Introduction
The philosopher Dorothy Gale said: "There's no place
like home".
Indeed. That’s why so many of us leave.
Around the age that Dorothy left Kansas, I was blown away by
the realization that by studying for the priesthood I could please my
parents and run away from them.
I took the road to the yellow brick boarding school in Kenmore
called St Edward’s.
The
Tale of the Dunne Call
The instructors were very old school.
We sat strict alphabetical order: I in the back, behind my
pious friend Mr. Murphy, in front my nervous friend Mr. Dunne. One Latin
teacher picked on the boy in the front: Dunne, what is the singular feminine
superlative of beautiful? Poor Mr. Dunne! He would stammer and wilt. Pulcher? Pulchra? Then it was Murphy! my
friend Mr. Murphy gave it a try and was chewed on a bit. Then: Winnie!
I had had two minutes to look up the answer. I always got
it. I learned the lesson: I was smarter than everyone else! Later this proved
untrue.
Today, Mr. Dunne is at the top of his profession, a brilliant counselor
solving complex problems. He would have been better than I at the job for which
we were ostensibly studying, but for his unfortunate choice of last name
beginning with “D”.
Do not think of him merely as scholastic roadkill. Oh no.
For his lack of academic achievement, Mr. Dunne got extra duty in the school
office. He knew he was trusted because he was often unsupervised, and used that
time to read his own file: Trustworthy.
For two Hershey bars – our
medium of exchange at Stalag St. Edward - he would read your file too.
A Holy Tale
This was helpful for the my friend the inappropriately named Mr. Holy.
Mr. liked knowing things and doing things – just not Latin or theology. He knew which
basement window opened from the outside, should you need to reenter the
building after an all night carouse. He often dozed in Latin. Perhaps those
facts are related. Later he used his energy and curiosity to be a very
successful what? Detective? Politician? You're both right!
At the end of spring term, he learned, no doubt with
the aid of Hersey bars, that he being sent back to Spokane. He generously gifted
me with a magazine in which the people wore not enough clothing; a great increase to my knowledge, not helpful to my vocation.
The
Tale of Mr. Phelan: Out On The Road
My friend Mr. Phelan, now a senior computer engineer, showed
me how to solder circuit boards. Thus college
workstudy placed me in a computer lab, rather than washing dishes, the
foundation of all my financial success.
One Saturday we two amiable dweebs were in a walkathon,
raising funds for some charity or other, strolling down the road talking about
life and everything, just us two guys and no faculty. He said, “Randy, you
know, I’m gay.”
Well, I knew now.
But what did I know? Gay was against the
rules. But friendship is its own rule. Either my friend was wrong or the rule
was wrong. This is no contest. We walked on together.
“Also,” he said. “So’s my sister.”
Disaster! Even now, my breath stops at the glory, the
wonder, the singular feminine superlative that is Mr. Phelan’s sister:
pulcherissima!
She and I had been together, or at least, we had
been at the same All School Picnic, a hundred boys and their families milling
around. She smiled at me over the fruit salad jello, and perhaps seminary would
not last for ever. But now?
Mr. Phelan snickered. “Just kidding. About her”.
Conclusion:
On The Road
You’ll understand why we’ve all been friends so long. We share so much, big things, little things, but one
REALLY big thing:
Some go home to Kansas – or
Spokane -
Some settle in the Emerald City
Some stay on the road
It doesn’t matter: with companions, you are already at home, and there’s no place like home.
Some settle in the Emerald City
Some stay on the road
It doesn’t matter: with companions, you are already at home, and there’s no place like home.
Maybe I’ll ask Mr. Phelan for the phone number of his sister.
-- REWINN
2017 Humorous Speech Contest, Chapter 832 Toastmasters (I won yay!)
