"66" but it took 87 ??? Tpoonetom
Tponetom, Performer, Out of the Closet!
[[A Paid Professional?)
“You can fool some of the people, all of the time”,,,etc.
On April 14, I posted: “Paging Eriedearie, Tponetom.”
Part of that post was:
My Quote: "It has been oft repeated that any performer should know when it is time to get off of the stage. I think my time has come."
One reply to that post, that follows, tickled my tush.
“Tponetom, Performer? I thought much more of you then that! I thought you were the real thing? If it all was just an act, it was a good one. You told your stories and we listened, We learned, And we loved each performance! and now I guess it's over, just in time for summer re-runs?
Unless, You would care to reclassify yourself from Performer to Human Being, and decide to stay awhile longer. Other real people here would like you to stay and enjoy the time we have together, being real!
You have Ideals, Thoughts, and Memories to share. and where can you find a gathering of people more diverse then we have here? Case closed ! Welcome back! I hope.”
End of quote.
So, let’s get back to business. Here is the skinny of it:
On April 15, Peggy and I mounted the Medical Merry-Go-round. That was sponsored by the Medical Abusement Conglomerate. [[I plagiarized the word ‘abusement’ from one of our Forum members.)
We got to ride the MRI tunnel, solo of course. The sound was deafening. Like a Rock Concert.
We got to stand in front of the X-ray machine that gave evidence that ‘it ain’t no sin to jump out of your skin and dance around in your bones.’
The Colonoscopy was a stunning intrusion
Then we played the ‘blood’ game. I only had to submit one sample,,,,,,,twice. My favorite nurse took the sample, quickly, painlessly and I was on my way out. As I started to get into my car, she came running out of the office, calling my name. I stopped. She said, “I’m sorry Mr. O., but I dropped your sample on the tile floor and it broke. Deja vue, all over again.
Peggy had given three samples and her nurse did not drop them on the floor.
But! We usually get a call within 3 or 4 days explaining the results of the tests. Two weeks passed,,,,,and nothing.
Then, with great trepidation, I deigned to call the Doctor’s office. Why trepidation? Because there is a big sign in the waiting room of his office that states: “Any phone calls to this office that requires a physician’s opinion may result in a co-payment for services rendered.”
[[My note: Creativity like that has to be appreciated!)
Be that as it is. It turned out that there was some ambiguity about her blood samples and they had to do it all over again. So we made another 22 mile round trip to the office. I asked the receptionist if she could validate my parking stub. She didn’t get my joke?.
I will cut to the chase. All the medical tests have reassured us that our hearts will last as long as we live. We dismounted from the Medical Merry-Go-Round.
O. K. Here is the” Paid Professional Story.”
I had been a paid professional Performer in my youth. Gigs, nowadays, are few and far between.
I was, in fact, a “Child Star’ at the age of six and a half. I was discovered in the year, 1935, in our mansion on McClellan Street.
Our family had just moved into that munificent, 800 square foot palace that would be our homestead for 30 more years. There was Dad, Ma, my two older sisters and myself. My three younger siblings would make their debut during the next four years.
I reigned supreme during that first year. I had my own private mattress on the Dining Room floor. The two girls had the bedroom.
Those very first days of relocation were fraught with frenzy and frustration. My two sisters fought over any and all preferences. Dad had his hands full getting his shop [[garage) and office [[basement) organized. Ma was the overseer of anything and everything.
It was during that first week that the magic oozed into my life. We had our supper one evening and Dad and the two girls disappeared immediately after. Ma was standing in the kitchen. She was tired and forlorn looking. I was still sitting at the table. There was a pile of dishes, pots and pans, flatware and assorted platters waiting to be scoured and put away.
[[Digression: Always keep in mind that my mother was a con lady. We kids teased her about that for her entire life.)
To wit: On that sacred night, Ma spread her upturned arms to the sky, and made a request to the heavenly spirits. She said, “Oh dear God, can you please send me an angel to help dry the dishes?”
In an instant, God replied, through my voice, “I will help you dry the dishes Ma!”
Ma looked aghast and said, “Oh no son, this is a job for a real man.! In the same breath she was handing me a dish towel and showed me how to hold the various pieces.
I did a credible job without breaking anything but I noticed one solitary plate on the sink drainboard. I asked Ma if she was going to wash it. She smiled at me and said she would but she wanted to give me a little reward for helping her. She took her index finger and scraped a tiny dollop of ‘sweet potato’ off of the plate and she pressed in on my forehead.
She said, “You deserve a Gold Star.”
I ran to the garage and showed my father my gold Star. He beamed.
There was a rocking chair in the dining room alongside my mattress. Dad would hold me and rock me and sing all of his Irish songs. The first one I learned was “Shanty Town.”
Dad realized my potential. Did avariciousness possess him?
Dad never came home on Friday nights at supper time. He always stopped at Grandpa’s saloon on Kercheval to visit with his father and brother, Uncle Frankie.
One Friday evening he did come home and had supper. He then told Ma that he wanted to take me down to see Grandpa and away we went.
The Saloon was crowded on most nights but on Friday it was standing room only. There were three groups of people on Friday night. A small group was cashing their meager pay checks. A second larger group was cashing smaller welfare checks and the third group were those with but a nickel or a dime in their pockets, enough to buy one or two beers, and then hoping that some one else would pop for a third drink,
Dad and I walked in and after all the greetings were over, he talked to Frankie and Grandpa. They smiled and called me over and gave me a candy bar.
Then Dad asked me if I wanted to sing a song with him. I said yes. Frankie pounded a beer bottle on the bar and told everyone to shut up because their was some entertainment about to start. The silence was deafening because most of the patrons knew that Dad had a great singing voice. Dad sang, “It’s a Long Way To Tipperary” and the crowd joined in.
Then, my debut!
Frankie picked me up and placed me on top of the bar. Dad started my song with two words: “It’s only,,,,,,” and I joined in with my soprano, continuing, “a ‘lanty, in old ‘lanty town.
The roof is so ‘lanty, it touches the ground. Just a tumbledown shack, by an old railroad track.”
You get the idea. I could not pronounce the ‘sh’ sound.
I still sing it that way to Peggy, the Queen with the silvery crown.
I still can’t believe the money I received from the patrons. It wasn’t until we got home and Ma counted all of the pennies. She kept 12 cents and I got 24 cents, 12 of which I had to save but the remaining 12 I could blow anyway I wanted.
That division of all of my income lasted until the day I married. Ma got a third, I had to save a third and the other third was mine.
I lost my amateur status by keeping the money.
That was only the start of my ‘performing’ talents.
Ma taught me how to scrub the kitchen and bathroom linoleum floors with a scrub brush and a bar of Fels-Naptha soap and how to rinse it with clean hot water. Then, when the floor dried thoroughly, I had to spread old newspaper on it to help it stay clean for a day or two longer.
In a few very short years, Ma showed me how to paint the interior walls of our house with oil based paint and how to clean the brushes with gasoline because it was a hell of a lot cheaper than turpentine or paint thinner. Water based Kem-Tone paint was still a few years away.
By that time I was her # 1 Performer
The pinnacle of my success as a performer came in my last year of High School. I was voted Class Crooner of the Senior Class, of 1946.
Because of that accolade, I proved a point, that being, “Faint heart never won fair Lady.”
I swept her off of her feet and never let go.
Ma died in 1990. I am sure she is with her God in Heaven, directing newcomers on how to do things,,,,,and hoarding her one-third commission on any wages they might earn.
“Carpe Diem.” Ma!
P. S. Ma left each of us children a Life Insurance Policy that she had taken out when we were infants. She paid a dime a week on those policies for 20 years and then tucked them away, gaining interest until she died. I still think of those 12 cents from the Saloon gig.
There are six and a half billion people on this planet and each and everyone of them are “PERFORMERS”. Each one has a special talent paying special rewards. Some make a zillion dollars and too many others just manage to stay alive by doing whatever it takes.
