Lies Sent In by Mail
and the verdicts of the Summer Committee

Since my granddaughter put the club on the computer, folks from all over have been sending in lies of their own. I print them out on her machine and take them down to the cafe on the square on Tuesday mornings, where the Summer Committee meets. That is Tuck, Preacher and me, plus anybody else who happens to be buying breakfast. We don't have the stove in summer, or the can, but we have the rules, and we hold to them.

The verdicts are honest. A lie that passes gets read out loud at the stove this winter, with your name and your state, and if it's good enough there may be a cookie in it for you. (There won't. We'll eat it for you.)

From Eva Viera, Tucson, Arizona

It got so hot in Tucson this July that my car's shadow got up and went and lay down under the carport without the car. I had to go out at noon with a flashlight to find which way it went. It came back after sundown. It wouldn't come in the garage until I hosed it off.

VERDICT: PASSED. A fine, dry lie, which suits the country. The true thing: it gets mighty hot in Tucson. Preacher was stationed out there in the Army and he will tell you about it whether you ask or not. Read at the stove in November.

From Sabrina Klatt, Wisconsin

My grandfather built an ice-fishing shanty so snug and warm that the fish took to coming up through the hole in the floor to sit by his little stove. By January they were bringing their own folding chairs. He never caught one of them all winter. He said it would have been rude.

VERDICT: PASSED. Tuck says it's the best fish lie he's heard from north of Missouri. The true thing: up there they really do haul little houses out on the frozen lake and sit in them all winter. Tuck did not believe that part until I showed him a picture in the encyclopedia. He still says it's the bigger lie of the two.

From Harold Humphrey, Kentucky

I had a coon hound named Captain who was the most polite dog in three counties. He would run a raccoon up a tree, bay twice to let me know, and then hold the ladder for me. When I got too old to climb, he took to climbing up himself and asking the raccoon to please come down. Most of them did. He had that kind of a voice.

VERDICT: PASSED, with a note. Preacher wanted to know if Captain was available to come talk to some of our members. The true thing: a good coon hound does have a voice you can tell from every other dog in the woods, and its owner can pick it out from a mile off. Read at the stove in November.

From Keith Kellar, Ohio

(Here Mr. Kellar sent us a very long and very funny lie about his brother-in-law, by name, and the brother-in-law's new bass boat, and what happened to it at a boat ramp in Ohio.)

VERDICT: DISQUALIFIED. RULE 1. Mr. Kellar, it was a good lie, and Tuck laughed till he coughed. But it was about a living relative, by name, who might very well read this page, and might have to sit across from you at Thanksgiving. Send us one about yourself. We'll be glad to have it.

Later: Mr. Kellar wrote back and sent one about himself, about the time his lawn mower ran off and joined a carnival. PASSED. He said his brother-in-law thanks us.

From George Sweitzer, Kansas

My wife has a 1964 Rambler station wagon she bought new. It has gone around the odometer four times and she has never once replaced the original muffler. She drives it to church every Sunday and it has never been late.

VERDICT: DISQUALIFIED. Mrs. Sweitzer wrote us separately, the next day, to say that every word of this is true and she'd thank George not to make fun of her car. A lie has to hold one true thing. It may not be made entirely of them. Mr. Sweitzer, try again, and give our regards to the Rambler.

From Frank Arevalo, Texas

Down here on the coast the wind blew so steady out of the south one spring that my tomato plants all grew out sideways, straight across the fence, and by June we were picking our tomatoes in the neighbor's yard. We worked it out with him. He keeps half. He says they're the best tomatoes he never planted.

VERDICT: PASSED. The Summer Committee admired how everybody came out ahead, which is in the best spirit of Rule 1. The true thing: it is windy on the Gulf Coast, and a neighbor who keeps half is a good neighbor. Read at the stove in November.

From a reader who signed himself "Anonymous in Oklahoma"

I caught a bass so big that when I held it up for the picture, I was the one who looked small.

VERDICT: HELD OVER. It's a start. Every lie has to start someplace. But the Committee needs more. Where did you catch it? What did it say? Who was holding the camera, and did they ever forgive you? Write back with the whole thing, and sign your name. A liar with no name is just a rumor.

How to send a lie: Put it in an e-mail to [email protected]. Keep it to about one cup of coffee, which is how long it ought to take to tell out loud. Tell us your name and your state. And before you send it, read it over and find the one true thing in it. If you can't find it, neither can we.

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