~ UGLY SAM ~
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
A short profile of Ugly Sam
Written for posterity
By Ollie Dee
, Ollie Dee of Toyland, have been charged by our leader,
Muggsy Mee, to write, for posterity, a series of short profiles of our members,
more specifically, the members of the Mystic Knights of the Sea. I gladly do this with respect to future
generations and according to my belief that no one can say what the future will
bring—whether any knowledge of the Knights, our work, who we were or what we
stood for, or of our existence will last through the ages. One must wonder, even, if Toyland itself
should disappear not only from the map, but also from memory as other
civilizations have.
This, then, may survive to tell our story at least in part.
Ugly Sam is the youngest of 15 children. Truth be told
he was the product of an illicit affair between his mother and Stannie
Dumm. Sam does not know this. He probably wouldn’t understand it if you
were to tell him anyway. Poor Sam is a
bit, well, challenged.
Now Sam is really not ugly. He is just a tad unkempt—well, very
unkempt. And he has this “thing” about
wearing the same striped clothes all the time, but we’ll get into that later. If we didn’t insist he bathe weekly we would
be forced to kill him for the stench.
But he does, and is happy doing it.
You must understand that he wasn’t always that way, that is,
a slob in the extreme. He wasn’t always
that much of a lunatic either. He was
almost what you might call “normal” during his childhood and young adult years
during which time he was considered quite handsome. Then, things started to change, through
chance, poor choices and bad luck. But
do not pity Ugly Sam. He’s happy living
in his world of half-comprehension and fantasy.
He is capable of some remarkable insights, like the idiot savant who can
add hundreds of numbers in an instant or tell you what day of the week October
3, 1258 fell on. But most of the time
he’s a blithering fool. And that’s what
we love about him. He keeps us, in a
way, “real,” as they like to say; he gives us perspective on ourselves. For, you see, I believe that there is a
little bit of Ugly Sam in all of us.
Maybe even a lot.
We all have certain traits or attributes that, at times,
work to our detriment. These very same
traits may also work in one’s favor as happened one day, when Ugly Sam, about
twelve years old, was running an errand for the Butcher, the Baker and the
Candlestick Maker. They wanted to play
some numbers or this week’s gross poundage at the cattle market. But the regular runner, Clyde the Glide, was
sick with a case of gonorrhea he contacted visiting a lady in
Brocktenshire. So, Ugly Sam was “Johnny
on the Spot,” to take up his mantle.
“Now, Sam,” said the Baker, “just bring this piece of paper
over to the barber shop, and tell Sal that it’s from us. You got that, Sam? Tell him it’s from us. Okay?”
“You got it!” Sam was
all business. “Sal the barber; ‘it’s
from us.’ No problem. Sal the barber; it’s from us.”
“That’s right, little Sam.
And here’s a little something for you.” The butcher handed Sam a half a
crown.
“Wow! Thanks, Mr.
Baker.”
So off Sam went with 50 crowns in gold to be wagered at the
barbershop, which necessitated he pass through a rather dense section of woodland. Sure enough, out of the forest came a black
hooded horseman who approached the young Sam.
“And where are you running to in such a hurry, young man?”
“Oh, I’ve got to bring this to Sal the barber. It’s very important.”
“Sal the barber, eh?
Well, I’m on my way there now.
Why not give it to me, and I’ll deliver it for you?”
“Oh, no. No can
do. Sorry. I’ve got a message to tell Sal, too. It’s
from us.”
“A message? Pray what
might that message be?”
“It’s from us.”
“Indeed it is, but what is the message?”
“It’s from us.”
“Yes, I understand that. But tell me specifically, good sir,
not who is it from but what the message itself is.”
“The message?”
“Yes.”
“It’s from us.”
The masked gentlemen turned on his horse and rode off, not having the patience
to pursue this any further.
That’s the way it goes for Sam.
His mother, Beatrice the Seamstress, once told me that Sam could have been a
great lawyer, or doctor, or even a scientist.
Of course, she said this while hanging upside down from a tree and
conducting a non-existent bug orchestra.
His mom is not “all there,” if you know what I mean, and I guess Sam
inherited some of it. His dad, Orson the
Tall, is a fine carpenter who speaks, and sometimes argues, with his wooden
creations. For six months he refused to
speak to the night table until it apologized.
It did, and he was very happy. He
once made a credenza with which he did not get along at all, selling it
eventually to Mr. Barnaby. Every time he
walked past Barnaby’s house, Orson and the credenza would start to argue
vehemently. Of course, one could only
hear the part of the argument spoken by Sam’s dad. One day, he had to be dragged away by three
of the King’s Men, as he shouted threats and expletives to the damn thing.
They all live in a tree house that they call, Samtopia,
after Sam’s maternal Grandfather, Samuel, who was a great and famous
philosopher-shoemaker. He believed that
an ideal society could be achieved if people wore shoes on their feet and on
their heads, with himself as the philosopher-king-shoemaker. He called this society, alternatively,
Samtopia, or Shoetopia. You will
occasionally see a Toylander with shoes on their heads. They are celebrating Samuel’s birthday and
keeping the dream alive.
So you can see that there is a rich heritage of eccentricity
in Ugly Sam’s background to which he then added greatly. But his parents loved him and raised him to
have a kind heart and a love of all creatures.
Sam once shared this little tidbit with me: one day when he
was quite young, coming home from school, he decided to take off his pants.
“Why should I have to wear pants all the time?” he told a schoolmate. Already a revolutionary at age five! Being so
young he did not fully grasp the concept of modesty. So there he went, marching proudly in the
town square, his tiny tool and hiney exposed for all to see. He received odd looks, some smiles, and lots
of “oh, isn’t he cute.” He went home and
there was no real problem. The problem
would come 18 years later when, at 23 years of age, he decided to re-enact his
display of individualism. There he was
walking through the square his privates displayed in all their hairy
glory. You can imagine the reactions of
the townspeople. He served two months in
the King’s prison.
Probably the most damaging of the many damaging events that
occurred to Sam’s overall sanity occurred during a delivery of rubbing oils to
Mr. Barnaby. Upon completing the
delivery, Sam took a wrong turn, spun himself around, and fell ass backwards
into Barnaby’s well. When Sam regained
consciousness he was no longer in Toyland.
He had no idea where he was but he was in front of a huge edifice, which
read
Honeywell & Todd
No matter, though—Sam couldn’t read.
“Say you all right, young man?” asked a police officer.
“I…I think so. But…
But…where am I? Is this Toyland?”
“Okay, okay, take it easy.
Looks like you’ve taken quite a blow to the head.”
Suddenly, Sam spotted Mr. Barnaby exiting the large
structure. He was wearing a magnificent
Brooks Brothers three-piece gray-flannel striped suit, and a red
carnation. His shoes sparkled with shine
and a cadre of assistants and hangers accompanied him.
“Mr. Barnaby, Mr. Barnaby!
Help me!” he shouted. “Please help me!”
Barnaby, of course, wanted no part in this at all.
“Uh, officer, I believe this man to be mad.”
“I take it you are not Mr. Barnaby.”
The men surrounding Barnaby started laughing.
“No, no, indeed.” He turned toward Sam, “I’m sure I must
resemble this ‘Barnaby’ you speak of, young man, but I am not he.” Barnaby then scooted into a large limousine
and was driven away.
“Wow!” said Sam, “It could have been his brother.”
“Now, now, son, take it easy, I think a trip to the hospital
would do you good.”
“Really? Okay. The hospital.
Yeah, the hospital. They’ll help
me.” Of course Sam had no idea what a hospital actually was but the cop spoke
so confidently, with such calm assurance, that he could not help but agree.
“I suspect a neurological trauma, as a result of the
sustaining of a blow, possibly with a blunt instrument on the cranium, likely
near the cerebellum, but as there are so many lumps it’s difficult to isolate
the actual one,” said Dr. Abruzzi who was the staff’s expert on head
trauma.
”I will prescribe that the patient be brought to the institute on Long Island
where he can be cared for, treated und studied.”
Once safely ensconced on Long Island, Dr. Abruzzi brought
his new patient before an audience of psychiatrists.
“Now, tell me again, young man, where do you live?”
“Toyland, on the Saint Elmo’s River.”
“Ah. And who is the
leader there?”
“King Cole.”
“I see. And in what
kind of structure do you live?”
“I live in a lovely house in large maple tree with my folks,
just a simple tree house, nothing spectacular but it has nice views. And it’s just across the field from Mother
Goose’s place.”
“Oh, yah, yah!
Trauma; dis is severe trauma.
Dr. Abruzzi stood. “Don’t worry, young man, we’ll take good care of
you.”
One day, during a particularly difficult session, Sam made
an astute observation:
“Doctor, you seem stressed.”
“Oh…I’m stressed,” the doctor replied. “Trauma! You have severe trauma!”
“Doctor, perhaps, I think you should lie down,” Sam advised,
remembering that his mother advised the same thing when Sam was stressed.
“Me? Lie down? Impossible!
Too busy! Too many gay men in
denial! Too much craziness! Ach!”
“But doctor! Think of
your own health!” Sam was adamant.
“Perhaps you’re right.
Maybe I’ll just lie here for a moment…” he dropped onto a nearby cot and
began to breathe deeply.
“That’s better. Now,
I want you to think of the pixie’s on the lake, and rainbows, and those
beautiful yellow flowers that sing when the sun shines…” Sam was merely
remembering things his mom had said to him under similar circumstances. “Now doctor, close your eyes…take a deep
breath and think of stars…”
The doctor fell into a deep sleep.
Now the practice of psychology at this time was still rather
strange in this flexure place as far as I could deduce from Sam’s
recollections. In some parts of that
country, they would actually cut out parts of the brain! Ohh.
Thank goodness that didn’t happen to Sam. But he was put on a series of experimental
drugs designed to restore brain function and psychological balance, and
tranquilize him, which caused him to go completely insane, running out into a
nearby field shouting all manner of gibberish.
Once off the drugs he improved greatly but was never quite the
same. It was at this point that he
refused to wear anything other than the damned striped uniform given him at the
sanatorium.
Sam liked the sanatorium quite a lot. People were friendly and the food was
great. But he missed Toyland.
“I miss Toyland, Dr. Abruzzi. I want to go back.”
“And just how do you propose to do this, young man?”
“I’ll just go back the way I came, near that tall building
where you found me.”
“I see. You know,
Sam, as your doctor I must say that I don’t think it wise to leave just
yet. Can I ask you to be patient and let
us try to help you find your way?”
“Okay, doctor. Okay,” Sam said, having, however, already
made up his mind to leave that night.
And so, Ugly Sam made his escape from the Eckstein-Wide
Institute for Mental Health. He walked
back to the large city, crossing the Great Queensbuckle Bridge by 8:00 pm. The sun was going down behind the tall towers
of the city creating a magnificent sunset, which made a compelling sight from
the bridge.
“Wow, what a place!” said Sam. “It’s like a magical Kingdom by the sea!”
He stood enjoying sunset from the middle of the bridge, wept
at its beauty, then made his way into Manhattan.
On 48th street a tall, shapely, dark woman
addressed him.
“Hi. Going out
tonight, honey?”
“Uh, going home, actually.”
“Tired honey?”
“A little. I’ve just had a long walk.”
“Well, I know how to make you feel better.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Well, first, you have to come with me, up to my place,” she
stood close to him, stroking his arm with her fingertips, “and then I can make
you feel so good.”
Sam followed the oddly dressed young black girl to her
crowded apartment up the street.
A man sat at a desk in the living room.
“That’ll be $40 bucks for the massage, any arrangements you
make with the girl in the room is strictly between the two of you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Uh, forty bucks please.”
“Sorry?”
“Forty bucks.”
“Forty bucks.”
“Yes, it’s forty dollars for a massage. What are you a foreigner?”
“Well, yes.”
“Do you have any money?”
“Ah!” said Sam. “ I have this.” It was the four silver pieces Sam was given
to make the delivery to Mr. Barnaby back in Toyland.
“Wow. Uh, well, uh, I
guess one of those silver coins should do.”
They sure should, as they were worth about one hundred dollars each.
“Oh, great. Now can
Chantella make me feel better?”
“Pal, she’ll make you feel great. Okay, Chantella.”
This was Sam’s first sexual experience. On the way out, he told the man at the desk
that he was absolutely right.
Well, it took Sam a couple of days but he finally stumbled
upon the Honeywell and Todd building. He
then lay down on the floor in the position he gained consciousness. And waited.
And waited. A crowd
gathered.
“You all right, son?”
“Is he all right?”
“What wrong with him, should we call an ambulance?”
“He’s okay. He’s just
a magician!”
“He’s works with the city. He’s examining the sidewalks!”
Eventually it became dark and quiet. Sam, getting depressed thought he heard
voices. He did. But no people. He followed the voices…soon, mist, strange
visions and eventually, Barnaby’s well.
He climbed up, and went home to the happy welcome of his parents. And the night table.
Addendum
Sam had breakfast the following morning at the Fairy Land
Tavern and Inn meeting his good friend, Jack Horner there.
“Good morning, Sam,” Jack offered, sitting at the counter
with Sam, adding, “What’s new?”
“Ah, nothing much, nothing much, Jack. Nothing much.
Say, Jack. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, Sam.”
“Okay. What does,
‘Martin and Lewis at the Copa’ mean?”
“Jeez, Sam, I’m not sure. Why?”
“Well, I got lost visiting this village and that’s all
everyone was talking about.”
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