C.O.C.A. Times

Now the plot of this story thickens and answers the
question as to why "the fun was in the pick-up."
To anyone who might not know the obvious, this is a
huge, heavy scale, and it was sitting in Maine. As a re-
sult, I was elated to find out that old "B.P." was heading
"out that way" and offered to have me come along for
company and the opportunity to bring the scale home
on the way back. A secondary treat for us was that I was
to treat us to two huge lobster tail dinners somewhere
along the coastline of Maine. Anyone who has spent
time getting to know "B.P." or me know that food paves
the way to our hearts.
The final chapter of this story begins with "B.P."
pulling into my drive after he had embarked from Wis-
consin. We were confident his small mini van would
afford plenty of room as we pressed East with happy
thoughts. All was well until we arrived at the Julia auc-
tion house. The auction staff was cordial, pointed us
to the Fair Weigh Golf Scale, and wished us a happy
return trip. It was at that point that old "B.P." began
to realize just how big and heavy this scale was. But
"B.P." always perseveres, and that is exactly what we
did. "Onward and upward" , as they say. I do remember
that it was somewhere at this point that "B.P." remind-
ed me that this was my scale, and not his. The auction
house afforded us a dolly to maneuver my treasure to
the back loading dock of the auction house. "B.P." then
backed his van so that we could load the scale onto his
van from the rear. As I stood in the back of the van to
receive the scale form "B.P." while he stood at the open
loading dock, we were greeted to a torrential downpour.
I quickly took up the role of a dry Stan Laurel, while
"B.P." took up the role of a very wet and troubled Oli-
ver Hardy. Although we were able to get the scale into
the van eventually, the drive from Julia's was somewhat
strained. "B.P." drove while soaking wet as I looked on
in the passenger seat in dry but none the less awkward
silence. I then made the mistake of breaking this si-
lence by suggesting how good it was that the rain had
stopped. At this point the rage in "B.P." came out and he
addressed me with some thoughts laced with obsceni-
ties Chauncer made famous. After a time I rebounded
with one of my brighter suggestions - "Let's eat." As
we moved on to our long anticipated great lobster fest
a few miles away, "B.P." had been trying to contact a
still bank customer by phone and had been able only to
leave phone messages. It was during the last of these at-
tempts that my partner made what moved to be a grave
tactical error, he left word for this customer as to where
we would be eating.
At about 5:00 pm on that wonderful Saturday after-
noon, "B.P." and I were in the midst of devouring two
of the biggest and most scrumptious Maine lobsters you
could imagine, when we were suddenly interrupted by
his client. At this point "B.P." made the second of his
tactical errors by announcing me as his friend, a domes-
tic relations lawyer. The client then literally grabbed
my hand and started pulling me across the street to his
home. I looked aghast at "B.P." for help, but my still
soaked friend offered me none. So, off we went. As we
crossed the street I was made aware that his wife and he
were going though a divorce, resulted in her snatching
all furnishings from the home after she had worked over
the front door with a sledge hammer to gain entrance.
This was after she had assaulted him three times, the
last involving a pair of scissors. This sad sack then in-
sisted we peer into the window to bear witness to the
fact that she had even stolen his best friend, the family
dog - toys, food and all. As I began to sniff the lobsters
we had left unattended, I took the liberty to ask this
customer just what in the world his monster wife did for
a living. I will never forget his response, "she's a psy-
chiatrist." When "B.P." then asked me ifI had any legal
advice for his customer, I responded by pointing to the
caved in front door and asked if the house had been
declared as an historical home by the state. He replied
that it had, and I suggested that he have her arrested
for defiling one of Maine's historical landmarks, and
then announced that I was returning across the street to
finish my lobster tail. When "B.P." returned to dinner
shortly thereafter, I told him that I did not want to hear
any more about his earlier troubles in the rain and sug-
gested that we order a second set of lobster tails.
And this is the true story about how my Fair Weigh
Golf Scale managed to appear in our small kitchen
along side the Chester Pollard Golf Arcade. My wife
and J are the only ones to have this wonderful scale sit-
ting next to a great floor model Football Arcade in such
a small kitchen, something that she tends to remind me
of on a frequent basis.
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