what damage was sustained by the person hit.

    Now, in Kentucky this guy is lucky his thrown brisket didn’t hit a racehorse. For that, he would have been charged with something far worse than a little old misdemeanor.