Ernest Smedley, one of FFB’s cranky geezers, found himself stranded in Needles, CA, after a grueling and very unnecessary flight to attend the funeral of his long deceased mother’s second cousin, only to find out that the dude wasn’t dead – it was some other guy’s charred body they found in the meth lab explosion. But all was not lost for Smedley, as the embarressed second cousin, Klaude Klappers, a Needles wheeler and dealer, in an attempt to make up for his blunder in not telling Smedley about the mistake, soon enough to save Smedley from making the trip to Needles, asked Smedley if he would consider giving the Commencement Address at the Needles High School graduation ceremony. A gratuity of $75 bucks was mentioned.
Smedley, always interested in money and a man given to holding a very lofty opinion of himself, accepted without hesitation, (seeing this as a great opportunity to showcase his wit and wisdom, something that was totally unknown inside and outside the Bay). Because the ceremony was scheduled for 3 p.m. that very afternoon, there was no time to locate a proper academic robe for Smedley. So Klaude hurried Smedley to the local Klu Klan Klutch, where the in-house Klutch tailor was able to re-fashion an old grandmaster robe to fit Smedley. Klaude then dropped Smedley back off at his Motel Six room, giving Smedley about an hour to work up his commencement address masterpiece.
Klaude arrived back at the motel at 2:30 in his ‘83 Ford F150 and off they went to the local VFW Hall, the site of all the town’s school and social events. Taking their seats at the head table, which was no more than a linoleum covered cafeteria table, were Smedley, cousin Klaude, who was the emcee, Mrs. Ethyl Sneedenheimer, the matronly school principal, and Mr. Bruno Spagnozzi, a man of multiple bulging muscles who was the school’s wrestling coach and Sergeant of Arms at all VFW gatherings. In front of this table was about two hundred metal folding card table chairs, half filled with nose-ringed teenagers and a set of people who looked as if they had just come in from a Hell’s Angel’s rideabout. This latter group was assumed to be parents of some of the students.
With the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” as played on a harmonica echoing through the hall, the Needles High School graduation class of 2014 filed into the hall from a side door. A less than impressive total of fourteen young men and women, wearing the traditional gowns and caps, took their seats to thunderous applause. Puzzled, Smedley turned to Mrs. Sneedenheimer, who proudly informed Smedley that this was the highest number of graduates Needles High had in twenty years.
After Cousin Klaude introduced Smedley, using completely bogus claims about Smedley, the crowd gave Smedley at very light tap, tap of applause as they were quite aware of Klaude’s unsavory reputation as a total stranger to truth-telling. Now up at the microphone, Smedley came out firing:
“First of all, Mr. Spagnozzi, as Sergeant of Arms, would you please step down and collect all the electronic devices from every person – man, woman, child – in this assembly – every cell phone, iPad, Gameboy, Kindle, Laptop, wristwatches – whatever device that can be used to distract people from paying attention to my words, including all writing devices, paper, books, cameras, and magazines. And please collect all snacks, fruits, vegetables, sandwiches, soda and beer cans, bottles, flasks, and half pints. I don’t want anybody to miss what I have to say here!”
“Citizens of Needles, behold these three points I am going to make and then you take them to the Bank of the Good Life. These are meant for all of you, not just these high schoolers:
Point One: Get a Job! Get off the Dole!
Point Two: Get a Job! Work Hard!
Point Three: Get a Job! Go to Church!”
The widsom and foresight of Smedley was never so clearly demonstrated as the enraged audience had nothing to throw at Smedley as he ran off the stage and out of the building to Klaude’s idling F150. Also, earlier this very same wisdom came into play as he had insisted that he receive the promised seventy-five bucks in advance. What a guy, our Smedley!