Poor little rich girl

This and that according to Abby
by Harrison Absher

After you reach 60, all that’s left is to grab hold of whatever is worth remembering. Now that I’m beyond 60, the best of what’s left within my reach is reminiscing in the wake of my wonder years. During those wonder years I fought my way through grade school, wrestling with the three Rs all the way. As for “math,” certainly it was invented back during my fourth grade for the sole purpose of inflicting misery on all us angelic little imps.

After high school I helped eradicate the visionaries in Germany and Japan by enlisting in WWII. Seem the most we accomplished however, was to preserve a place back home for the unborn. Newborns here and outsiders born offshore later became the nuts that now occupy our State and Federal buildings.

After the war most of the U.S. veterans (yardbirds-n-all), were eligible to attend a college or trade school of their choice under the G.I. Bill of Rights. As I look back, I often wish I had signed up for a school that specialized in ceramic pottery. This would have given me inside information and some foresight on what I now occupy a portion of my time with - STUDYING CRACKPOTS.

I’ve met my share of these people during my lifetime and many have left their mark on me. The Bible teaches that we must learn to forgive and forget, but let me say this about that. “You may teach all the raindrops to return to the clouds, but you can’t teach a heart to forget.” The outcome would be the same as trying to push a log chain instead of pulling it.

Today, (3/22/00) I forced myself to sit down among my aches-n-pains and conjure up something that would suffice for another dull article. I realize I don’t write very well, but look at it this way. The forest would be very silent indeed, if no birds san ‘cept those that sing best.

It was back in the late 1920s or early ‘30s and the depression was pressing down on all of us. Frankie Wiggins and I needed a “miracle” if we were to see the western movie that was to arrive in town the following week.

She called me on a Saturday morning just as I was spooning the last bit of porridge from my Gene Autry cereal bowl. The kid was happy as a lark in a seven acre meadow, but her speech was garbled and squeaky. “Hurreeeeee! hurry!” she screamed.

She met me at her back door looking like she had gotten physical with a pot roast and the pot roast won.

“Guess what!” she shrieked. “My poor old aunt Martha died and left me $50.00. Now we are rich and can buy anything we want and go to all the movies for the next hundred years.” I assumed she meant me when she said “we.” Neither of us ever felt so good about a thing so bad in all our lives.

After a bit I told her she should spend it wisely but not all at once. After all, we weren’t expecting many more deals like that since neither of us had any other rich relatives in failing health like her aunt Martha.

It was only natural that I should feel euphoric as I walked back home. My friend and I were really rich and I had prevented her from blowing our good fortune on trivials. Like many others, Frankie’s pockets would kindle whenever they contained money for any length of time.

Only the day before she and I were in town trying to get our hands on twenty cents for that movie. Frankie was dressed in old ragged clothes pretending to be a little waif selling fruit. She stood on the corner of Main and Clark streets for more’n an hour, but didn’t sell one lousy apple.

During that time our Sunday school teacher recognized her from across the street and crossed over for a better look-see. After she was sure it was Frankie, she began quoting scripture and leaning hard on both of us. During part of her sermon she looked the hustler straight in the eyes and said, “you have sinned and disgraced your Sunday school class.” “Bingo!” Frankie whispered as she closed shop. We went home knowing we had been thoroughly and completely chastised.

In spite of it all, this little tomboy was an icon in my eyes as she was in the eyes of others. Whatever she did or undertook, she went at it adamantly - ‘cept her homework of course.

Home