To Ted Williams: Did You Think This Through?

Ted Williams Did You Think About All of This?


Human body parts stores are going to bring about the next big change in our lives; say those who are paid to write and report such things. It's not going to happen real soon, but work is being done and when you have a product that will bring whatever price the market will hear, you can put your money down now because it will come to pass.

I have some reservations and questions about that.

If a hand or arm and hand, are sold and attached to a customer, will a form have to be filled out, and sent to the FBI accompanied by the fingerprints from the now new hand? Seems as though that would be practical.

Another question I have is, if my body became mangled beyond repair, and the Walmart Super Body Parts Store had a body from a guy that had died of a bad head, would it be my body transplant or his head transplant?

I guess I should feel lucky that I was going to survive ... or would it be him surviving? We?

Picture this. Your wife has made the decision to do a body transplant while you were in a coma. You awaken and are told all about it. You look down and see strange toes. Your eyes follow the stranger's body all the way up and it disappears out of sight beneath your chin.

Given the alternative of life over death, and depending on a thorough inspection of the new body, I could learn to live with it. The main thing is I don't want the body of some guy who had those hairy shoulders. You know, shoulder hair that needs to be combed.

On the outside chance that something like this should happen to me, I would like to make a checklist for those who are in charge and are going to make this decision for me.

First check the navel. I'm not putting any of y'all down, but my navel is neat and tucked in like it is supposed to be, so I don't want one of those navels that pooch out like it wasn't finished and might blow out anytime.

If something has to pooch out let it be my new butt. Mines been tucked under so far and so long it thinks it's a mushroom.


There is something else I don't want on my new body That is those toenails that try to curve around and grow in a circle like my wife's brother's do.

Another thing, I don't want a body that needs a whole lot of scratching. Maybe I'd be in luck and get one with a little bit of "oily skin." And don't forget, please make sure that this body has a good stomach. I just went through a bleeding ulcer and have had that all fixed now and I don't want to go through it again.

And Oh yeah. No smokers. I've been through enough coughing already. Plus, I don't want the yellow fingers.

The thing that I will not tolerate is a body that belches a lot. At least not until we got really well acquainted. If that ill-mannered sucker belched right off, I'd choke myself to death before I'd let that burp go through my head on its way out.

It Was Back to School for the Boys of Summer

It was at this time of year during the early forties that the arrival of "orders" (packages) of school clothes from Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck struck dread and fear in the hearts of young men.

With the "taking up" of school, life as we knew it would cease to be. And worse, it would soon be time pick cotton.

These signs of the impending doom created a flurry of activity as we suffered through the heat to force a little fun during our remaining days.

On Sundays, we would make the five-mile hike down the railroad tracks to the Bosque River bridge. There the others would have to coax me to jump the 500 feet (actually 12 to 15 feet) from the bridge piling to the soft sand below. I was always afraid of heights. Even as a grown man (6'3") 1 felt a little nervous at being to far from the ground. Anyway, after questioning my gender and comparing me to boys of a more dainty persuasion, plus offering to wait while I made the twenty-minute trip that was "the long way around," I would jump.

I would love to say that I conquered this fear, but such was not to be. Every trip brought on the same hesitation, the cajoling and the final confrontation with the fear. Then came the exaltation from the ensuing "rush" that comes when one has given the "Grim Reaper" a mighty shove backwards and lived to tell about it.

All during this fevered flurry of activity, the dark clouds of September hung threateningly over us right up to the first day of school.

The condemned prisoners, wild and unruly as they were, abided by the decree of the court and voluntarily appeared at the prison door.

Birds upon returning to their cage still sing. Wild beasts entrapped and imprisoned pace about. But, the young two legged beasts of summer, once recaptured for the fall and winter term, could only hang their heads and walk in "death-march" cadence to the beat of muffled drums.

And why not? The sun wasn't shining as bright as it used to. There was a gloom upon the land. And, the air was heavy with the stench of captivity - cigar boxes, crayons, rubber erasers and Big Chief tablets.

Calloused feet, toughened to gravel roads, goat heads, grass burrs and tree bark, were pinched into stiff, unyielding oxfords, causing the wearer to wobble and plod along in the fashion of the comic strip character, Little Abner.

A darkness lay across the land. Inside the darkness was from the dim lit halls with freshly oiled wooden floors mixed with the stench and the agony of the generations of students who before us had suffered the first day of school


The shriek of the ringing bell would pierce the air and the heart as well. Summer was officially over. One last look out the open window. One last whiff of fresh air and freedom. One last song from the tiny Wren perched on the window ledge before turning to the happy face of a teacher who seemed to take delight at our misery. It would be several years before we would learn that it was only a mask to hide her own.

However, it did teach us to cope. We only had to resist teaching and reject learning for two hours until it was recess time, when we could rejuvenate our resistance and hold out for two more hours; then it would be lunch time.

What boy can plan past lunch time?