“Pereant qui ante nostra dixerunt” was what them old Latins were prone to say. A loose translation washes down to “may they perish who have expressed our bright ideas before us” and that is my lament once in a while, but what’s been done is a done deal.

Now, I am sole custodian of my dad’s Elementary Spelling Book, by Noah Webster, L.L.D.’ An all encompassing textbook of 174 pages that Hugh Chupp employed it to gain his eighth grade education at Ebenezer School back in the early days of the 1900s. Originally published by G.& C. Merriam in 1857, under copyright in 1880 and 1908. It is a sight to behold, and has fascinated me from tadhood. It covers the fine art of spelling from grade 1 to Master Degree status.

There is also a section dedicated to the immortal Fables of Yesteryear, and although it is not expressly notated that they are Aesopian, they have haunted me with their poignant stress of universal truths ever since I read them for the first time. In my pursuit of literary expression I have fashioned an imitation once in a while, simply because such work can be done in the shade, but what the hey. I went through an orgy of haiku scribbling during my days at Odessa’s russian thistled college of G.I. sophistication. A haiku of course is a poem of three lines usually containing five, seven and five syllables respectively and is cousin to a tanka which is a haiku lookalike that normally has a seasonal reference.

I strove manfully to peddle them haikus and tankas out on honky-tonk row north of Odessa on the Andrews Highway, but found my supply eclipsed demand, so I ceased production and learned what free verse is the hard way. It is simply poetry you cannot peddle.

I have not completely recovered from my fascination with the Aesop Fable business howsomever and sometimes unto this very day one pops into my old grey head, and I ain’t above unleashing on my understanding readers. In candor and honesty I refrain from branding my creations as fables—they are full blood Feebles.

Here’s one:

Back in the roaring twenties there was an Orvil Stump who dealt in second hand bovines in this area. He had a gifted son, Bolivar, who had learned the entire alphabet and kept an eye out for a bargain.

They got word that a six pack of Jersey cows were for sale out at Twinkle City (an early name for Rising Star). They hied themselves to that locale and after considerable dickering came to a price that was acceptable to them and the owner. His name was Sam Blevins or Oscar Leviticus or something that sounded like that. He said he’d throw in a pair of gnus at no extra cost.

“What in tarnations a gnu?” Orvil asked.

“A gnu,” Sam or Oscar pointed out a specimen, “is actually an African antelope. They’re rare in this country, but I’ve got more of them than I need.” They were quarter horse caliber with a set of horns that were a sigh to behold.

“What are they good for?” Orlvil’s curiosity was aroused.

“They make Cracker Jack good barbeque,” Sam or Oscar responded. “Lions love them.”

“I don’t have any lions,” Orvil said, “so I’ll study on it, but we’ve got a deal on them Jersey cows.” A handshake sealed the deal.

“They is an old saying,” Orvil said to Bolivar on the way home. “Always look a gift horse in the mouth. And I figured that advice probably included gnus too.”

He studied on it and Bolivar wrote and mailed a penny postcard to Sam or Oscar or something like that. “We don’t want them gnus,” it said.

The consignment was delivered and to Orvil’s relief they arrived without any African antelopes, so the tale has a happy ending.

Moral: “No gnus was good news,” and you can now see why this is a Feeble and not a genuine Fable.

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