03/17/2022
From the archives: WestWords by Dennis West, from the April 1, 2001, issue. A tribute to the former publisher.
"There was a time in the not too distant past when receiving an envelope from the Internal Revenue Service caused cardiac interruptus, if not outright cardiac arrest. But, since we have become pen pals with the folks in Kansas City due to quarterly tax payments and other correspondence, the sight of the IRS logo doesn’t strike fear as much as slight apprehension in the bowels of this beholder.
I usually pass these missives on to my wife unopened, so I don’t know what prompted me to look inside one recently.
There was the note at the top of the page: We have refigured your return and you owe an additional amount of money. Oh hell!
This was a three-page, figure-full (not full-figured), compilation of what I assumed were recent sins that we would have to put right or face incarceration.
The first couple of lines held figures like $8,000 and $6,000. Not an auspicious beginning. But then as I scanned further, things began to look better. The final line revealed that we owe the IRS another $18.60. Oh, frabjous joy!
If someone had walked up and said, “Give me $18.60,” I wouldn’t have been all that pleased. But I happily slipped a check into an envelope and mailed it right back to the address on the form before they could change their “minds” about the amount.
Maybe the government knows it already, but this would be a great way to wipe out the national debt. All they have to do is send every taxpayer a scary notice with numbers on the front page that have a lot of zeroes, and a relatively minor amount, like $34.95, at the end, and they’ll be flooded with checks by return mail, no questions asked.
Speaking of mail, we get an avalanche of it most days. Here’s an example of the press releases I receive.
Opportunity Knocks
“A recording company in Nashville, Tenn., is searching for original Wedding and Funeral Songs. Spotlight Stars Inc. is holding a song writing contest and offering ten budding songwriters the opportunity to sign a recording contract and record their song.
“We know from past contest (sic) that there a lot of unknown writers who have great talent, great songs and no connections to a publisher. We are seeking to help writers open a door by making a professional recording of their song and exposing the writer and their works,” said Cletus Blubaugh, President of Spotlight Stars Publishing Company.
“Ten people will win the chance to receive a recording contract have their song recorded and placed on a new CD compilation. In addition, the first prize winner will receive $500, two tickets to the 2001 Music Fan Fair to be held in Nashville, and two tickets to the Gran O Opry (sic).
“Cletus has produced many songs for artist’s (sic) and produced a show called Spotlight Stars, a group that performed at the Worlds Fair in Seville Spain representing the United States as Country Music Ambassadors in 1992.” No wonder Spain broke off diplomatic relations with the South shortly thereafter.
“Professional musicians on the shows in Branson will play the winning songs in the Branson area for the CD’s.” Be still mah hart!
Spotlight of Stars by the way, is located right in the heart of the country-western recording industry – in Ponca City, Oklahoma.
Anybody out there have a hit funeral song festering in him (or her, of course), just yearning to be published?
Mike Fright
The first thing a broadcaster is supposed to learn is to always assume there’s a microphone in the room and that it’s “live,” or turned on. CNN anchor Daryn Kagan forgot that lesson March 21 when she introduced a report from the New York Stock Exchange with, “And now to Christine down on the floor.” As Christine began to speak, viewers clearly heard Kagan shout, “Oh s**t! Is that Christine?”
That same day, another anchor was describing the action as a cameraman chased after President Bush, when something extremely odd happened to the picture. The veteran newsman calmly said, “Our cameraman seems to have gone head over teakettle.”
Spring is here?
When winter arrives early with a lot of snow and cold, as it did this year, it’s nice to be able to look forward to the January thaw. Ours finally showed up on March 1.
I swear it’s been 50 years since snow lasted so long without showing a hint of grass. Now that it has finally appeared, I don’t care that it isn’t green. It’s just nice to see that it’s still there.
Of course that’s easy for me to say. I don’t mow the lawn. My wife and I have an agreement that she takes care of the outside and I take care of the inside of our house. You can imagine how well I hold up my half of the bargain.
What I had in mind when I proposed that arrangement was that as long as it isn’t on fire, the inside of the house is in great shape. It’s my opinion that cat hair just makes the carpet softer and thicker, so it doesn’t make much sense to vacuum. Unfortunately, I don’t have any excuse for dust.
I do manage to hide most of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, so the kitchen doesn’t get too cluttered. And canceling my subscription to the Chicago Tribune has gone a long way toward eliminating the pile of papers in, around and under the kitchen table.
The problem with papers is that they have to be recycled and, with only two people in the house, we don’t buy enough groceries to get the paper bags to do it.
I still subscribe to two dailies and something like six weekly newspapers, but they come to the office when we pick up the mail.
It’s hard to believe that, even with our new, larger office, I have three desks whose tops I can’t find because of the papers and paperwork on them. It’s just impossible to keep up with the mail, faxes and periodicals.
I once knew a man who got a second desk so that he would have an uncluttered work space. Soon it was buried under a pile of papers. He finally gave in and got a third work surface. When that one got buried, he gave up and shot himself.
I don’t plan to do that. Besides, if I had a gun I wouldn’t be able to find it in the clutter. That’s my personal method of gun control. The problem with it, and the reason I don’t recommend it to others, is that any three-year-old could find a gun no matter how deeply it was buried.
When I was about four, I stayed overnight with a nice old lady down the street while my parents went somewhere. I managed to find a cute little derringer in her house and almost killed her with it while playing cowboys. I waited behind a chair and, when she came inside from her garden, jumped out, pointed the gun at her and yelled, “Bang!”
She fainted. When she woke, she very nicely claimed it was her fault for having the pistol in the house, but told my parents anyway. My father patiently, through gritted teeth, explained the danger of playing with guns while whaling me with the coat hanger he always used to bolster his arguments. Tough love my blistered bottom. But I have never shot anyone, so perhaps it worked.
Grampa who?
Kathi and I just learned we are going to become grandparents for the first time. When I answered the phone and my son, Mark, said, “Hello, grampa,” I suddenly had the urge to go lie down.
We’re thrilled, of course, but it’s something of a blow to someone who is still somewhere around the mental age of 13.
For no particular reason, I’m betting it’s going to be a girl. I have this odd notion that, especially in these days of video games and increasingly violent television, boys are less civilized and more obstreperous than girls. That may be wishful thinking due to lack of experience, but my days of taking pictures of kids from preschool to high school have reinforced that impression. But, as they say, as long as he or she is healthy, who cares? Congratulations to Mark and his wife.
