Coonridge Digest: How to be a gentleman …until you either change your randy ways or at least develop an allergy for peanuts

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

I can barely remember the two mules. When you’re growin’ up and you spend a couple thousand hours sittin’ at your grandparents knees listenin’ to story after story, the line between what you heard and what you actually saw gets all fuzzed over. But think I remember the mules.

And I remember that Grandpa called the old one "Bay." After seventy years of raisin’ livestock he’d run out of imaginative names and had resorted to namin’ ‘em after their color. Or their number. I can remember one Angus cow he simply referred to as "Old Number 51." "After all," he said, "What’ a name to a cow?" Old Bay was what he called an "anchor mule." I learned later that in various parts of the country she might have been called "the trainer" or in New England, "the post." Grandpa would hook old Bay up to any mule or horse that had a particular problem workin’ the harness with another mule. You’d hitch the two mules together and after a week or so of strainin’ and tuggin’ against old steady Bay, the rowdy mule would learn to behave and walk a straight row.

This never seemed to bother Bay much. She allowed as how it was her lot in life to tame her more rebellious brethren and sistern to work a harness. I never personally quizzed Bay on this but we could tell by the look on Bay’s face that no matter how high-strung a mule you’d hitch her with, it was just fine with her. Bay’s temperament made up for what she lacked in muscle.

Our esteemed ex-Pres Clinton is workin’ his way to the top of the list of most unhandy Presidents to have around. Since he was let out the back gate he’s stolen White House furniture, told rude jokes in public, played golf on an all-white course in Florida, spent a good deal of our money on office space and tried to explain his pardons-for-profit scheme. This old mule’s gettin’ off to a bad retirement.

That’s when I started lookin’ around the pasture for an anchor mule.

Reagan’s got his own troubles, no one knows who or where Gerald Ford is anymore, and this leaves us with just one choice. In my estimation Jimmy Carter’s the best one anyway.

In addition to his much-publicized work with Habitat For Humanity, he’s an active guidin’ force in the Carter Center, an institution dedicated to resolving world conflicts and sufferin’, prevent disease, and protect human rights. He’s launched the Atlanta Project, a community-wide effort to attack the social problems associated with poverty. He also teaches Sunday School and is a deacon in the Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, Georgia.

I’d be in favor of yokin’ wreckless and randy Bill with the old Georgia post. The resolution would go somethin’ like, "Be it therefore resolved that even though you deserve to at least have impeachment proceedings reinstated if not actually receive a strong thrashin’ in some backwoods Arkansas coal shed, we instead sentence you to work hand in hand with former President James Earl Carter. You will work alongside this fine example of how to be a gentleman until you either change your randy ways or at least develop an allergy for peanuts." Maybe the wordin’ could be improved but I think that even Bill with his loose knowledge of the meanin’ of words will get the gist of it. There’s nothin’ like spendin’ a day hammerin’ shingles in the hot Georgia sun to dry up a set of overactive hormones.

We could even throw in a short vacation, send the former Arkansas boy on a whirlwind tour to the countries in which Carter has worked to establish the basics of clean drinkin’ water and safe sanitation. A couple nights spent alone in the African brush might encourage him to be a bit more modest in his choice of office space. A week of takin’ his meals on the draught-starved and rocky ground could make those White House sofas look like the luxury they are.

On Bill’s lunch breaks he might be asked to flip through the pages of Carter’s latest book of poetry, aptly titled "Always a Reckoning." I reckon as how he might benefit from the sentiment contained therein.

Sometime I had the feelin’… you can feel things from mules… that Bay actually looked forward to an especially rowdy yoke-mate. She’d pulled enough plows to know that a rambunctious mule can be a powerful partner once he gets his head straight. And the stronger your partner, the less work there is for you.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.