Stubby Leaves King Arthur

Retirement is great, no matter what the ‘Work Till You Drop Crowd’ says. Here I am, lying back in the deck chair, newspaper folded so that the crossword is facing me, pen in hand – I never, but never, use a pencil on the crossword – glass of cold beer on the small table next to me, hat on head per doctor’s instructions, and frown on my face at the crossword setter’s sadistic mind. Suzie, my wife, is kneeling on her planting-cushion, putting in masses of next winter’s pansies. Yellows and purples.

“The bright colors are just what we’ll need on those dark rainy days, Pete,” she explains.

“Whatever,” I grumble, peering at 14 across. For the fifth time.

A peaceful suburban scene. The radio is on and Mozart is playing one of his piano concertos. I wonder if he ever tried his hand at the crossword?   

The music stops as though the broadcaster has hit a tree. “We apologize for the interruption! Generalissimo Simon Frank will address the nation at 14 hundred hours. Now it’s back to Mozart.”

“Suzie! Did you hear that? The Generalissimo! Old Stubby!”

“I heard! Didn’t know he could speak, let alone address the nation!”

Some people called him Shorty. We called him Stubby. It was the result of a mistake. When I was in first-year university studying art, my father had seen an advertisement for a new sketching pencil, call ‘The Shorty’. It’s a short, fat mechanical pencil with a nice, thick lead. He bought me one as a gift. It’s been with me for 70 years and is old, bent and battered but still sketches like a dream. Like all pencils, it has a built-in wicked streak. You put it down some place. Come back ten minutes later to continue and Shorty is nowhere to be seen. In our house, all pencils are like this. Once in the early days, instead of hunting for it or trying to remember where I had left it, I hollered: ‘A penny for whoever finds Stubby!’

“You mean Shorty, Dad!”

“Sorry!” I yelled back. And the pencil would magically appear in a small hand that remained extended while I searched for a penny. Thus Stubby was born. And soon Shorty and Stubby were interchangeable names in our household.

About 30 years ago Suzie and I went to Europe on an unplanned and disorganized vacation. We landed in Paris, stayed there for a few days and then went to the airport. The rule was that we had to catch the next flight to anywhere in Europe. We sat listening to the PA system announcements and watching the screens. As soon a flight was called we would run to the nearest ticket point and hop onto the outgoing plane. It was good fun. And we landed in some countries and cities we had never dreamed of visiting. One of these was Camelot, adjoining France.

Sitting on the beach one day, we started talking to a foreign man. He was friendly, modest and intelligent. He had lived in Camelot all his life and knew interesting places and local stories about the stars and VIPs who had visited. We met him again the following day and he invited us to his villa for drinks. We became friends and we stayed a few days longer than our homemade program had planned.

Back home, we kept in touch. We called him Shorty – he was short, broad and quite round. But Shorty soon became Stubby, like my beloved pencil. But never to his face. There he was always Simon. Over the years we had visited him a few times and always enjoyed his hospitality. 

At ten minutes before 2 we drifted inside, made ourselves sandwiches and a fruit plate and turned on the TV. At 2 sharp the announcer came on and introduced the Generalissimo. He came on, looking much as we had last seen him a few years previously. Round, short, dressed in a military uniform with a couple of rows of medal ribbons on his chest. He sported a mustache and a small beard. But it was Stubby all right. He smiled into the camera.

We were breathless. What was going on? We knew nothing about Camelot.

“Citizens of Camelot!” His voice rang out. Authoritative. In charge. “I am President Generalissimo Simon Frank! I have taken charge of the Camelot municipality, and the police and the army. I am declaring the former City of Camelot as the new State of Camelot. We are now an Independent Democratic State. You and I are now citizens of the State of Camelot. Further announcements will be made over the next few days. Meantime, continue to enjoy your lives which are now free and democratic and no longer under the grasping claws of King Arthur and his cohorts!”

The screen went blank. Suzie and I looked at each other. “Wow! President! Our friend! How about that?”

We waited out the next two days and then we called him.

“I am delighted to hear from you,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you had heard the news or seen my announcement on the TV. It’s an exciting time. Something I have been dreaming about for years. I have great plans for our new country. We are small in size and in population but we have some brilliant minds among us and now they will have a chance to blossom without interference. I also believe that many more great people will come and live here just to spend their lives in the company of others like them.”

We listened in silence. Stubby was making sense. Or was he? He wasn’t finished…

“Our little corner of planet earth has much to offer. We are situated in the center of the world. We have direct access to the Mediterranean Sea, an airport, a railway system. We have a thriving tourist industry, many hotels, great climate, the world’s best shopping. We need for nothing.”

He paused. No doubt to catch his breath. And then…

“I count you as dear friends of long standing. I remember well the day we met, what was it, 30 or more years ago? I know you are both retired. I want you to think about coming to share this great adventure with us. I look forward to receiving your call. Goodbye, my friends. And thank you for calling me.”

We booked flights that evening, packed over the following couple of days and flew in on a Sunday. Stubby was at the airport to greet us. Together with many others who were flocking in, we were transported to the city center where the matter of accommodation was being addressed.

We settled into our new lives without any problems. It’s been a great year! And I’ve joined the ‘Work Till You Drop’ crowd.  

Viva La Generalissimo!