First a quote from Brother Ben Franklin: "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
I came across this letter the other day. It was written by our hero (J. R.) in his mid-life crisis years, while working as a trial lawyer in the teeming metropolis of North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina (the hometown of Vanna White), about 35 miles North of where you currently wine-and-dine the ladies on Pawleys. (And about a million, billion light-years from the Oklahoma plains where our hero was raised.) The references to Polish heritage come from a Polish society to which both our hero and his correspondent, Paul, belong. Without further ado, the letter:
North Myrtle Beach, SC
April 2, 1986
I am writing this letter at my desk at work. Not that I do not have a large amount of work to do: Thank the Lord that I do. Most of it is for paying clients, too.
The reason that I am taking this time out of what is really a busy morning is that I had a court trial cancelled at the last minute, and I am having trouble shifting gears.
And my temper is still flairing slightly over the discourtesy of one or two of my brothers (and sisters) at the bar.
I should be thankful that I was told of the change before I made the trek to the county seat, Conway, 37 miles, with my chief witness in tow.
Wait a minute! Let me put this in the proper perspective! íMira!
I have missed a beautiful chance to drive in the fresh, cool (65 degrees) morning air from this beautiful resort community and travel down beautiful country roads past idyllic southern squallor, er, poverty, er rurality at its bucolic best to the sleepy little town of Conway and announce that "J. R. Leisuresuit of Hack, Splat, Dribble and Leisuresuit" is present representing the co-defendant and third-party plaintiff.
"WHAT?" Did the gallery somehow misunderstand the almost brilliant young barrester? Did the inimitable "J. R." succumb to the tensions of the moment and misspeak himself? Did a mass hallucination grip the denizens of the Master-in-Equity's court room for Horry (silent "H") County? Is this, in fact, some stagnant backwater of the Twilight Zone?
NO! The ever-elegant young man from North Myrtle Beach reassures the crowd.
He has in fact been brought into the firm as a junior partner with his name added to those who have blazed the trail before him, and the name of the firm of 22 lawyers in its South Carolina partnership is now "Hack, Splat, Dribble and Leisuresuit."
A cheer and general jubilation spontaneously burst forth from the crowd, and the judge restrains his natural urge to pound the gavel for order-in-the-court out of his heartfelt admiration for the Oklahoma Kid (me)!
But this scene we shall not see today, neither shall my client receive his proper vindication on this sunlit South Carolina morn. And today has sunk to the anticlimax which doggedly pursues the Royal Polish Cavalry throughout its many incarnations.
And yet, there is a bright star on the horizon; there is a new day dawning; there is a diamond perched atop the stable-muck of the rest of the morning! The young Okie looks at the door through tears of pride and gratitude and sees that, yes!, it was not all just a dream of glory.
There in bright, shiny, new three inch high letters is the name "Hack, Splat, Dribble and Leisuresuit", and the newest junior partner takes heart, girds his loins and readies himself to fight on against the outrageous infidel slime who oppose him and all those decent, hard-working, more-or-less Polish types whom he represents!
Film at Eleven!!!