not.
There was a small lectern at the front of the room. I was glad for it; I could hold on to it and hide behind it. My “speech”—such as it was—consisted of a cue card with a few notes jotted down. I put the card down on the lectern and studied it for a moment.
Usually when Sirius and I do appearances, I start with a joke. I wasn’t sure whether humor had a place in the 187 Club, but I decided to take a chance.
“You know,” I said, looking at my partner, “I don’t know why people think Sirius is so smart, but they do.”
My partner’s ears perked up, and he looked at me. Everyone could see he was smiling, as if he was in on the joke.
“Yeah, yesterday the two of us were playing chess, and there must have been ten people who came by and said, ‘That Sirius is so smart.’ And I had to tell them, ‘He’s not really that smart. I’m the one who’s won three out of five games.’”
Almost everyone in the crowd began to laugh. I pretended to take offense at the laughter. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Then I shook my head, gave Sirius a disdainful side glance, and said, “You were just lucky yesterday. Usually I do win.”
The crowd laughed, and then laughed even more when Sirius chose to start licking himself. His targeted area seemed to be an editorial comment.
I decided not to tell them my joke about what Timmy had said after hearing that Lassie had been eaten by a bear (“Well, doggone”). There was no need. Sirius had already won over the crowd.
I took another look at the cue card. It hadn’t magically filled up since I’d last studied it.
“I wish I had some great advice for everyone in this room,” I said. “It would be nice if I could expound upon Kübler-Ross, but the truth is before today I’d never heard her name. And I wish I was as learned as Langston and could tell you what else Justice Oliver Holmes said, but I’d probably mix his words with those of Sherlock Holmes. Unfortunately, I’m a product of our times, and most of the quotes I know come from popular music and movies.
“But, like you, there have been times in my life when I’ve had to deal with those five stages of grief that Langston referred to. One time in particular it seemed as if my whole world was crumbling down around me. And that’s when I got a call from a friend who said, ‘Gideon, just remember this: illegitimi non carborundum .’ And so I said to my friend, ‘What the hell does that mean?’ And he told me illegitimi non carborundum translates to, ‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down.’”
Most in the audience were smiling and nodding, which seemed a victory to me, as this was a group heavy with dark circles, haggard faces, and hunched shoulders.
“My friend’s words made an impression on me. And so I wrote his phrase down in big bold letters and put that sheet of paper in a prominent place on my desk. And I referred to it when times were bad. This went on for a time, until I made the mistake of referencing my catchphrase to my oldest friend in the world, Father Patrick Garrity of the Church of the Blessed Sacrament on Sunset Avenue. And how did Father Pat respond? He chastised me, and not for using the word “bastards,” but for my ignorance. Father Pat said that even I should have recognized pseudo-Latin for what it was. Did I mention that the Father is a classically trained Jesuit? Anyway, because of Father Pat, I can now properly curse in Latin. And now you can too. According to Father Pat, I should have said, ‘Noli nothis permittere deterere.’ And that translates to, ‘Do not allow the bastards to get you down.’
“Now that’s not one of the Ten Commandments, I know, but when my world of terra firma became quicksand, I resolved that I wasn’t going to let those bastards grind me down.
“We all have different bastards in our lives. Maybe you’re trying to deal with an indifferent justice system. That can be a real bastard. Or you have a boss who doesn’t