by Galen Winter
The curse of the hunt destroying weather hung over the camp like a dense miasma. Peabody hoped the atmosphere would lighten up. He suggested a poker game, hoping it would direct his comrades’ attentions from the weather and stop their constant complaining. Grudgingly, the other agreed. There wasn’t anything better to do.
* * * * *
It was a very large pot. Not the kind used by the camp cook when he makes soup. It was the kind of pot developed when five poker players are each convinced they have the best hand and enthusiastically support their belief with bets.
A bit later, four disappointed players tossed their hand toward the dealer and made unhappy comment. “Lucky son of a deleted.” “Damned rain.” “I don’t know why I play this game.” “Damned rain.” “You deal like old people romance. Not very well.” “Damned rain.” “I’ve done nothing to deserve such bad luck.” “Don’t forget the damned wind.”
In contrast to their pessimistic muttering, the fifth man smiled and raked the chips from the pile heaped in the center of the table. As Peabody stacked his winnings, he observed: “Science and intelligence will eventually win out over ignorance and superstition.”
It did nothing to improve his companions’ attitudes. They stared - almost glared - at him. Noting their dour expressions, Peabody began a discourse designed to raise their spirits.
“Be not disheartened. Don’t let the adversity of the moment bother you. Your luck will change. Things are bound to get better.”
One of the hunters added: “Before they get worse.”
Peabody continued. “You have your choice. You can look on the bright side or you can look on the dark side. Life is much more pleasant if you adopt an optimistic attitude. Let me give you an example.
The folks who infest the TV talk shows are screaming: Killer Bees from Brazil will sting us to death, Global Warming will cause widespread starvation and a new Oriental Flu will decimate the population. The threat of the end of civilization as we know it is clearly set forth. The question is: Will you allow the frightful forecasts of irreversible, impending doom to ruin your life?
“I suggest you all adopt a positive attitude. Look on the bright side. Think of how much better off the country will be when the world’s terrible over population problem has finally been solved.
“For eons, mankind’s endeavors to advance the quality of life have been fueled by optimism. In the dim and distant past, our ancestors lived in trees. Falling out of bed had two disastrous consequences. It usually meant broken bones and, unless the tree dweller was quick enough to scramble back up the tree, it often meant being attacked and eaten by a Saber Toothed Tiger.
“The tree dweller didn’t sit around the poker table wasting his time complaining about the quality of the cards he had been dealt or the rain or the wind that blew Aunt Tilly out of the tree and into the jaws of the tiger. They were optimists. They knew things would change for the better.
“It didn’t take long before mankind left the trees and became cave dwellers. Soon someone picked up the thigh bone of a baboon and killed a tiger. As the optimistic tree dwellers predicted, things got better.” Peabody picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle.
“What’s your point, Major?”
“I’ve spent the day listening to your gloomy comments on the weather and the inexplicable bad luck you’ve experience here at the table. My point is this. When misfortune visits, you must acknowledge and convince yourself good fortune will soon return. You’ve got to remember the power of positive thinking. Your pessimism is destructive. Pessimists never feel the exhilaration of witnessing their positive thinking bring success.
“Seven Card Stud. A buck ante,” Peabody announced and he dealt the cards. Peabody watched the expressions on the faces of the other hunters as they peeked at their hole cards. Two of them grimaced. One retained his poker face. The other slightly, only slightly, registered approval. The Major held two numbered clubs down and a Queen of diamonds up. A straight, a flush and all sorts of favorable combinations were possible.
As soon as the betting began, Peabody quickly mucked his cards. He knew his chances for improvement were no better than those of the enemy and two of the players appeared to hold hands superior to his. Optimism had nothing to do with his game. The Major was a realist. It was no time to take a chance.
Silently, Peabody thought: “I hope they all bought that optimism and positive thinking nonsense. That sort of foolishness will encourage them to keep on betting long after a wise man would drop. I’m constantly amazed at how anyone can actually believe all that Pollyannaish, positive thinking silliness.”
The Major looked out the cabin window. The sky was uniformly gray with no hint of sunshine or blue sky. It was raining again and the wind was picking up. It had all the characteristics of a three day rain.
As he turned back to the table and continued to deal cards to the other hunters, he thought: “The rain will surely stop tonight. Tomorrow will be sunny. No wind. The pheasants will be out and that Springer Spaniel looks like a winner. I can just see those birds busting out from their cover. I can feel it in my bones. We’re going to have an excellent hunt tomorrow. No question about it.”
Global Warming
The weather in Philadelphia during the month of February seldom produces expressions of joy from any of the city’s inhabitants. The city in February can be an ordeal. It is a terrible ordeal for Major Nathaniel Peabody. His climate induced distress is grossly magnified when he is unable to find temporary relief by undertaking a hunting trip to some place where the sun shines mightily and overcoats are unknown. Unfortunately, Peabody’s mismanagement of his finances often requires him to spend February in Philadelphia.
It was nearing the end of that month. I knew Peabody had frittered away his money and, as a result, had been apartment bound for nearly two weeks. Moreover, it had been an unreasonably cold, cold February. From my window in the Smythe, Hauser Engels & Tauchen law offices, I looked down at a street scene of frigid wind and snow. I knew how the Major would react to a cold and icy month in Philadelphia’s gray and melancholy mid-winter.
He would be miserable. He would be despondent. He would be dejected. He would be in desperate need of cheering up.
Spending an evening with Peabody when he is in a foul mood is to be avoided at all cost. Nevertheless, I felt a powerful urge to lift his spirits and to invite him to an evening of conversation, good food and libation. My common sense demanded I immediately and completely disregard that impulse, but Peabody needed support. I decided to do my best to transform his attitude from dark dejection to one of rosy optimism.
I phoned the Major and, trying to be cheerful and upbeat, extended the invitation. Our brief conversation confirmed my assessment of his state of mind. The tone of his voice and every word he uttered spoke volumes. He was miserable. He was despondent. He was dejected. He was in desperate need of cheering up.
Nevertheless, my spirits were lifted by the knowledge that I was engaged in the charitable and benevolent undertaking of helping a friend overcome depression. It made me feel so good.
When I arrived at his apartment, I expected Peabody would be somber of feature, sour of temperament and an irritable dinner companion. I was not prepared for what ensued.
A smiling and animated Major Peabody met me at the door. He showed not the slightest sign of the grim melancholia he exuded during our brief phone conversation. “Come in, come in, Counselor,” he bubbled. “So glad to see you. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Beautiful day? It was freezing. The wind was blowing. The snow was piling up in drifts. Trying to raise his spirits may have been a praiseworthy endeavor, but it was beginning to lower mine. “You seem to be in a jovial mood,” I ventured.
“I am, indeed,” he answered, quite pleasantly. “I’ve just finished watching a fascinating program on television. What an inspirational event.”
“Aha,” I thought. “He’s been watching one of those hunting programs. Undoubtedly, it has alr
eady pulled him out of his February brown study. My mission has already been accomplished. All I have to do is reinforce his current enthusiasm. Then I can cancel the dinner reservation and go home.”
“Television is often a vast intellectual wasteland,” I said. “Those marvelous hunting programs are welcomed exceptions. Which one were you watching? Tell me about it. Are you planning a hunting trip?”
“No,” he answered in lively tones. “I find it painful to watch someone hunting in his shirtsleeves in some sun drenched field while I’m enduring this damnedable weather. I turned on the TV, simply for the companionship of unintelligible background noise. My attention was captured by an engrossing exposition of the effects of global warming.” His eyes widened as he exclaimed: “A profound enlightenment. It opened my mind. What fantastic events are in our future. Bless the environmental so-called scientists as well as their minions. Bless them all. Bless global warming.”
Bless global warming? I couldn’t believe my ears. It was the coldest day on record and Peabody was enthusing about global warming. I began to think the stress of February in Philadelphia had affected his mind. I considered calling Doctor Carmichael for immediate assistance in having him committed.
“You’re sure you’re not confusing global warming with global cooling?” I asked, hoping to gently nudge him back to reality. “The NASA people have been studying the temperature of the earth,” I continued. “They claim it has been cooling, not warming. Qualified scientists report the last year as the coldest one in a decade. It’s certainly very cold out there right now.”
Peabody completely ignored my comment. He brushed it off, considering it to be nothing more than an inconvenient truth.
“All that ice and snow trapped on the polar cap and in Greenland will be released.” He was smiling when he said it. I wasn’t smiling. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “All that stuff will turn into water and pour into the Atlantic and Pacific. Ocean currents will change and this means rainfall patterns will change. The Mid-west States will become as drought-ridden as they were in the l930s.”
This was distressing news. I considered the dreadful consequences of such a climatic change. Droughts would cause world-wide crops failures. Hunger would stalk the entire earth. What grim tragedies would surely follow? Aloud I exclaimed “Millions of people will starve to death.”
The Major smiled and vigorously nodded his head. “Yes,” he agreed, “you are correct. Starvation will kill millions. All by itself, global warming can solve the world’s terrible over-population problem, but that’s not the only advantage of the melt down. Ocean levels will rise dramatically. San Francisco and Los Angeles will be submerged. So will the east coast.” Peabody smiled broadly as he contemplated such a disaster.
It was obvious these terrifying prospects didn’t bother Peabody. He seemed to revel in them. I was stunned by his reaction. For my part, global warming represented catastrophe. World-wide starvation was not my only concern. The floods would destroy Philadelphia. The societal effects would be terrible. Philadelphians would leave the city for higher ground. My clientele would scatter. My practice would be ruined.
I interrupted Peabody, planning to state my displeasure at his apparently gleeful forecasts of drought and the submerging of large cities. “I know you think there are too many people in the world and I know you’ve always wanted the West Coast to slide into the Pacific,” I began. I didn’t get a chance to finish my thought. Peabody interrupted my interruption.
“Yes, yes,” he said, “but consider the even more pleasing and significant effect of global warming,” With drought in the Mid-west, there will be no water for migrating ducks. They will have to abandon their Central fly way.” The Major’s smile brightened his entire face and, emphasizing each word, he said: “They will move east. There will be more ducks migrating down the Atlantic fly way.
“The rising water will force people to abandon the cities on the east coast,” he continued. “Factories will rust away. Cities and their terrible slums will disappear beneath the rising waters. So will millions of automobiles and, as a result, so will our dependence on foreign oil. The submergence of big population centers means smoke and smog will no longer fill the air and none of the cities’ offensive effluvia will pump into the air, the lakes and the oceans. Wild rice and duck potato will reappear in profusion. The new eastern shoreline will become a prime habitat for ducks. The hunting will be excellent. Just think of it.”
I was thinking of it. I was preoccupied with thoughts of inescapable doom. The future looked grim and I could find no way to alleviate my sense of foreboding. As I predicted, it turned out to be a miserable evening. Major Peabody, however, was in a jovial mood.
I found it impossible to enjoy a dinner. I cancelled the reservation, made my excuses and left as quickly as I could. I was enveloped in clouds of gloom and dismal ruination. The four horsemen of the apocalypse - Pestilence, War, Famine and Death - filled my thoughts as I drove back to my apartment
I was miserable. I was despondent. I was dejected. I was in desperate need of cheering up.
A Snug Man with a Buck
“As you wander through life”, said Major Nathaniel Peabody, “if you are not careful - or even if you are - you will meet some very peculiar people. One of them is Karl Adams.” Karl is a hunter. He is also a tax accountant. He is the Major’s tax accountant and he is reported to be a very good tax accountant. If there is a defensible income tax write off or deduction lurking in an obscure regulation hidden within some incomprehensible provision of the Tax Code, Karl is sure to uncover it.
The Major and his accountant are, in this regard, in perfect agreement. The Major is congenitally ill-disposed toward any government, in general, and to all forms of taxation in particular. Karl’s originality and inventive imagination in tax calculations is one of the reasons Major Peabody uses his services.
Because many hunters are numbered among his clientele, when Karl prepares his own tax return, he writes off not only the cost of his various hunting trips, but also the costs of buying, training, feeding and providing veterinarian costs for his German Wirehair retriever, John D. Rockefeller (called “Rocky”). Karl is convinced they are all legitimate business development expenses.
Karl Adams hates to be a part of any unnecessary departure of funds from his clients’ bank accounts, especially if they go to the Internal Revenue Service. That hatred turns into an uncontrollable rage when it comes to his own bank account. As far as the accountant’s own funds are concerned, that uncontrollable rage and detestation is not limited to sending money to the governmental. Sending it anywhere is a painful operation.
Though Karl has a thriving practice and is far from being destitute, he is certainly not ostentatious concerning his substantial personal wealth. When the sun is down and the hunters have eaten and tended to the care of their weapons and dogs, the gang is apt to leave camp and visit the nearest town for a bit of R and R.
As soon as the Christian Science Reading Room is closed, Peabody tells me, the men usually wander off to the nearest saloon. There, he informs me, people customarily buy libations for other people, back and forth, and forth and back, and so on.
“During such moments of conviviality,” Major Peabody reports, “I’ve had many opportunities to carefully watch my accountant’s participations in the sociable activity. In spite of his ample financial reserves, when it comes his time to buy, you wouldn’t think he had a penny to his name.”
Stories of his reluctance to separate himself from the coin of the realm are legion. Peabody told me the accountant wears his prescription glasses only when he is reading or looking at figures. It is rumored he limits his use of them because he doesn’t want to wear them out prematurely.
According to the Major, the ten dollar bill Karl lost during last year’s grouse camp poker game bore the signature of the lady who was Treasurer of the United States during the Harry Truman administration. Karl claimed it had been in his family for three generations and was a val
ued heirloom. This, he says, was the reason for the tears he so copiously shed when he was forced to part with it.
Karl married on December 25th. Some say he had an over-whelming (and obviously transitory) impulse to commemorate the religious holiday. Others believe he was motivated by the fact of getting his wife as an income tax exemption for the entire year. According to Major Peabody, there was an additional reason for the Christmas Day nuptials. Karl was able to get a way with a single gift for both a wedding anniversary and a Christmas present.
I believe you’ve captured the message. Karl Adams is a snug man with a buck.
In addition to the careful attention he gives to the management of his assets, Karl has his cholesterol checked periodically and jogs. The Major believe none of these activities does any permanent damage to him.
Commenting on the health aspect of Karl’s life, Major Peabody says: “If the media or the medicos create a new disease, Karl immediately makes a list of the reported symptoms. If he feels he has one or more of them and the feeling persists for more than twenty-four hours, he faces a terrible dilemma.
“Trips to the doctor’s office, you will recall, are not free. When Karl develops ‘symptoms’, a pattern emerges. First, he considers the potential cost, then he becomes depressed, and, finally, he decides to visit the medico. I can report, without hesitation, mental reservation or secret evasion of mind whatever, he has never enjoyed paying a medical bill.”
Karl and Rocky spend a lot of time in the woods and they are not strangers to wood ticks. You can imagine the accountant’s agony when Lyme’s disease became popular. It was possible to have the disease and have no specific symptoms. That didn’t seem fair to Karl. At the very least a man should have some sort of physical discomfort to justify giving money to a doctor.
Last winter, Rocky began to act sickly and Karl suspected Lyme’s. Being a prudent man, he called the animal doctor for a quote. Doc Fischer informed him the standard charge for such a test was twenty five dollars. Since the people doctors told him they charged fifty dollars, Karl thought the vet’s price was right.
