Culture

5 Steps to Success

I know many people.  Some are successful, but most aren’t.  They come from many walks of life.  They all share two things in common:  (1) they know me; and (2) they are oddly disinterested in my opinions.  The only exception to this latter point would the occasional mundane inquiry about something like how to get gum off a shoe or my view on the gold standard–neither of which, by the way, I know anything about.  Nevertheless, I now offer the world my secrets of success.  More accurately, my secrets of the appearance of success.  Let’s face it, most of us are not great successes nor do we stand the chance of being one.  I  have found that appearing to be successful is close to actual success, albeit without the financial windfall or fame which typically accompanies actual success.

As an initial matter, a very few of you don’t need to read this.  Drive, passion, intelligence and perseverance are the keys to success.  If you possess even one of those attributes, you likely are a success yourself and need no advice.  Also, an inexhaustible trust fund is the core of many a success.  If you have one of these, stop reading now.  Your bizarre and even repugnant behavior was long ago dismissed as the eccentricities of the rich.  You need no advice from me.  Finally, if you have married into money or a person with any of the above-mentioned attributes, hang on for dear life.  You have succeeded.  The rest of you should continue reading.

Below is my simple 5 Steps to Success Program.  I offer it free of charge as a service to the public.  Hang on for the ride of your life.  Remember: The only thing that stands between you and the top is all that stuff in the middle!

No. 1 AIM LOW

You have likely heard advice such as “surround yourself with winners” or “hang with the winners.” Nothing could be further from the truth.  Winners associate with winners.  If they would voluntarily associate with you, you would in fact already be a winner.  It’s not going to happen.  Besides, if you surround yourself with people far superior to you, how will you look?  Like a loser, that’s what.  Do you have a sibling that is far more successful than you?  How has that worked out for you?  The same applies in the real world

The first step toward the appearance of success is to surround yourself with people who appear to be vastly inferior to you.  Now, I realize that may be difficult to do.   In my case, it’s close to impossible.  Close.  We all know people who through a series of unfortunate choices or circumstances (or a combination) have failed to rise above mediocrity.  Seek these people out and embrace them.  Your meager accomplishments will shine in comparison.  For example, if you are a student, your 2.4 grade point average will impress compared to students who have been placed on probation or outright expelled from school.  If your parents berate you over your grades, you can point to the academic failings of your colleagues as proof that your junior college is a stern task master.

Similarly, in the employment arena, you will have many co-workers who are just as pathetic as you are.  Look for those who nap periodically, arrive late and are constantly in turmoil.  Perhaps, you have a co-worker with a drinking problem.  Avoid anyone with the appearance of being a “go-getter” or “self-starter.”  These folks will only drag you down.

You may be tempted to aggressively seek out losers.  Be careful.  Like many a good thing, this can be taken too far.  For example, did you know that every state in the Union has an on-line sex offender registry?  It’s true.  With a few clicks of the mouse, you can find numerous undesirables in your own zip code.  You may view this as a ready-made pool of potential colleagues.  True, but I must strongly advise against this approach.  First, such an approach is far too aggressive for someone of your ilk.  Second, while you certainly will shine in comparison to this pool of flotsam and jetsam, you may find yourself drawn into a lifestyle rife with its own complications.

No. 2 Talk Like the Winners

Successful people have a lingo all their own.  These words and phrases are a veritable gold mine of potential for you.  I offer some of the more important ones for your consideration.

Think Outside The Box: No one really knows what this means, but the successful say it and do it.  You must too.  The box is closed and confined, while outside the box the world is wide open.  Go out there and think.  That’s what the successful are doing.  Most importantly, remind people that you are outside the box and encourage them to join you.  Then, think.

Shift a Paradigm: Man, oh, man, successful people do this all the time.  They take a paradigm and just shift it.  Shift the hell out of it.  Find a paradigm and shift!  Again, tell people you’ve done it or, better yet, tell them to do it.  It’s always good.  Have at it.

Be Pro-Active:  This is just like being active, except you’re more pro at it.  Successful people LOVE proactivity.  Practice saying:  “I am proactive” and “You need to be proactive.”  Outside the Box is a world of proactivity waiting for you.

Take One for The Team:  Successful people want you to do this.  What does it mean?  Do something that a successful person would never do, regardless of the harm it will cause you.  Offer to take one.  Suggest that others do so, too.

Be a Self Starter:  This means do a bunch of stuff without being told to do so.  Now, you may be wholly incompetent at what you do.  In this case, being a self-starter is quite dangerous.  You are likely to commit all manner of foolhardy and dangerous acts.  So be it.  You are a self-starter

You’ve probably figured out that saying these things is far more important than doing them.  Remember:  Appearances are everything.

3. High Hobnobbery

The one exception to hanging with losers is when one of your loser friends inexplicably becomes a success.  It can happen.  Unexpected inheritances, lottery winnings, and large personal injury settlements are just a few of the ways that one of your friends may achieve great success overnight.  Take advantage of this.  After all, you’ve all been in the same boat.

Your newly successful friend has, in all likelihood, associated solely with people of your unfortunate ilk.  He or she will not have made any substantial friendships or associations.  This is where you come in.  Attach yourself like a stubborn barnacle to the hull of a luxury yacht.  Offer to tag along to cocktail parties, fundraisers and other important events.  Your friend, uncomfortable with his or her new financial largesse, will almost certainly take you up on your offer.

At this point, you may want to refer to my earlier blog on the art of small talk.  You’re in now.  You’re walking the walk.   Time to talk the talk.

I also suggest investing in a cell phone with an excellent camera. Why?  Nothing impresses more than photographic proof of your “success.”  I live in Kentucky, where there is nothing more impressive than to associate with the University of Kentucky’s basketball team.  You will have truly arrived when you move in these circles.  Of course, it’s laughable to imagine that you will ever do so.  BUT, with the resourceful use of a cell phone camera, you can appear to have “made the scene.”  I offer two examples of my own experience.

Below is a photo I took of Chuck Hayes, beloved former U.K. basketball star and current NBA player.  I surreptitiously took this photo at a football game where I had insinuated myself into the suite level of the stadium (by the way, it was at no personal cost!):

Chuck Hayes unwittingly becomes part of my world.

I immediately uploaded this to various social networks with the caption:  I keep texting Chuck to distract him from the game.  Here he is firing one back at me!  Now, everyone thinks I know Chuck Hayes.  I have his phone number.  We text!  I have arrived.

Below is another example.  I happened to find myself at a luncheon where the speaker was none other than U.K. Basketball Coach John Calipari.  Someone asked me to take her photo  with him.  I did so, but kept a copy for myself.  Note how I skillfully cropped the offending bystander while keeping Coach Cal properly centered.  With a little computer magic, I deftly doctored the photo to remove all traces of the other person.

Little does John Calipari know that we’ve just become life-long friends.

Now, people think I know Coach Cal.  We’re friends.  We hang out with Chuck Hayes.  I am someone YOU want to know.  See how easy it is.

You can do the same in your world.  Wherever you live there are prominent people who lack sophisticated security.  You can get close to them and claim them as your own.  Try it.  You won’t regret it.  NOTE: Please consult law enforcement in your area regarding your state and local stalking laws.

4. Make a Name for Yourself

If you have followed my earlier steps, all that is left is to make your name known.  You could do something like invent the iPod or Post-it Notes.  Be serious.  You’re not going to do anything like that.  All the good stuff has been invented.  Don’t despair.  You are not defeated.

Letters to the editor and radio call-in shows are fertile ground to get your name “out there.”  Now, you’re thinking:  “Wait a second.  A lot of people do that, and I don’t know them.”  You’re inside the box, my friend.  Venture outside it with me.

You must choose controversial causes to champion.  Such “hot” topics as gay marriage, arcane zoning laws and war have been beaten to death.  Do you really have anything of substance to add?  Of course not.  How about bestiality?  Whether you support it or oppose it, you’ll get attention.  Legalizing child labor?  No one is offering anything of value on that subject. What if you became known as the person who opposes heterosexual marriage?  These are just a few ideas that quickly come to mind.  You can think of many, many more.

You may be tempted to try to educate yourself on a variety of subjects.  I must warn you that such a course of action requires a lot of reading, mostly books.  Some books are as long as 300 pages and very complicated.  There is no need to burden yourself.  The Internet is a vast canyon of knowledge.  Just do a quick Google search.  You’ll be conversant on your topic in no time.

One thing you should consider is quoting other, more intelligent people.  Again, the Internet is your friend.  Just search “Quotes about……” and you’ll find everything you need.  Now, many people quote so-called experts such as Bertrand Russell, Albert Einstein and George “Goober” Lindsey.  In keeping with your new controversial image, quote incendiary figures.  Try Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan.  How about Benito Mussolini?  Serial killers also have insights on a variety of topics.  These and many others are a font of information.

Many years ago, I read a valuable suggestion from writer Michael O’Donoghue.  When quoting someone, freely use the Latin word sic to signify any word which is misspelled or the least bit odd.  Let’s say you’ve found a quote from famed Scottish poet Robert Burns.  Look what you can do to him:

“The best laid plans o’ [sic] mice an’ [sic] men gang [sic] aft [sic] agley [sic].”

You have butchered one of the most famous quotes in history by questioning the intelligence of the author.  You appear to be profoundly intelligent, while Burns has been discredited and rendered unreadable.

Regardless of how you approach your subject, just be sure to keep after it.  You may even find yourself writing missives, pamphlets, leaflets and whatnot about your subject.  Soon, they’ll know your name, and that’s all that matters.

5. SELF-HELPLESS

Keep your nose to the grindstone.  Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.  Put your shoulder to the wheel.  These old saws have been around for centuries and all mean one thing:  Help yourself.  Okay, let me ask you a few questions.  What will you get if you put your nose to a grindstone?  My guess is a ground up nose.  What the hell are bootstraps?  I guess boots used to have straps on them.  Imagine pulling on them. What?  Now, you’re wearing a freakin’ pair of boots.  Congratulations.  Exactly what kind of wheel do you put your shoulder to? A spinning wheel, like for making thread?  Hey, welcome to Loserville where we can’t afford to buy thread.

Forget all this well-meaning bilge.  While you’re at it, if you have any self-help books, pile them up and burn them.  Why?  Simple:  If you could help yourself, you wouldn’t need useless advice from self-help gurus.  Take Tony Robbins, the infomercial guy with the gigantic head and Chicklet teeth.  Do you really think he wants you to succeed?  Oh really?  The man sits on a throne of money.  He knows you can’t do what he’s done, because he wrote the books and made the DVDs telling people how to do these things that none of them can do.  From Dale Carnegie to Zig Zigler to Ho Chi Minh, charismatic snake oil salesmen have fooled you into believing that you can follow a few simple suggestions and–PRESTO!–you’ve made it!  We know this isn’t case at all. But all is not lost.

You can appear to be a the winner you have no business of thinking about being. If you follow my suggestions, you will soon seem to be the man or woman you want to be.  And isn’t that what life is really all about?

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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The Night I Fought A Girl

I never was a skilled fighter.  I’m small and have a big mouth, especially when primed by strong drink.  So, I did get in fights, but I fought dirty and usually ran at the first chance.  As a result, I don’t have good fight stories.  Except one.  Well, it may not be a good story, but it’s a story, and it’s more or less true.

I fought a girl.  There, I said it.  It wasn’t the only opportunity I had for such a fight, but it was the only one that turned into a real brawl.  Oh, I’d been hit two or three times before, had a couple of drinks thrown on me and been cursed at often.  I was quite the charmer in my youth. But, there was only one fight.

It was Oktoberfest 1986.  I had a friend who was working in the beer garden.  She told me that if I came by and helped her, I could have free beer.  Since she was also a fetching lass, I agreed to help.  I helped for a while and sold a bunch of these buckets of beer.  I had a few buckets myself (Note: If you measure your drinking in “buckets,” you may have a problem).  After a short time in the beer garden, I wasn’t really much help, but I kept working.

Toward the end of the night, a good friend of mine happened by, and I generously served him several buckets.  The evening wound down, and I was having no luck with any lasses, fetching or otherwise.  My friend (I shall call him “Stu” to protect his identity.  He is a respectable citizen now) offered to give me a ride home.  I closed up the beer garden and we left.

On the way home, Stu suggested we stop at Jerry’s Restaurant.  Jerry’s was notable for two things.  One, it was open 24 hours a day; and, two, it served breakfast all day and all night.   It was a favorite for late night dining.  We sat down and ordered.  I ordered the Big Breakfast.

While we waited for our food, two young couples came in.  Without any provocation on our part, one of the young ladies pointed at me and shrieked:  “What are you looking at?!?!”  Now, these are well-known fighting words, right up there with “What’s your problem?!?!”  My food had been served, and I wasn’t in the mood for any conflict.  So, I tried to defuse the situation by asking:  “WHAT THE —— DID YOU SAY?” The young lady then fairly screamed:  “Don’t make fun of our dates!!!”  This struck me as odd, since we hadn’t paid any notice to this girl or the “dates.”  Stu, being the peacemaker, said:  “Hey, shut the —- up. We’re eating.”  You would think this would have ended the potential conflict, but no.  It seemed to enrage her further.

She repeated her earlier demand stating: “STOP LAUGHING AT US!  DON’T MAKE FUN OF OUR DATES!”  Stu stood up.  He was a big dude, 6′ 3″ and about 230. I was a much less impressive 5′ 8″ 140.  Stu’s witty rejoinder was: “We weren’t making fun of those two —holes, but we will now.”  Well, that didn’t go over well with the girls or their dates.  The dates attacked Stu, who proceeded to beat the crap out of both of them–quickly.  He hit one guy in the chest with a forearm, and he just collapsed.  Stu grabbed the other guy and threw him into the coat rack.

Like I said, I’m not a fighter. I was watching.  I had a mouthful of food when the big-mouthed girl somehow sneaked up behind me.  Quite unexpectedly, I was being strangled.  Not just strangled, but strangled while swallowing a big forkful of pancakes.  Oh, and the fingernails.  They were digging into my jugular vein.  Now what?  She had come over the back of the booth and was literally choking the life out of me.  If I had my wits about me, I would have stabbed her in the neck with my fork, but I was disoriented.  As the life was draining from me, I reached behind me and managed to grabbed her hair.  With Herculean strength I pulled her over the booth and was prepared to beat the stuffing out her.  Here was the problem:  If a drunk chick is strangling you in a public place and you rip big chunks of her hair out, it is a mistake to pull her on to you.  It was like someone tossing me a wolverine.

Needless to say, Big Mouth and I spilled into the floor where she was wild-eyed and clawing at me like one of the Walking Dead on a meth bender.  For a split second, I realized I was fighting a girl and in real danger of an ass whipping.  This was all I needed to regain my composure. She came at me once more.  Mistake.  As she flew toward me, I grabbed her hair again.  This time, I slammed her face-first into the floor.  She didn’t look so tough after that, what with all the crying and carrying on.

That was it.  The fight was over.  The manager of the restaurant apologized to us and gave us free meals.  The scratches on my neck weren’t that bad.  Oh, the whole fight lasted maybe 30 seconds.  Seemed like a lifetime. Stu said it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen.  Guess you had to be there.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Turtles Shells and the Art of Small Talk

“Ethiopians worship turtles shells.”  That was the ice breaker one evening long ago when I dined with a young lady and her mother and step-father.  The step-father’s simple statement about the religious practices of Ethiopians illustrates one of my life-long struggles:  How to successfully chit-chat.

Being a young man at that time and rather unworldly, I had no response.  I stared at my plate, briefly glancing at my date and trying to avoid both eye contact and sudden laughter.  I must admit, though, that I pondered the possibilities: Do Ethiopians, in fact worship shells?  If so, why?  How did he come across this information?  Had he been to Ethiopia?  My poor social skills prevented me from pursuing the topic further.  My prospective relationship was no doubt ruined by my inability to engage in stimulating small talk.

In the years since, I have been forced to attend various dinners, gatherings, cocktail parties, receptions, lunches and chance encounters where I have, fortunately, honed my chit-chatting skills to a fine edge.  We have all had those painful moments when someone ham-handedly tries to “shoot the breeze” and instead offends or bores those around him.   As a service, I offer my pointers on how to approach these most awkward of moments.

WHEN IN DOUBT, LIE

As a general rule, I oppose lying.  It’s just not good.  Plus, I usually get caught.  Chit-chat is an exception.  Sometimes, we must—in the name of polite conversation—lie in order to keep the ball rolling.  An example:  You’re at a cocktail party and a chit-chatter is prattling on about a drunken bender that he was on several years ago:

Chit-chatter:  “[blah, blah, blah]… and the next morning who but Peter O’Toole himself had a case of champagne delivered to my room with a note reading: ‘I told you we could have a good time for $50.’”

You haven’t been listening, and the speaker has concluded his story with some outrageous anecdote about noted actor Peter O’Toole (a lie, no doubt).  What shall you do in response?  You can’t just awkwardly blurt out:  “That is a damned lie!” and reveal yourself as a clod. Try this:

You:  “I’ve always loved Peter O’Toole’s work.  My uncle was his understudy on Broadway several years ago.  Fabulous chap.”

You have now commandeered the conversation to your fictional uncle’s acting career.  (Note:  Don’t say that YOU had an acting career.  That’s too easy to expose as a lie).  Now, you can regale the listener with your own second-hand stories of Peter O’Toole and any other actor you decide to include in your fantasy world.  You are almost as fascinating at the Chit-Chatter, plus you now have common ground on which to bond.

GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT

Most Chit-Chatters enjoy hearing themselves talk.  That’s why they are talking.  One tried and true method of competing is to simply repeat back to the speaker what he or she has just said with your own spin on it.  This is especially helpful when, like me, you’re often in the company of people far more intelligent and well-read than yourself.  Example:

Chit Chatter:  “I tell you, if we don’t get the Greek government to take a hard-line on its austerity measures, the entire Euro Zone will collapse.  The result will be catastrophic.  It will make the Icelandic Bank Crisis look like nothing.  We’ve already seen the effects in some of the Eastern Bloc countries. Newt Gingrich nailed it in last night’s debate: How do we get these people to the table?”

You are now in deep trouble.  You don’t know anything about the Greek government. You didn’t watch the debate.  You were watching your backlog of “Hillbilly Handfishing” episodes last night.  You thought Newt Gingrich was on Hee Haw.  Here’s your response:

You:  “Lloyd, no sensible person could argue with you–or Newt–on that point.  The Greeks, for all the good they may have done, have not stepped up when it comes to austerity measures.  I can’t understand why, when it is so important to the very life of the Euro Zone, that they don’t take a hard-line.  You’re right about Iceland.  We can’t afford a repeat of that fiasco.”

See what you’ve done?  Without a single original thought, you’ve engaged in lively political banter.  By merely restating the Chit-Chatter’s banal declaration, you appear to be “with it” and engaged.

Top This

Often, the whole point of chit-chat is to impress the listener.  This is especially true in business settings.  If, like me, you are not very impressive and have a modest list of accomplishments, embellishment or outright fabrication is necessary.  While this is closely related to the first point above, the purpose is quite different.  Rather than being a response, you can use this to your advantage as your own ice breaker.  For example, you are at a dinner seated with several people who are, by their very appearance, superior to you in every way.  Try something like this:

“I must share this story.  While on vacation, I was strolling the Champs-Élysées when I saw an old friend, Uqba ibn Nafi, whom I met in Morocco several years before.  When I asked what he was doing in Paris, he paused, stared me straight in the eye and said: “Rambwa yekh chalyem!”  Oh, we both had a good laugh at that.”

This one inane story, made up from whole cloth, makes you appear worldly.  The listener, by contrast, is likely to think his own education and, indeed life, are meaningless.  Little do they know that you’ve recounted gibberish which roughly translated means “the traffic circle has a hideous beard.”  One consideration:  Your listeners may have been to Paris.  It may be a good idea to read about Paris on Wikipedia or change the location of  your story to Qatar or Ethiopia.

TABOO

Regardless of your nerves, there are three subjects to avoid at all costs.  They are summarized below:

Children:  If the listener has children, he or she will care nothing about yours.  If he or she has no children, it is likely that they hate children or are bitter over their sterility.  Think about when a colleague shows you a “drawing” by his 3 year old.  “It’s a horse!”  you’re told.  You say:  “Cute.”  What you think is:  “That ain’t no freakin’ horse.  What’s wrong with that kid?”  That’s how the listener reacts to small talk about your kids.

Health:  There is no way to make your gout or recent colonoscopy interesting unless you embellish them into gun shot wounds.  It is best to avoid the topic altogether as you may be in the company of someone with a truly loathsome condition, the details of which will horrify you.  The one exception to this is if your audience is all over 70 years old.  In that case, it will be the only topic of conversation.

Controversy:  Whether it’s as benign as the  Designated Hitter or as incendiary as legalizing child pornography, steer clear of controversial topics.  If such a topic is introduced, try to direct the conversation elsewhere.  This would be the perfect time to refer to item 2 above and dazzle the listeners with your erudition with a “top this” tale.

CONCLUSION

Had I known these simple rules, imagine how I would have handled the turtle story:

ME:  “That is very interesting.  My uncle worked in the mission fields of Ethiopia years ago.  Turtle shells were known as “ukajobu” or “shell of the Gods.”  They would grind them into a fine powder.  It was reputed to be an aphrodisiac of sorts.”

There you have it.  I have conquered the conversation with my own interesting retort.  Perhaps the young lady would have been impressed and changed the course of my life. Then again, my life is pretty fine as it is.  Maybe all this small talk is just a load of crap.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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My Evening With The Mongolian Stomper

I grew up watching professional wrestling.  I am neither ashamed nor proud of this.  It’s just a fact.  We in Harlan County, Kentucky had cable TV before the rest of the country because of the terrible signal reception in the mountains.  As a result, we had a lot of TV channels and a lot of wrestling.  Ernie The Big Cat Ladd, Ric Flair, Austin Idol, Harley Race, Mr. Wrestling II, Baron Von Raschke, Abdullah the Butcher, Maniac Mark Lewin, The Destroyer, Paul Jones, Ronnie Garvin, Bob Fuller, The King of Kingsport Ron Wright, Whitey Caldwell, Wahoo McDaniel, Superfly Jimmy Snuka and many, many more were household names in my home.  The Mongolian Stomper was one that always fascinated me.

The Stomper was certainly not from Mongolia, but he did stomp a lot of people.  He was also afflicted with an unspecified condition which made him acutely sensitive to sound.  As protection, he wore wrestling headgear like amateur wrestlers wear.  Fans–insensitive to his malady–would scream, causing the Stomper to hold his head in agony.  Then, he would stomp the crap out of his opponent. Evidently, he was mute and barely controllable.  He stomped, screamed and spit.  He often bled profusely.   He was a bad guy–a “heel” in wrestling parlance.    Of all the wrestling characters I saw over the years, the Stomper–along with Baron Von Raschke–was as over-the-top as any.

At this point, I suppose I should confess that I never thought wrestling was “real.”  By this, I mean that I knew it wasn’t real athletic competition.  For example, Baron Von Raschke was not a Baron nor was he even German–his name is Jim Raschke and he’s from Nebraska.  Maniac Mark Lewin did not kill a man using his deadly “Singapore Sling.”  Abdullah the Butcher did not actually hail from “Parts Unknown”  (he’s Larry Shreve, and he hails from Canada).  My father, perhaps disturbed by my interest, made sure I understood that it was for show.  This never diminished my enjoyment of it.  In fact, I eagerly awaited the next outrageous storyline, such as Ernie Ladd tearing up Wahoo McDaniel’s ceremonial headdress and stuffing the feathers in his mouth or Baron Von Raschke enraging crowds by wearing his Iron Cross around his neck.

Occasionally, professional wrestling came to Harlan County. Usually, it was some third-rate bunch, but sometimes we got the real thing.  I never attended but must admit that it caught my interest.  I’m pretty sure that I didn’t go because I didn’t want anyone to know that I was THAT into.  I believe it was in my senior year of high school when fate intervened.  Someone (probably me) proposed that the Beta Club handle the concessions for the next wrestling event.  Of course, I volunteered.

I must digress here and tell you some things about Harlan County.  Harlan County is quiet and calm, despite its reputation.  Not much happens most of the time, but most Harlan Countians relish the county’s reputation of being a wide-open territory of gun play and lawlessness.   Most of us don’t fit the stereotype, but we like it nonetheless.  Many of us–me, for example–aren’t tough at all, but we are quite proud to be from Harlan.

When we tell someone that we are from Harlan, we mean Harlan County.  There is a town of Harlan, too, but I’m not from there.  We tend to tell “outsiders” that we’re from Harlan, because most people know the name.  Now, if you tell a Harlan Countian that you are from Harlan, he is likely to ask:  “Whereabouts?”  (Yes, that’s a one-word question).  Then, you will say “Loyall” or “Evarts” or “Catrons Creek” or “Punkin Center” or whatever community in the county in which you grew up.  Occasionally, however, someone will say something like “I’m from up above Smith.”  This will send a momentary chill up the back of a Harlan Countian, because we think:  “Wait a second.  I know where Smith is, but there’s NOTHING up above Smith!!  Where the Hell is this guy from?”  The same is true of being from “just past Black Star” or “up above Cranks” or “the head of Jones Creek” or sundry other desolate locales.   Even Harlan Countians don’t know these places.  These places are, as my father used to say, “off the grid.”  The folks off the grid came to town to watch wrestling.

Back to the wrestling.  I got to the gym about an hour early and watched them set up the ring, which was cool.  It had a huge spring in the middle of it and was well padded.  It was still pretty hard, and you could definitely get hurt.  One of the guys setting it up asked me:  “You ever seen one of these shows out here?  This is the wildest damn place in the country.”  I thought to myself “Of course, it is.  It’s Harlan, by God!”

While setting up the concessions, none other than Ronnie Sexton asked me if I could bring “the guys” some food.  Sexton was a some time wrestler and some time referee.  I recognized him immediately.  I gathered up hot dogs and some drinks and headed back to the area where (I hoped) the wrestlers would be gathered.   The first person I saw was the Mongolian Stomper himself.  He was sitting in a folding chair and looked up at me, his forehead a lattice work of scars.  What would he do?  Hammer me with the folding chair?  Scream at me for being too loud?  Stomp furiously about while eating his hot dog? Perhaps he would spit on me. Nope.  He just put down the book he was reading and said “Thanks.”  Oh well, I was already fairly sure he wasn’t a mute anyway.

As the crowd filled the gym, I noticed that I didn’t recognize anyone.  This looked like a casting call for Deliverance.  I guarantee you that the skilled writers of Justified have never imagined the likes of this crowd.  They were loud, profane and ready for some wrasslin’.  The King of Kingsport himself, Ron Wright, warmed up the crowd by taking the ring microphone and demanding:  “Shut up, you toothless, shoeless, inbred hillbillies!”  The man knew how to work a crowd.   Now, most of the crowd couldn’t have reasonably argued about the tooth observation or the obvious genetic issues, but they must have been quite offended by the shoe and hillbilly references.  They pelted the ring with anything they could find.  It was great.  (Rumor had it that Wright’s airplane was burned one night at the Harlan Airport after a particularly hostile crowd took offense to his baiting.  I don’t know if that’s true, but Harlan Countians liked to think it was).

I don’t remember who else was on the card that night, but the crowd was loud and insane the whole night.  I think The Canadian Lumberjack Joe LeDuc was there–I vaguely recall him threatening someone with his axe.  Ronnie Garvin, maybe.

What I do remember is the Stomper’s entrance.  He came out of the dressing room doing his trademark stomp.  When the crowd saw him, they exploded.  Spitting, cursing, throwing things–someone threw a chair at him.  People removed their dentures and clacked them together like hillbilly castanets. He was in torment over the noise but kept stomping toward the ring.  A grizzled, little old lady stepped directly in front of him and flipped the bird.  He just spit at her and kept stomping.  It was epic.  I have never seen anything like it.  I looked at the crowd, and I realized that this was what an unruly mob must look like.

Honestly, I don’t remember the Stomper’s match.  He probably  stomped the daylights out of some nondescript wrestler.  When he made his exit, I watched him walk back to the dressing room through the same din of madness.  As soon as he was out of sight of the crowd, he stopped stomping and became whatever he was when he wasn’t Mongolian.  He put on a tremendous show.

Then, it was over.  The unruly mob became ruly.  Everyone left the gym like a basketball game had just ended.  They didn’t burn Ron Wright’s airplane–at least I don’t think they did.  They headed back to wherever they lived in the outlying areas of the grid.  They were all probably fine folks.  Like The Stomper, they were part of the show–a scary part, but show nonetheless.  These were the real Harlan Countians, and they did not disappoint.

The Stomper’s real name is Archie Gouldie.  He’s Canadian, not Mongolian.  He wrestled in Canada as Archie The Stomper or The Stomper.  Apparently, when he came to the States someone thought being Canadian wasn’t exotic enough to turn him into a Mongolian.  I’ve read about him and, by all accounts, he’s a fine fellow.  He’s not a mute and doesn’t have any super-sensitive hearing issue.  But, the guy knew how to work it one night in Harlan.  He was worth the price of admission.

That was the night the real Harlan Countians met up with the Mongolian Stomper, neither really being what it appeared.  They all stepped up and put on a show of a lifetime.  It may not have been “real,”  but you sure couldn’t tell that night.  Oh, that was 30+ years ago and the first and only time I’ve attended a wrestling match.  I think I went out on top.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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An Homage to Next of Kin

Have you seen the 1989 film Next of Kin?  If you have, I don’t expect a public acknowledgement.  Just softly say to yourself  “Yes, I have seen Next of Kin.  Please blog about it.”  I have, in fact, seen NOK, several times in fact.  Understand that this is not a movie review.  NOK is unreviewable with its wild cast of characters, Byzantine plot and acting that borders on hysteria.  Yes, I love this movie.  Allow me to explain why.

NOK stars, in no particular order:  Patrick Swayze, Adam Baldwin, Bill Paxton, Helen Hunt, Liam Neeson, Ben Stiller and Michael J. freakin’-Pollard.  I’m not making this up.  There may not be a more diverse cast in the history of cinema.  Pollard alone makes it worth watching.  You know him–he’s the weird dude with the scrunched up face in Bonnie and Clyde.

Here’s the plot.  Swayze (at his the peak of his Swayzeness) is a Chicago cop from Eastern Kentucky (Hazard, I think).  Neeson and Paxton are his brothers.  Paxton loses his job in the coal mines and moves to Chicago.  He somehow crosses the Chicago mob headed by the guy who played the one-armed man in The Fugitive.  Paxton gets murdered, and Swayze sets out to find the killer.  Neeson, portraying “Briar,” heads to Chicago to exact Mountain Justice.  He is disgusted by Swayze’s unwillingness to join in the blood feud.  He moves into a sleazy hotel run by Pollard who twitches and shrugs through all his scenes like he’s mainlining Thorazine.  Briar speaks with an accent which can only be described as “brain-damaged,” but I have to give him credit for trying.  I’m sure it’s difficult to go from an Irish brogue to Eastern Kentuckian.  Not since Edward G. Robinson played an Egyptian in The Ten Commandments has there been such a bizarre casting choice.

Anyway, Ben Stiller is the nephew of the head of the Mob (One-Armed Guy).  Ben gets himself brutally murdered.  Meanwhile, Briar is trying to find Bill Paxton’s killers, while Swayze is trying to stop him from being a vigilante.  Helen Hunt is Swayze’s wife and teaches the cello.  She frets a lot. There’s a lot of violence and other stuff.  Briar is also murdered after being framed for killing Ben Stiller.  Unbeknownst to the Mob, Briar has left instructions with Michael J. Pollard to call his relatives in Kentucky if something happens to him.  Swayze then quits the police force to join in the blood feud.  The Kentuckians show up in a bunch of trucks and a school bus.  A battle takes place between the mountain men and the mob in a cemetery. Swayze goes off on the Mob with a crossbow. The mob is wiped out with some of them even being killed by a huge collection of deadly snakes on the school bus.  Then the movie just kind of ends–happily, I guess, expect for Liam Neeson, Bill Paxton and Ben Stiller–and the Mob.

Why do I love this piece of cinematic tripe?  Maybe it’s Liam Neeson, at what was surely the low point of his career, portraying an Appalachian backwoodsman. How did he establish a successful career after this? Then again, Helen Hunt won an Oscar after NOK.  Perhaps it’s Ben Stiller in a decidedly non-comedic role playing a mobster. He also went on to great success.  It could just be Swayze, beating and killing people when the dude was only about 5′ 7″, 145 pounds.  Michael J. Pollard might have been the key.  I envision the casting director saying:  “What’s the name of the weird cat in Bonnie and Clyde?  Wonder where he is these days?”  He was probably working the hoot owl shift at a convenience store.  Hell, he may have actually been working at that sleazy hotel.

Ok.  I don’t know why I like NOK, but I do.  I like to think that somewhere in Eastern Kentucky there is a family that would load up and head to Chicago and wipe out the Mob.  That Michael J. Pollard works at a sleazy hotel somewhere.  That Helen Hunt teaches the cello.  That Ben Stiller is in the Mob.  That Swayze is still alive and implausibly kicking ass somewhere right now.  I don’t know.  Maybe I just have no taste.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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