Weekend at Wernie's

Florence Bothwell Cosby

One of the truly great outgrowths of the Trumpet website is how it has reconnected old friends, and compressed the past 40 years into an insignificant span of time. Some of us have picked up right where we left off those many years ago.

Werner sat in front of me in 5th grade, Mrs. Mahoney's class, at PS 8. We were in those double seats with the bench that flips up, and the back that forms the front of the next desk behind it. So you could say that we first "connected" when we were ten years old. I remember when he went to Germany for six months with his parents, and the Journal our teacher gave him to record his trip. He still has it, I know, because I have seen it. I have seen it, because I was there, at Werner's house, for a Weekend at Wernie's ... (Beach Boys music swells in the background, as title and costars roll)

When you view the expanse of locations where all our found classmates live, well, Werner and I do not live all that far away from each other, as we are both "in the South". Hey, that's a cotton boll's throw away, y'all. So when Werner emailed and invited me down yonder, well, I d'clare, however could I say no. But let's bag the southern drawl right here and now, it does not suit me in the least, as I still retain that unmistakable twang that immediately identifies one as a New Yawka. ("About that girl from New York City ...")

Werner's invitation was more a request for assistance in publishing The Trumpet than for a holiday of leisure. Remember, he has been toiling away down in the Production Department where the sun never shines and all manner of hideous decay and decomposition occurs. No wonder he can't get anyone to offer assistance, the ambiance is appalling! Hey Werner, you need to get the Ad. Dept. to develop a more appealing campaign for you.

But I took the bait, and we made plans for my travels to the Peach State. Many emails ensued, as Werner is thorough, and I am impatient. And so with detailed route directions in hand, I took off on the appointed day, Oldies but Goodies blaring on my radio to set the mood for my journey back in time. Werner said it would take five to five-and-a-half hours from my house to his. Hell No, I thought, I have a heavy foot, and well, folks, I’d had that old Porsche cranked up to 112 mph with smoothness and ease. But that's another story... ("And she'll have fun fun fun until her daddy takes the T-bird away ...")

I arrived at Werner's gated compound well before the appointed hour, and was greeted by him and his lovely daughter, Jennifer. We fell right into a comfort zone of conversation about family, friends, the old neighborhood, and this & that. In fact, we got so wrapped up in catching up that we talked well past midnight, normal for me, but many hours past Werner's usual bedtime. Poor guy, at this point he was probably already regretting he'd asked me to visit. ("The night was so young and everything still ... The moon shining bright on my window sill")

I talked to a friend of mine on the phone after I arrived, and he lightly inquired about the "sleeping arrangements," and if there would be any "wanderings" during the night. This really made me laugh, that it would even enter his mind. So I assured him that I had private accommodations and that I had already locked the door and dragged the dresser in front of it. I may be old, but I'm still a gorgeous babe, I know, because he told me so. But if such queries entered his mind, well, then they might enter someone else's as well. Therefore, I have included this little tidbit of information here so that none of you will be passing notes in Study Hall, and also to preserve the pristine reputations of The Snippets Lady and Father Werner. ("I'm bugged at my ol' man ... Cause he's making me stay in my room ...").

The next two days are kind of a blur, as the Production Department is indeed without sunshine. However, I assure you, I did not at any point observe dank, dreary, despicable critters lurking in the shadows. Of course they may very well have been there, don't know, had my bleary eyes glued to the computer screen from dawn 'til dusk, and beyond to the witching hour. So LISTEN UP FOLKS ... Putting the Trumpet together and ready for publication is an ENORMOUS INVESTMENT OF TIME AND ENERGY which Werner puts forth every single month on our behalf. Oh yes, we all make huge contributions of our own, but the actual up and ready effort is monumental. I know, I was there, and each and every Staff member should take a hitch in the PD to see how much he puts into it. I learned a lot during my visit, technical information beyond imagination, how to use programs, and how I am even pickier than he is about how things look and fit together to make the final product ready for lift off. But most of all, I learned about Werner and his total and complete commitment to the Trumpet endeavor. This amusing little anecdote is a tribute to that commitment. ("I need some spark to make my candle glow ... I need a mess of help to stand alone")

BUT not being one to labor my life away, we did have FUN & FROLIC along the way. It's kind of tough to get FW to let his hair down and laugh, but I made a valiant effort, and we did have a good time. We smoked cigarettes, drank vodka, and talked again late into the night. I'm not sure if I offered HIM any assistance, but at least I was someone to talk shop with, clink glasses with, and smile warmly at the past we all share together. ("Looking for my lost shaker of salt ...")

We made a pledge that we would publish by noon on Sunday, and did so by 1:00. High fives all around, and folks, it was a thrill, a THRILL, to send it off into cyberspace, Mission Accomplished! So, feeling a need for celebration, we hopped in his car and puttered off (I was not driving) to the Renaissance Festival to enjoy a day in the sunne and splendour of ye olde past. If you've never been to one, it's great fun, shops, music, theater, costumes, food, and merriment galore. We sat and people-watched, munching away on huge roasted turkey legs. And when I had finished eating mine, I was sorely tempted to toss the bones over my shoulder to the dogs. Doesn't take much to shift me into lifestyle mode from the past. In fact, I hope to go again sometime, costumed as a period-style wench, complete with boobs pushed up to my chin, flowers in my hair, and a tankard of ale raised in good cheer. ("This is the way I always dreamed it would be...")

My Weekend at Wernie's ended all too soon, we hugged tight and promised to stay in close touch. In fact, I'm already planning the next bash, at the beach near my house where I manage to spend as much spare time as possible in sun and sand. Hey, folks, Surf's up! ("We'll all be planning that route We're gonna take real soon. We're waxing down our surfboards. We can't wait for June ..." Credits roll, fade to black.

6/09/02