“Big John” Hudson burst through the front door of the diner, and threw his ball cap down on the big, round table with the flourish of an umpire signaling, “out” while hovering over a dust spewing slide into home plate.

“The inmates are running the asylum!” he pronounced with the firmest of convictions.

This statement could have meant several things – “Big John” works at a place managed by the cream of ineptitude (which seems to be a common conundrum), the country is run by a collection of Berts and Ernies (which is an even larger and more common conundrum), or someplace there is a mental institution that has been overtaken by its occupants (this one is not very common).

The usual round table crowd took a brief moment to look up from their eggs, French toast, hash browns and piles of bacon in a half-hearted attempted to take in “Big John’s” outburst. Harry Winkle nodded in agreement, only because “Big John” is usually wrong and Harry figured he was due to be right at least once. Who knows – this just might be the time. Jimmy wanted to argue the point, but wasn’t sure what John‘s point was. The responses and opinions rotated around the table like a Roulette wheel, until the bouncing ball settled on Tommy Jones, the elder statesman of the group.

“There are too many bad things going on, but there’s a few good things happening, too. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices,” pronounced Tommy in his aged Midwestern intonation. “It’s like sticking your finger in a spinning fan.”

This comment slowed down a few forks and stirred some interest, not to mention the stirring of some freshly poured cups of coffee. Tommy’s age and wisdom were respected by the entire group. When Tommy spoke, most of the round table congregation stopped to listen.

“How did things get this way? How did this Hell bound hand basket get so full? Because people make decisions to put other people in charge of making decisions.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. So far, Tommy hadn’t said anything with which to disagree.

“You’ve got two choices — do you stick your finger in the fan, or do you not stick your finger in the fan?”

Nods to the affirmative surrounded the table. Jimmy slipped up and mumbled a quiet, “Amen to that.”

“If you choose to stick your finger in the fan, you have two more choices — do you pull your finger out of the fan or do you leave it in?”

This was followed by a, “That’s right,” from Harry Winkle and an, “Uh-huh,” from John.

“If you choose to leave your finger in the fan, then there’s probably no hope for you. If you choose to pull your finger out, then you have two more choices.”

“What’s that?” asked Arnold Tobin as the group leaned in to catch each sage phrase.

“Do you ignore your finger and hope it heals itself, or do you pay attention to the hemorrhaging digit?”

“You’d pay attention. Say it. You’d pay attention,” John was getting caught up in Tommy’s words.

“Then you have to decide whether to put a Band-Aid on it yourself or go see a doctor and let someone, who really knows what they’re doing, look at it.”

“That’s right. Get it fixed and fixed right.” Tommy’s message was hitting home with John and he hadn’t even finished his first cup of coffee.

“Then, if you do decide to get your finger fixed properly, you still have one more decision.”

“What? What?” John was taking in Tommy’s oration like it was delivered from a tent revival preacher in August.

“The next time you come up against a fan — do you stick your finger in it?”

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.