ASSEMBLY FREE

[Joe Sperling]

Yesterday there were a few conversations about rehashing and rehashing the things that
happened while in the Assembly. I thought it would be nice to have a Thread that is en-
tirely free of any reference to the Assembly, where thoughts and short stories could be
shared about everyday life. I have a short story to share that happened in April when I
went to visit my Accountant for the tax season. He is a quirky guy and loves to tell stories
while punching out the numbers. His name is George Sisselman, and he has been my accountant
for several years. It's great to just be able to share things from everyday life and leave the
Assembly behind. I hope we can do that as we come to this thread.

I arrived at my accountant's office and then sat across from him. I handed him my envelope
filled with the paperwork from the year before--W2 forms, etc. He began to read through
the paperwork and then said "These are going to kill you this year Joe". I replied "What? I
thought everything would be fine".  "Gift Taxes" is all he said. "Gift Taxes, George? What do
you mean Gift Taxes?"I asked. "You received an inheritance last year, don't you remember? When your
brother passed away. And now you have become a slave to Gift Taxes. It's gonna cost you Joe."
I had forgotten about receiving a settlement from the State from my brother's retirement fund--
I had become a victim of Gift taxes, like so many others.

As my accountant contined to do my taxes I asked him how he had become an accountant. He replied "Oh, I'm not really sure. I just knew that I wanted to choose a different type of life than
my father had. You see, my father joined the Navy when I was young and became the steward
of a ship. He was the ship's steward, and very soon became the Head Steward. As a consequence
we often didn't see our father for weeks. But despite all of this we considered the man to be a
saint, because he often returned with his arms filled with gifts for us.

"We lived quite near the docks, and often visited an old destroyer that was stored there. On Sundays, my father and some of the other sailors would tell stories for much of the day. We called our visits there "Sunday Warship" because of the old destroyer, but I must admit that the
stories often would drag on, and I would become quite sleepy in the afternoons, and doze off. We
all sat on the deck, and if it started to rain we would just cover our heads, and continue to listen
to the stories regarding the sea.

"My father would arise very early, and go through a type of ritual we called "The cycle of the Ocean" because he would talk much about the cycle of life, and the Ocean being it's biggest part in the mystery of life. He would take me up to the window and look toward the ocean and ask 'What would you call that if it wasn't called the ocean? What name would you give it son? And son, what does the ocean teach you? What does it mean to you, my boy? But most importantly, what are you going to do about it son?' He would do this on almost a daily basis, and it annoyed the hell out of me, and that's when I decided to become anything but a ship's steward, and that's why I'm an accountant today", he said.

With that he was done with my taxes, and again I found out that I owed this year. Gift taxes had
done me in, but I knew I would survive, and maybe get some money back next year.

If you have a story to share that is "Assembly Free" please feel free to do so. We can all do with some everyday types of stories that speak of the normal trials of life, and how we are living today.

[editor]

I'm having an ANOP this Saturday.

It's for people who are serious, who spend time every day, both in person, and online.  Most of the people who come are going through a book or two.

We'll get there about a half hour before the time begins, and hopefullly, everyone will have brought a friend.  We're hoping to see the time grow, with new ones coming out.

We'll have a few snacks, and beverages, but the main focus is our time together, which will go most of the night, until the less committed run out of committment.  I want to be known as the best one there, and I want the others to pay attention to me and fear me.  I hope to humilate them, deceive them, and ultimately defeat them.....and then I want them to be my friends.

It's for people who are serious, not for those who want a social time.  It's gonna be costly for some, which is good.  They'll learn alot. When the chips are down, we'll see who is bluffing.

Brent

[moonflower2]

I'll bring the Zinfandel and a bunch of little cups.

[editor]

I'll bring the Zinfandel and a bunch of little cups.

Praise the L......uhhhmmmmhmmm,

Super!

[Joe Sperling]

My name is Bob Mason.  I came to this town to investigate a cattle prod murder at
a Barnes and Noble Book Store. But instead I found one of the best Pizza Parlors
in the whole 3 block area of town I've investigated so far. Run by a gentleman named
Nguyen Linh; his pizza recipes are simply out of this world. I quite like this town, except
the habit this one old woman has of hitting me over the head with an umbrella every
time she sees me. But I can endure that as long as they keep the pizza's coming my
way.

I'm staying at a bed and breakfast just outside of town, that was built back in 1950 by
a fellow named Hossenfeffer. Famous for having gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel in the
40's, "Lumpy" as he is affectionately known, is quite a character. He eats bananas, peels
and all, and has a pet armadillo named Waldo, whom  he  has trained to shine his shoes.
He claims to be the person on the "Dutch Boy" paint can, but no one can be really sure, es-
pecially because he isn't from Holland.

He claims his father, a German, swam from England to the Massachusetts coast, where he
was rescued by Jewish lobster fishermen. The lobster fishermen gave his father to a group
of travelling Gypsies who made him dance for hours at a time for pennies a day. The female
Gypsies made him hold his fingers up for hours as they used them to spindle the yarn they
used to make their many dresses and sweaters. It was at this point that the theory of evolution
became a reality, and the much use of his fingers caused a sixth finger to grow on each hand.
This became very useful later as he became a typist for a major newspaper, and was able to turn
out stories faster than the other typists.

His father met his mother when he fell out of a second story window to the sidewalk below, landing
on a pile of apples and pummeling into the street and rolling to a stop just inches short of a woman's
pair of feet. These feet were clad in huge clowns shoes, and his father and "Chuckles" fell in love at first sight. They were married, and 5 months later Percy L. Hossenfeffer was born. His parents knew he was meant for great things. One day, he would go over the falls of Niagara, and then run a bed and breakfast in town. I'm not sure why, but he absolutely hates books about cattle, and especially those who read them. Perhaps after I solve this cattle prod murder in the book store I can delve a little futher into his problem. (ring!!! ring!!!) Oh, there goes the telephone, I'd better answer it, it might be a call.

[editor]

My name is Bob Mason.  I came to this town to investigate a cattle prod murder at
a Barnes and Noble Book Store. But instead I found one of the best Pizza Parlors
in the whole 3 block area of town I've investigated so far. Run by a gentleman named
Nguyen Linh; his pizza recipes are simply out of this world. I quite like this town, except
the habit this one old woman has of hitting me over the head with an umbrella every
time she sees me. But I can endure that as long as they keep the pizza's coming my
way.

I'm staying at a bed and breakfast just outside of town, that was built back in 1950 by
a fellow named Hossenfeffer. Famous for having gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel in the
40's, "Lumpy" as he is affectionately known, is quite a character. He eats bananas, peels
and all, and has a pet armadillo named Waldo, whom  he  has trained to shine his shoes.
He claims to be the person on the Dutch boy paint can, but no one can be really sure, es-
pecially because he isn't from Holland.

He claims his father, a German, swam from England to the Massachusetts coast, where he
was rescued by Jewish lobster fishermen. The lobster fishermen gave his father to a group
of travelling Gypsies who made him dance for hours at a time for pennies a day. The female
Gypsies made him hold his fingers up for hours as they used them to spindle the yarn they
used to make their many dresses and sweaters. It was at this point that the theory of evolution
became a reality, and the much use of his fingers caused a sixth finger to grow on each hand.
This became very useful later as he became a typist for a major newspaper, and was able to turn
out stories faster than the other typists.

His father met his mother when he fell out of a second story window to the sidewalk below, landing
on a pile of apples and pummeling into the street and rolling to a stop just inches short of a woman's
pair of feet. These feet were clad in huge clowns shoes, and his father and "Chuckles" fell in love at first sight. They were married, and 5 months later Percy L. Hossenfeffer was born. His parents knew he was meant for great things. One day, he would go over the falls of Niagara, and then run a bed and breakfast in town. I'm not sure why, but he absolutely hates books about cattle, and especially those who read them. Perhaps after I solve this cattle prod murder in the book store I can delve a little futher into his problem. (ring!!! ring!!!) Oh, there goes the telephone, I'd better answer it, it might be a call.

Lumpy's dad is one lucky hombre!

Do have any idea how many Jewish Lobster boats run in the North Atlantic?  Not very many, that's how much!  To be rescued by one is amazing.  This guy should play the lottery.

Brent

[Joe Sperling]

No kidding. The "Memorial to Jewish Lobster fisherman who gave their lives at Sea" is on the west side of Boston town hall, on a plaque,  27 bricks up and 14 to the right. Look for the names Moishe Rosen and Daniel Goldstein(they are the only two names on the plaque), who were instrumental in saving Lumpy's Dad, before they drowned at sea later that year.

[editor]

No kidding. The "Memorial to Jewish Lobster fisherman who gave their lives at Sea" is on the west side of Boston town hall, on a plaque,  27 bricks up and 14 to the right. Look for the names Moishe Rosen and Daniel Feinstein(they are the only two names on the plaque), who were instrumental in saving Lumpy's Dad, before they drowned at sea later that year.

There's also a memorial in the Temple Beth Aaron, in Brookline.

A lot of people said,  "How can you call yourself Jewish, when you handle lobster all day! And on the Sabbath!?" 

Moishe's answer is somewhat of a proverb among the local congregation,  "One man's trash is another man's  treasure!  These aren't lobsters,  they're pure gold!"

And that's where we got that idiom.

Brent

[Joe Sperling]

I visited Moishe Rosen's grave while in Massachusetts. It was quite touching
as I read the epitaph the family put on his grave,  as a result of reading his
will after his demise. It reads "HERE LIES A SHELLFISH MAN". It was all I could
do to hold back the tears.

[editor]

I visited Moishe Rosen's grave while in Massachusetts. It was quite touching
as I read the epitaph the family put on his grave,  as a result of reading his
will after his demise. It reads "HERE LIES A SHELLFISH MAN". It was all I could
do to hold back the tears.

One of my cousins clerked at Horwap, Laventhal and Goldstein, the prestigious maritime lawfirm in Boston.  What many people don't know is that Lumpy's daughter, Golda, married Ishmael Goldstein, and so the circle is complete.

And that's where we get the proverb, "Not all that glitters is Goldstein."  Because everyone knows that it was Hossenfeffer money that got that law firm off the ground.

Brent

[Joe Sperling]

That's true, it was Hossenfeffer money that got that law firm going. Goldstein, before
his drowning, sold all rights to the lobster fishing company to Albert Gorton, who sold the
lobster traps and started a fishing company that sells frozen fish under that name. Ishmael
was left with almost nothing. Hossenfeffer, remembering how his life had been saved, gave
some of his dare-devil money from Niagara falls to Ishmael, who started a law firm.

If this hadn't happened we would have the "Goldstein Fisherman", complete with locks
of hair in front of his ears, and dressed as a rabbi, instead of the famous "Gorton Fisherman"
of today. Somehow I don't think frozen gefilte fish would have done too well anyway, so
maybe it's a good thing he sold the whole thing off.

[editor]

That's true, it was Hossenfeffer money that got that law firm going. Goldstein, before
his drowning, sold all rights to the lobster fishing company to Albert Gorton, who sold the
lobster traps and started a fishing company that sells frozen fish under that name. Ishmael
was left with almost nothing. Hossenfeffer, remembering how his life had been saved, gave
some of his dare-devil money from Niagara falls to Ishmael, who started a law firm.

If this hadn't happened we would have the "Goldstein Fisherman", complete with locks
of hair in front of his ears, and dressed as a rabbi, instead of the famous "Gorton Fisherman"
of today. Somehow I don't think frozen gefilte fish would have done too well anyway, so
maybe it's a good thing he sold the whole thing off.

And you know that every time there was a maritime incident that involved someone known by Hossenfeffer, Goldstein and Horwap would go all out to represent the friend of Lumpy in the matter.  Many a fisherman would find a damaged net, or the floats cut from their traps due to an unfair, illegal act from one of their competitors.  Then upon taking the fellow to court, much to their dismay they would find out that Horwap or Goldstein was the opposing council.

They were the victims of "Friends of Lumpy's" which is where we get the proverb,  "Take your lumps."  That's why people say that, instead of "paying your dues," because in the New England lobster business, you had to take your lumps.

Brent

[editor]

I bet there's not too many people on this board who know the story of how Lumpy got Waldo, his pet Armadillo?

Suzie and I have a poker/dinner date tonite, so I'll tell the story of Aldo the gypsie some other time.  But, as you might have guessed Waldo is named after Aldo the gypsie.  Of course, this has tremendous bearing on the hedgehog control act of 1922, which was no more than a blatant act of discrimination against gypsies and their main source of income at the time...hedgehog breeding.

Until then, like Ishmael Goldstein used to say,  "Don't shalom me!  How would you like a nice candlestick across the back of your head!  Would that be peaceful enough for you?"

Brent

[Joe Sperling]

If anyone is reading along with this, I want you to know that it is all absolutely true.
For more information please go to www.jewishlobstermen.com  For more information
on Percy "Lumpy" Hossenfeffer, please go to www.lumpygravy.com

Thanks.

LOL Brent. Very funny

[editor]

Aldo Papajunio, the now famous gypsy, from Brookline MA, is the topic of considerable folklore.  One of the best stories related to Aldo has to do with the introduction of the Armadillo pet trade in New England.

As has been stated below, After Hossenfeffer was rescued out of the ocean by Daniel Goldstein, the Jewish Lobsterman.  Following his rescue, he was traded to a group of Gypsies, who made him dance all day, and hold yarn all night.  Year after year, Hossenfeffer plotted his escape.

At the time, the Aldo's main source of income was the breeding and selling of hedgehogs.  A good litter would bring in almost one hundred dollars, which on top of what the gypsies could steal from people, made quite a good living.  Hossenfeffer saw this, and upon realizing that his dancing and yarn spinning wasn't even necessary for survival, became quite bitter and dead set on bringing down Aldo and his hedgehog trade.

During a day of dancing, Hossenfeffer met a district attorney from Gloucester and told him about the way the hedgehogs were mistreated in the care of the Gypsies.  This sparked the now landmark legislation, the Hedgehog Control Act of 1922.  It was now illegal to own or breed hedgehogs in the state of Massachusetts. 

Aldo was enraged, and made Hossenfeffer dance even more, now that they were short on money.

Here's where Hossenfeffer's genious first began to shine.  He talked Aldo into shaving the hedgehogs, and selling them as Armadillos, which were perfectly legal to own.  The DA, upon learning this new thing, put Aldo in jail.  Hossenfeffer had tricked his captor into entering the illegal shaved hedgehog business, and gained his freedom as a result.

He got himself a real armadillo and visited Aldo in jail, for the purpose of gloating.  The Armadillo's original name was Aldo, but it was misprounounced by the guards, when they had to chase the beast all over the prison, when it got loose.  The guards would shout, "Here Waldo....Where's Waldo?  Where's Waldo!"

And that's how Aldo the armadillo got the name Waldo....and it's also where the "Where's Waldo" comic got it's start.  The comic was begun by none other than Abimelech Goldstein, son of Ishmael Goldstein.

Of course, Percy's armadillo  wasn't the original Waldo.  He got another one and just named it Waldo, in honor of Waldo Laventhal, who was nicknamed "Armadillo" in junior highschool.

If people are interested, Joe can tell some other non Assembly stories.

Brent