Tempted to say, 'Let them eat cake!'

One cold morning when I was a wee lad, a neighboring farmer rode his horse into our yard. Sitting straight-backed in the saddle, he was an imposing figure.

"Mornin', Aldous," my father said warmly. "You ride like you got corn to sell." It was a common inference that the man had harvested a good crop, with corn left over after allowing for his family and animals. It was a remark of respect.

That vignette came to mind as representatives of the foundering auto industry recently appeared before Congress to plead for a taxpayer bailout of the mismanaged monolith.

They certainly had no corn for sale. Even worse, arrogant and void of humility, they came to town on private jets, not deigning to travel even by first-class commercial air.

Is it any wonder the tide of tolerance and forgiveness on the part of the public runs so high against the bailout?

The average taxpayer believes that, yes, hard times can beget need for any of us. But a beggar doesn't normally arrive in a Cadillac.

Taxpayers are tempted to say of industry moguls what Queen Marie Antoinette allegedly said during the French Revolution when the country was suffering through a famine. Told that her people had no bread and were starving, she is said to have replied, "Let them eat cake!"

While the public may not want to exact a pound of flesh from the job-threatened industry's low-level employees, it may rightfully insist on some comeuppance for high and mighty management, which for years with consistent haughtiness has defied efforts to get U.S. automakers to face the reality of a changing world and a decreasing supply of oil.

Long lasting

E-mail from the Rev. Ray Hodge of Smithfield, a college classmate, revealed that he truly has something to crow about. He's had the same wife and the same toaster for 58 years! He included a photo of the toaster.

"For a wedding gift, the good people in one of the three churches I served during my senior year at Wake Forest College gave us cash, with which we bought the toaster," he said. "Since its useful life span coincides with the length of our marriage, I associate the two -- a long-lasting appliance and a long-lasting marriage."

I agree with Hodge, that these days they don't make many marriages or toasters that last 58 years.

Huddle talk

What football fan who has never played the game hasn't wondered what goes on in the huddle?

Supposedly, the hurried hug-in's purpose is to clue the troops on the next play. I suspect it can be more than that.

I imagine it's not uncommon, say, for the quarterback to snarl to an end, "Listen, Pieface, if you drop one more of my end zone passes I'm gonna kick your heinie all the way to Edgecombe County when this game's over." Or perhaps, with the home team trailing 40 to 0: "Hang in, laddies. When this mess is over we're gonna go to Plumber Joe's and down a few dozen brews."

Incidentally, Mrs. Jo Ellen Ammons of Raleigh may be the only woman hereabout who has ever huddled with a college football team.

At the dedication of Mars Hill College's handsome new football stadium, a gift from Mrs. Ammons and developer husband Judd, a Mars Hill native, Mrs. Ammons was invited to huddle with the team as a gesture of appreciation for the new facility.

"What happened in that huddle?" I asked.

"Well," she chuckled, "they tried to explain a play and how it would work, but they soon realized that was a lost cause. I did ask them what they wore under their helmets, and one big fellow whipped off his helmet and said, 'I wear my do-rag! See?'

"I've never felt so respected and privileged in my entire life," visiting "quarterback" Ammons sighed.

A 'cool' kid

The outside temperature was around 40 degrees as, at a stoplight, I pulled alongside a fellow driving a bright red convertible with the top down. He wore a thin, short-sleeved T-shirt.

I couldn't resist rolling down my window and greeting him with, "I like your convertible. But I'm wondering why you aren't freezing in this weather."

"Oh, I have the heater on," he said with a grin.

"How old are you anyway?" I asked, to which he answered, "Twenty-three."

As the light changed, we waved and moved on. Ah, yes, at 23 you never get cold, and you think you're going to live forever, a legacy of the sweet bird of youth.

Snooze and lose

A reader sends along a list of "home remedies," one of which is worth sharing.

A mouse trap placed on top of your alarm clock will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.