Joe McQuaid's Publisher's Notebook: No cupcakes at Legion post; schools next?
The boys on the Deck at the Moon (aka Derryfield Country Club's posh al fresco dining and imbibing space) were catching up on important news of the week, the kind that the local paper sometimes fails to find.
Which reminds me of one of my old man's sayings, in which he would tell a hapless underling that the fellow couldn't pour milk (it was actually another liquid) out of a boot even if the instructions were written on the heel.
Among the top Deck news was an incident that had occurred at a local American Legion post. The boys had heard that one patron had taken umbrage at a perceived slight from another at his table. Imagine that.
So he swung at the guy. Three times. All haymakers. And one must have connected, or the other guy tripped, because down went Frasier, as Howard Cosell use to say. Frasier, not his real name, was thereupon advised by fellow patrons not to get up right away.
What makes this remarkable is that the guy who allegedly got hit is no spring chicken. And the guy who administered the blows (poor eyesight and all) is closer to four score than he is to three.
These Legion guys are no cupcakes.
One of the other Deck denizens is a teacher, so of course I asked him about cupcakes.
He thought the recent school board news of severely limiting cupcakes for kids' birthday observances was just about as smart a move as using a sand wedge to tee off on a par five.
He said he could count on a single, frosted-smeared hand the number of times in the school year that some kid's mom sends in cupcakes. He said he thought there may be bigger fish for the school board to fry. But I'm not sure the board would allow fried fish.
I don't remember cupcakes being part of the core curriculum at Candia's Moore School when I was there a few scores ago. For that matter, I don't think kids' birthdays were given any more of an observance than perhaps a chorus of "Happy Birthday" in class. After that, the teacher would usually lead the class outside where everyone but the birthday celebrant was required to chop a cord of wood, fetch water from the well, and participate in the mandatory flintlock-rifle practice.
Boy, I hated birthdays.
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