Jimmy, being the eternal pessimist that he is, heard the “calling” for helping out at the shelter run by the Friends of the Grand Misconception. FOG’M, as the organization is often referred, is a fraternal organization dedicated to doing good for the community while ignoring the bad.

Most of the FOG’M volunteers are good hearted, civic minded, folks with a common goal of helping the less fortunate. However, some of the people working at the shelter get “volunteered,” due to community service sentences handed down by the local judge. Usually these “criminals” are guilty of crimes of stupidity such as repeatedly driving without a license, far too many unpaid speeding tickets and being too drunk to make it back home without getting caught peeing on the neighbor’s bushes.

Jimmy held tightly to his pessimistic belief that judges shouldn’t use “community service” for sentencing criminals. He didn’t think anyone could be penalized into being good or less stupid — especially less stupid. Jimmy’s idea of a just penalty for crimes of stupidity would be to place a metal pail over the head of the offender and smack it a half dozen times with a stick. His reasoning was that it probably wouldn’t be any more effective than making them help out at the shelter, but it certainly would be more

fun for him.

There is a reason Jimmy isn’t part of the criminal justice system.

Hannibal King is the primary hash slinger at the FOG’M shelter, a role of greatly disputed distinction. He is a smiling, thinker of gregarious thoughts, with a PhD in monastic literature from the St. Mia Farrow School of Interpretive Thought — a course of education with income potential bordering on minimal and staggeringly limited demand. These days, he sells used cars at his father-in-law’s car lot, but not very well.

Hannibal spends his evenings serving food at the shelter, sharing positive thoughts and avoiding his wife and father-in-law.

Jimmy continued to grouse about the criminally inept being mandated to do what bleeding heart, do-gooder citizens want to be doing, anyway.

He complained one too many times, to one too many people and Hannibal chanced to overhear one of Jimmy’s rants. Hannibal jumped all over the opportunity to invite Jimmy to help out at the shelter, extolling the virtues of kindness and generosity.

Jimmy wasn’t having any part of any social activity that didn’t involve finding problems and assessing blame. His response was an immediate, “No,” followed by a poorly articulated reason as to why he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) help.

Hannibal’s response was, “Yes,” followed by a well-developed reason for joining the cause.

Jimmy said, “No,” with weaker and less substantial rationalizations.

Hannibal said, “Yes,” with stronger and more compelling justifications.

Eventually, Hannibal King wore down Jimmy’s resolve. That evening, Jimmy found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with Hannibal, slinging hash at the FOG’M Shelter for Abused Artists and Intellectuals. Still in disbelief that he had been talked into dishing out food and happy thoughts, Jimmy turned to Hannibal and asked, “Have you ever considered selling used cars?”

 

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.