Just got back from Old New York
Where I never had been before.
Don't have as much money as I did when I left
But I know a whole lot more!
—Uncle Dave Macon
Frau Grotegut was leaving Transylvania to teach at a university in Kansas, and wanted to leave right after school went out, but the folks at Transy held her to her contract to teach German III in summer school, a class I had signed up for to get out of going back to Owen County and chopping out tobacco. In Owen County they chop out. In Pike County they hoe.
Turns out I was the only person in that class. Only person to call on. Had to study German and thus interfere with a summer of listening to folk singers at bars,
Frau Grotegut was native German with a pretty face and a body like Wyeth's Helga, a body readily imaginable to a college kid who did not have to buy testosterone. She told me soon what they were doing to her and how it annoyed her, and then over the course of a summer, with great patience and class proceeded to teach her only student in German the Thomas Mann novella, Tonio Kroger. Where do they put the umlauts on these word processors?
Mann, a writer rated by at least me as just under Shakespeare, wrote of Tonio Kroger, the product of the merger of his blonde and orderly Germanic father and his dark Mediterranean and passionate mother.
That novella came to me last week during the second tornado of the day in Queens, New York, namely a wedding party after the different-sex marriage of a young New York City FBI agent from Frenchburg, where they chop or hoe one or the other, whose ancestors came over from the Black Forest section of Germany, lit in Hackensack and landed, as luck would have it, in Menifee County to merge with the Williamses, a family of education and distinction. The Nefzgers may not be the finest family in the world, but are, like Thomas Mann, in the top two or three.
The bride, like Tonio's mother, was dark and combines the loveliest features of her Spanish half and her Puerto Rican half, and whose friends have musical names like, for instance, Miguel Phillippe Pasquale St. Philippe, who farms a plot in New York about the size of a super-sized bed. Four hours of uptown and downtown jazz and that snot-encrusted disco stuff they all seemed to love later, the deal was sealed. Hispaniola and Teutonia were forever joined, like Waddy and Peytona.
It is fun to watch a room half full of FBI agents and CIA agents and half full of hillbillies get drunk together. Plus it is fun to be in New York, where I am almost sure I saw Mitt Romney in the window of Bloomingdale's, and am fairly certain that Yoko was waving to me out the window of her and John's place. You get more news there. They probably didn't report in Kentucky that some men were caught at a border with small primates in their underwear, monkey smugglers. My primates are smaller than yours.
They probably didn't report here that new research has shown that mallard ducks have sex with other dead mallard ducks of the same sex. This can be explained. Mallards are the only species in which the male is prettier than the female, and live ducks won't hold still for you.
Larry Webster is a Pikeville attorney who can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.