August 30, 2001

In last week's post, six photographs arrived of the Big Boss carousing with his old cronies. "Better forgotten and lost shots" must be in season. On the same day, my first cousin surfaced a nightclub photo of her husband way back before they were married in the 50s. He was in a rigged pose with his right arm clutching the shoulder of a smoldering black-headed girl.

"Rigged pose" remains an appropriate and definitive phrase, as a dim resemblance of myself appeared in the background over a big table of contemporaries. The picture was the work of a skilled forger able to switch images around on film and attach my cousin's husband's face to the actual person embracing this exotic raven-haired beauty. By further trick and alteration I cannot explain, he also placed my image behind the dominant scene of young revelers hiding whiskey bottles under the chairs and beer bottles below the tabletop.

My cousin shoved the picture in front of me at a lunch spot. The photograph was such a shock, I said, "Gosh-a-mighty, who is that black-headed dish?" Her husband was no help. He had passed through the Mexican food buffet. He kept rolling and unrolling his tamale in the shuck like he was going to pack a lunch. About that time I was wishing for four tamale shucks to stick in my big mouth.

After recovering, I agreed it was a clever forgery, that it couldn't be us as we were at church camp in Kerrville the date of the photograph.

"The camp," I explained, "was on the Guadalupe River 160 miles from Angelo honkytonks, or a day's travel for us on the bus. Furthermore, the camp would never have opened a Sunday service without our being on the front row."

Satisfied, or I was at least, I opened the envelope I'd received in the morning post marked "Photographs — Do Not Bend," to show her pictures of the "Big Boss." He was her big favorite in the family. I thought maybe seeing these pictures would divert her attention from the phony nightclub shot. But the sight of the Boss doing the "Cotton Eyed Joe" and a ringer or two more swinging a gal on his arm intensified the scene. A long time has passed since I've had a wife, but my instincts said the best thing to do was eat a small salad and excuse myself.

Once back at the ranch, I wrote a grandson a letter to warn him to destroy all prints and negatives of his summer trip to Europe. On a good run, he listens to 10 percent of my advice. (The danger point for ignoring elders is five percent, as they might mention an allowance increase or a rescue provision for a traffic ticket.) The best way to catch a teenager's attention, I've found, is to flash the picture of General Grant on a 50-dollar bill. The way to approach this lad, however, is to mention books. Then in a swift move insert: "Stop for red lights after midnight on Saturday night", or "Take out girls wearing green eye shadow in the winter months and save the fair skins for spring." (If you don't understand the last advice, please go on to the next paragraph.)
The way I'd messed up at lunch brought on more of a confessing mood than a preaching humor. I went into detail about how long I'd known my cousin's husband. Lamented bringing along the photographs of the Big Boss doing the "Cotton Eyed Joe" and the "Hey Mom-ma, Mom-ma There's Turkey in the Straw." Told him the only advice the Big Boss ever gave me was not to ever steal a bicycle in Hong Kong. Reminded him I'd been to Hong Kong two times, and it was still a sound idea not to steal bicycles over there. (See how smoothly I slipped that in.)

I don't know why things run in cycles. Other families treasure pictures of old Grandpa glaring from an oval frame, hiding his mouth with a big black bushy beard and his chest with a narrow-breasted suit and a string tie dangling from a shirt collar. The grannies pose in a lace shawl draped over a high-collared dress with all the kids gathered around, so posterity can find Uncle Herbert, Aunt Louise, and Dad. But, oh no, poor old cousin-in-law and I have to be tormented by some phony two-bit trick photographer's idea of a joke.

There's a dance in Kerrville on the 25th of August. While I'm in town, I am going to check the camp's archives. I'll show that scandalmonger he or she can't tarnish our reputation. Next time at lunch I'll be the one flashing the evidence and I sure won't have any of the Boss's past history to distract from the hearing.

August 30, 2001