The Great Tractor Thread (on topic)

it's all gone...the people, the places, all the unique things.

One Saturday afternoon, before our monthly management club meeting at the armory, George had a pre-meeting cocktail party in his basement. His nephew, Bob Bird, from the Chicago office, was the evening's program speaker. When I arrived, the party was just getting underway, and I chatted with Bob. He was immaculately dressed, smiling, and in great shape for his presentation. But as the cocktail hour went on, Bob looked and acted as though he had spent too much time at the bar bending his elbow. By the time we left for dinner at the armory, Bob's tie was loose at the collar, his shirt was partially unbuttoned and hanging out at the belt. In fact, he looked a mess; his speech was slurred and his walk was unsteady.

George was beside himself, and for once, he didn't know what to do. At the head table at the armory, Bob was boisterous, dropped his silverware, and created quite a disturbance. All eyes in the room were on Bob, as he proceeded to make an absolute ass of himself. George was embarrassed beyond words and tugged at Bob's sleeve to calm him down. George leaned over and urged him to give up trying to make a speech. This riled Bob all the more and set him off on a loud tirade against George.

Those of us who were seated close to George were mortified, but there was nothing we could do about it. Anything George said was brushed off and to no avail. After dinner the president of the club warily approached the podium, opened the meeting, and quickly conducted the business. With a furtive glance at George, as if to ask, "Do I close the meeting now or introduce Bob?", the president realized it was up to him to decide. Without dwelling on Bob's impressive background and wanting to get this bad scene over as quickly as possible, he simply said, "It is my pleasure to introduce Bob Bird from our Chicago office," and quickly returned to his seat.

As the crowd of more than 200 men and women politely clapped, Bob lurched to his feet, knocked over his chair and kicked it out of the way. His hair was disheveled, his shirt was hanging out of his pants, and he was more out of than in his suitcoat. Everyone gasped, and you could hear some whisper, "He's drunk." One even murmured, "My God, he really is stoned!"

Bob fell twice as he ascended the stairs to the podium. On the podium, he tried to grab the microphone, but in his apparent tipsy condition it took him three attempts before he conquered it with both hands. He wiped his nose with a sweep of his coat sleeve, rolled his eyes, opened his mouth, and struggled to stay on his feet. The room was hushed, and everyone including George was appalled at what they were witnessing. Bob closed his mouth, opened it again, then shouted, "INTERCOURSE!" The men blinked, looked at each other, and thought in disbelief, "What did he say?" The women bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and tried to hide their embarrassment.

While reactions swirled around the audience, Bob turned his back on everyone and disappeared behind the podium curtain. We all sat there stunned and looked at George to see what he was going to do. He just sat there as if someone had shot him. But momentarily Bob emerged from behind the curtain, and the audience had reason to gasp again in disbelief. It was a miraculous transformation. Bob was smiling; his hair was neatly combed; his shirt was buttoned and properly tucked in, and his tie no longer loosened. To my astonishment, he was as immaculately groomed and dressed as when I greeted him a few hours earlier. What's more, he was steady on his feet. He stepped confidently to the microphone, deftly positioned it, and in a clear, crisp voice and with a broad smile said, "Things aren't always what they seem." George looked as if he were a balloon that had just been popped with a pin. He, along with everyone else, had been taken in bigtime with Bob's carefully contrived charade.

The theme of Bob's speech was about relationships--social and business intercourse--rather than sexual intercourse. He talked about the art of communicating with each other and how important it is to convey correctly the meaning that is intended. He made the point that when he shouted "intercourse" we assumed he meant sexual intercourse, which wasn't the case at all since the word intercourse has many meanings depending on the full context in which it is used.

It was a superb speech. It was provocative--one that was long remembered and talked about for many years. When Bob concluded his speech, he was given a standing ovation, and the club president adjourned the meeting on a happy note. George hastily called a post-meeting party in his basement, and for the rest of the evening he was subdued and not his old self. But he did manage to tell Bob, "You sure fooled me. It was a hell of an act, but God dammit, don't ever do that to me again!"

Old saying is true, you really can't ever go home again...it's all gone...the people, the places, all the unique things.