Anonymous letters are seldom accorded daylight or ink, and once upon a time I culled all such communiqués without a second of consideration, but in those days I was printing a newspaper for pleasure and profit. De Leon’s Monitor and The Messenger took a six year bite of my earthly existence, and I will always look back on the experience with a certain nostalgia and without regret. It was a thing I’d always felt I wanted to give my best shot. I was a stripling of 65 years and with a brave and much younger cadre of adventurers we sailed in unchartered waters and lived to tell the story—which I may someday actually opt to do.

Now, like I stated, anonymous letters are a chancy proposition, and with but a few exceptions they were avoided like the bubonic plague. As old Davy Crockett liked to say, “Be sure you’re right—then go ahead!” You know, of course what befell ol’ Dave down around San Antonio.

Be patient, I’ve got to get the wagons circled before explaining what got my dander up and humbled me just lately. Be kind to us old scutters—you’ll join the club in the sweet by and by. Just like the membership ship of AARP.

Croaking prior to your qualifying for Social Security is the only way to avoid the obvious outcome to hanging around.

The other day I was in receipt of a letter which was composed by an outraged group, AKA The Unanimous Readers of my column, which this is one of. To wit.

“You sir, are guilty of the creation and circulation of base canards and ought to be ashamed of yourself. Not only do you test the elasticity of truth, you ignore most of the rules of decorous journalism!

“We, the dominant population up north in the cedar thickets of Palo Pinto area, insist that you profess to your guilt in spreading literary fertilizer upon the innocent heads of fellow Texans.”

This missive was replete with actual signatures along with a few Xes from those devoid of written communication skills—twelve to be accurate—and I could not say them nay. Since there is no honorable defense agin a Unanimous request of this ilk I girded my loins and my response follows, and is as nigh to an admission of guilt as I care to venture. The clincher of course was the actual author who claims to be the voice of the Cedar Hackers Association of Northern Texas. Their acronym is CHANT.com.

My guru, and font of knowledge, was none other than my esteemed friend of many years. Old Buford and I rode the dusty trails of Texas back when our running gear was intact, and we were wise enough to not loan money to each other, which is often the keystone to an enduring relationship.

He did not ask that I go cold turkey and pledge to cease my product of drivel, so I won’t. I do howsomever admit to all charges, and gently remind my readers that there ain’t no Truth with a capital T.

So I confess that I embellish my literary eruptions on a regular basis, and claim that the condition is irreversible. I trust that this admission will be sufficient to placate those who suspected my malfeasance all along.

My sinuses and my conscience are clear. As them old Eyetalians like to say, “Se non è vero, è ben trovato”.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp