When I taught at Sandpoint High School, we had a teacher who had been given a few names other than his own. I'm sure if he knew anything of these monikers, he would not think them very funny---mainly because he didn't think anything was very funny. If he did, the man hid it well. Some students called him "Mr. Beaker." I think it had more to do with the subject he taught rather than his nose.
Some of us faculty members did think a lot of things were funny, especially that this man's lunch menu never changed: always two hamburgers. Hence, someone one day dubbed him "Two Hamburgers," and the name stuck. I'm sure if any colleagues are reading today, they could call me up and easily identify Two Hamburgers. They could also identify one of our colleagues who had two last names. In fact, she still does. Her name is Merriam Merriman. No, she's not related to a dictionary, but she does have an interesting story which goes a bit beyond the two last names. She was a Spanish teacher, and her maiden name was French. Then, she met Larry Merriman, and no longer would she have to deal with the interminable student question, "Your last name is French; why are you teaching Spanish?"
Larry solved that problem for her, but since the day they wed, she's been known as the lady with the two last names. She's also remained a good friend of mine for a number of years, and I'm happy to say that Two Last Names is coming for a visit to Sandpoint this weekend. With that in mind, I decided to end the week with a segment from a story which was rejected for my second book, revised for my third book, and dropped from my third book-----for various reasons on which I shall not touch today. The part, however, with Merriam has nothing to do with why it won't appear in my third book. The story is entitled "Telephun." You'll just have to imagine what's NOT in the story. Enjoy:
. . . . the evening spent at the cookie party revived two of my lifelong passions---performing as the life of the party and playing on the telephone. In certain environments, age and the matching maturity of character that ought to match my mature years sometimes disappears. Before Verizon sends the gestapo squad to my house, I must state emphatically and categorically (just like the politicians do) that my pranks are impish but innocent enough and designed to get someone’s goat---never to hurt or scare anyone. In fact, through most of my life, I’ve limited my perverse phone fun to a small circle of friends and relatives.
My two older brothers and I used to derive mutual enjoyment out of calling one another with the caller quizzing the victim sibling in a fake voice with such intelligent questions as, “Do you have a buffalo herd in your back yard?” In fact, my brother Mike polled me on that one several different times, always trying a different voice. He never fooled me, but he kept the faith. To this day, I’ve seen buffalo only in Yellowstone Park, the National Bison Range, on a few area farms and in downtown Usk, Washington. If only he had called someone in Usk.
Then, there was the time my mother called up one Saturday night, and I answered on the first ring.
“I caught you!” she announced.
“Caught me at what?” I snapped back, genuinely puzzled.
“That was you and you know it,” she insisted.
“What was me?” I asked.
“You just called here, using a fake voice,” she insisted. “You tried to sound like some old lady who needed a hand-out. I know it was you.”
“Honest, Mother, it wasn’t me,” I said. “I haven’t been on the phone. I just happened to be standing by it when you called.”
“You know it was you, Marianne,” she pressed on. “You’re not getting away with this one. I caught you.”
“Mother, I did NOT call you,” I insisted. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Are you sure?” she said, her tone now lacking the certainty of her earlier accusation.
“OHHHHHHHHHH nooooooooo,” she said, clearly embarrassed. “Who WAS that lady? I thought sure it was you. It was some really pathetic-sounding old gal asking me to buy light bulbs. Her voice sounded like yours when you try to fake it, so I said ‘Marianne, I know that’s you,’ and hung up on her.”
Mother had good reason to suspect me. After all, I’d caught her off-guard with my fake voices several times in the past. I don’t know if it was her infamous forty-percent hearing loss or her gullibility, but my batting average with successful prank calls to my mother surpasses the best of Ted Williams. For years it was common for me to start our daily phone conversations by pretending to be a salesperson or poll taker. I’ve always to fooled her with ease, and strangely so, since Mother and I share the same rather recognizable deep voice, a voice difficult to disguise.
Anyway, on this particular Saturday night, she thought she’d hit pay-dirt by first insisting that the poor little ol’ lady was really some idiot named “Marianne” and then hanging up on her. Mother felt pretty foolish, just as one of my friends, Merriam, felt many times after picking up her phone and listening to my fake spiel for several minutes before catching me weaken and giggle.
Actually, next to Mother, Merriam ranks as my all-time favorite victim. In fact, I think the two attended the same School of Gullibility. I met Merriam in the early 1980s shortly after she’d moved to Sandpoint, where her husband Larry had taken a job with a building-supply chain. At the time, our assistant principal, Larry Jacobson, had recruited several women to start an academic parent support group. He asked me if I’d like to serve on its board as a consultant. Merriam was one of the original recruits. I was immediately impressed with her as an enthusiastic and dynamic doer. With her team of parental colleagues, Merriam had helped the ball rolling for the creation of a successful organization which we named the Sandpoint High School Parents and Friends.
We got to know each other better through several hours of counting out Gooby Meat Co. beef sticks for Christmas boxes for a fund-raiser. I can’t remember how much money we made on that project, but it rewarded us with another valuable commodity--a good friendship. Whether sorting through beef sticks or reviewing club goals, Merriam and I could never quite get everything discussed. For the next five years, we spent hours on the phone talking about day-to-day happenings, our families, school politics, etc.
As our families got together more often for social gatherings, my comfort zone around my new friend became secure. Merriam had a great sense of humor, which proved to be just the necessary ingredient for me to subject her to a few of my conniving telephone capers. From time to time, I’d call her house, disguise my voice and attempt to sell her a newer, better vacuum cleaner. A typical conversation went like this.
“Hi, is this the Lawrence Merriman household?”
“Yes.”
“How is your vacuum cleaner working these days?” I’d ask. “Are you having any trouble getting your carpet clean?”
“Well, no, it’s working just fine,” she’d say.
“I’m Jennifer and I represent the Suck-It-Up Vacuum Cleaner Co. We have a new model out and we’d like to come and demonstrate it in your living room. . . “ Merriam fell for the lies every time. I could never keep my ruse going for more than three or four minutes, though, without the fake voice fading and revealing the old familiar, indisguisable me.
“MARIANNE LOVE, YOU CREEP!” Merriam always vowed to get me back. So far, though, that has not happened. She failed to retaliate even after the time I pretended to be a representative of Stanford University. Her daughter, Megan, graduated from Stanford. During her years in Palo Alto as a student, the university had received some negative press over an alleged misappropriation of funds. The scandal had been aired on the ABC magazine show, “20-20,” as well as on other television news shows. One day Merriam received a call from an unknown pollster asking if she would participate in a survey about Stanford’s public image. She agreed. After several questions, regarding her knowledge of the university as a parent, the interviewer asked her what she thought of the university’s president.
“It’s interesting that you’d ask,” Merriam responded, obviously eager to share. “He was just here in the Seattle area for a reception. I met him and was very impressed with him.”
Next, as the caller started asking her how she felt about the recent publicity, my own tell-tale voice took over. It took Merriam a few seconds before recognition clicked and her customary empty threat followed. I’ve pretty much left Merriam alone over the past few years except for one other time when I sat in front of my English class with a speaker phone and used my learned friend to prove a point of grammar. We were memorizing the prepositions to the tune of “Old McDonald’s Farm” when I suddenly remembered one of Merriam’s outstanding talents. Picking up the receiver in front of the students, I dialed Information and asked for Merriam’s office number at the Social Security Administration in Tacoma. The timing was perfect. She was near the phone, and I began a friendly conversation with her. After we’d covered the basic questions about family and life in general, I informed her that besides myself, thirty sophomores were also listening to our conversation.
“I told them about your preposition talent,” I then informed her. “They don’t believe that you can recite ALL the prepositions in less than one minute.”
“You what----?” she yelled. “You mean I’m on display in front of your class?”
“Yes,” I said. “I called to see if you would show how skilled you are with your prepositions. . . They’re here waiting. . . .”
Gullible though she was on this day, Merriam was swift enough to realize that I might just be telling the truth and that she would be wise to refrain from uttering what she’d really like to say to me. So without protest, she wowed my English class and ripped through the entire list of prepositions in alphabetical order. She didn’t even forget “owing to.” And she didn’t forget it in a later conversation when she reminded me that I would be “owing to” her for the rest of my life for this prank.
Note: You can bet that I'll ask Merriam to perform the prepositions during her visit this weekend. By the way, she left Sandpoint High School and eventually went to work for the Social Security Administration in the Seattle Area. She's now happily drawing her own Social Security and living happily with Larry in Edmonds, Wash.
