Let me tell you about myself.
I am John Pierpont.
My business associates call me Professor Marvel.
My friends call me Ponty
Contrary to popular belief, I am not a professor. Well, I do not have a degree in fashion or millenary. But why should that stop me? I have wicked sense of style, and a passion for unusual design. A perfect recipe for an outstanding hat.
With my dearest friends we decided to build a hotel with a small park attached. Little did we know what we would accomplish.
We had a few hiccups to say the least....
Edna May.
She ran the brothel in the Lumber camp in the canyon. As we expanded the park, the oldest profession in the world had no place in a family setting. Safe to say, she was not happy. I soon found out an incident that was all part of the Edna's plan to inherit back some of the parkland that they lost when the founders started buying up everything and closed down their gramma's brothel...
Young Fishington was quite a rascal in his younger days. The stories of his escapades made for quite the gossip fodder. If Stanley Wolf believed any of it, he kept it to himself. Edna set her sights on him, because everyone knew, Fishington was always trying different things. He loved exploration. He loved exotic foods. He was a patron of the arts. She would appeal to his questioning nature. She would seduce him and produce an heir. An heir to eventually take control of the mounting wealth that he had amassed.
So, she assumed.
(Personally, I think one of the Edna triplets tried to seduce him with absinthe because he certainly would have had to be unconscious...)
The deed was planned.
But never carried out.
Why you ask?
Well, there is a story there too.
And amazingly enough, it involves a hat.
Here's where yours truly comes in to save the day.
To begin, we were all quite young. Headstrong gentleman trying to make a name and fortune for us. Doc Fishington was trying to raise monies and investors for the park while The Major was appearing in Pirates of Penzance's North American tour. As luck would have it, the costumes had been damaged by an itinerant laborer and the production hats had been soaked wet, when the trunks fell into the Missouri River in Omaha. I had been plucked from obscurity from the Omaha's Fancy Goods & Mercantile to savage what I could. The Major, impressed by my work on his Act 1 hat, insisted I become his personal costumer and travel with the company to finish the tour.
Working for the Major was, well, an experience. What I first chalked up to an eccentric scatterbrain was in fact, a calculated persona of proper British manners and posh Mayfair accent. One evening, after a performance in St Louis, the MG pulled me aside. Ponty, he said, your very talented in the Millenary business, " What other talents do you possess? Any other creative endeavors? Interior design? Architecture? Have you ever thought about the burgeoning Trolley Park industry?
Well, there is something you don't hear every day. "Well, Sir, Architecture has always been a passion of mine. Designing a hat can be like designing a home. A nice sturdy base with fancy trims to make it stand out. But I have never thought about a Trolley Park." "The tour ends soon", the MG quipped. "Return to Peepsburg with me. I will introduce you to Doc Fishington and his marvelous plan to turn a swampy pond into a Lakeside Resort. We could use a talent like yours. You'll be well compensated, and the exposure would put a nice feather in your cap, so to speak." The MG smiled at his own joke and twirled that signature mustache of his. "By the by, how are you with the ladies? Oh, don't look at me that way, that's not what I mean. What I refer to is, can you design a hat for a lady, well, lady is an exaggeration. " He rolled his eyes in what I learned was an uncontrollable action on his part. She has nefarious plans. You, good Sir, can help to derail them. All it will take is a hat. A special hat. Do you think you're up to the task?" He smiled in a way that was impossible to say no too.
So off to Peepsburg and Rose Lake we did go....
Many years later, about 1950, after the statute of limitations had expired and no one could be prosecuted, the MG, Fishy and I were lounging by the pool at the Fabulous Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. We were guests of the mobster Bugsy Segal. The MG asked what ever became of Edna May's "special" hat. Jason suddenly needed a refreshment and hurried to the Casino Lounge, " Stan, it's been years, why ask now?" "Well, Bugsy inquired earlier about a "special" hat. Something about a debt to pay, etc., etc., I have no clue what any of that is all about." The MG sipped his Mai Tai and deftly plucked the paper umbrella out of it and stabbed the pineapple wedge as he gave me a side eye.
" Everyone knew she passed from a bad heart, not from possible arsenic and lead poisoning from, oh I don't know, something she was wearing every day for weeks, or months. She was buried in it for heavens sakes, so it couldn't have been that. Where in bloody hell did Jason go? This drink isn't going to refresh itself and the poolside waitresses seemed to have vanished in this desert heat." The MG fanned himself with a program from the evening performance he was starring in. He glanced at it. " I do not know how, Greased Lighting Tonight, Songs of Nat King Cole, will go over with this crowd."
" How did you?" I stumbled on the words.
"My dear Ponty, I asked you to make something, and you did. I did not ask for details. It gave me plausible deniability. We averted a difficult situation, and my Jason was spared an unfortunate dilemma. If Bugsy wishes to employ your services after all these years, who am I to interfere? "
" I think I'll pass, I'm retired, we all are. My hat days are long over.", my voice trailed off.
"Oh, heavens, you think you, Oh, no, no, no," The MG scoffed. "Three words. Edna May Jr. The bad apple didn't fall far from the tree. Your hat was a distraction. Nothing more. Merely corroborative detail intended to give artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative."
I sputtered," Stan Wolf, did you just quote the Mikado again?"
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