Christmas wishes past

Published 5:00 am Saturday, December 23, 2006

Some topical humor transcends the passing of years. The Dec. 24, 1963, edition of the Review included a cartoon showing a familiar figure in red suit, peaked cap and full white beard – a bulging bag slung over his shoulder – standing at the Washington State Ferries ticket booth.

“I don’t care who you are,” the gate attendant says, “your ticket expired Tuesday.”

That same edition included this column, a little post-election, pre-Christmas humor from publisher Dave Averill:

* * * * *

The man at the head of the table swallowed a mouthful of smoke from his battered cigar, and then puffed it out into the room.

“I can see the point to what you say, George,” he said thoughtfully. “But frankly, fat men don’t have a chance in politics anymore. A few of them still sneak in, but they’re done. Bad image.”

George, an apologetic-looking man in a checked sport coat, shrugged his shoulders in mute disagreement. He looked around the room for support. When nobody spoke, he ventured a timid opinion.

“Really, I think the guy’s a natural even so,” he said. “Look at how the kids love him. Besides, who else do we have?”

A ponderous man sitting across the table from George cleared his throat and joined the conversation.

“George could have something, you know,” he said. “Everybody knows how generous the guy is. And that business about kids is true.”

“Kids don’t vote,” said the man at the head of the table. “Good grief, the voters will think we’re running some kind of beatnik when they see that beard. I’ll agree he has a reputation for being generous, but what else do we know about him? Where does he stand on taxes?”

“He’s against them, of course,” said George. “I wouldn’t have mentioned his name if he wasn’t. He’s generous when it comes to spending, but he hates taxes.”

The big man across the table nodded in agreement. George leaned back with the grateful expression of a man who has discovered a convert.

“I’m beginning to think George might be right,” said the man across the table. “Maybe we could get him to shave and go on a diet before the primary.”

There were nods from the other men in the room.

“Let’s kick the idea around a little, Chief,” said one of them. “You’ve got to admit, the guy could probably use a steady job. He’s unemployed 11 months out of the year.”

Expressions chased themselves across the face of the man at the head of the table. He sighed, emitting more cigar smoke.

“Well,” he said, “I won’t even consider running him unless he gets rid of that red suit. And those reindeer have to go.”

George raised a hand in reassurance.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Chief,” he said. “I’m telling you, this guy will make the greatest candidate ever. He’ll promise anything. He’ll make those other giveaway artists look like pikers.”

“He’s got a good name for campaign posters,” said another. “‘Send Santa to Congress.’ We can use red and green ink.”

“Okay, then, it’s settled,” said the man at the head of the table. “But remember, he goes on a diet right now…”