Luncheon Dust-Up at Gumpwood CC Proves that Apes Evolved from Club Members

Gumpwood f/k/a MCC: Scene of the Great Poking Incident of 2014

Now that our local Snobatorium located at the terminus of Fairview Avenue is no longer restricted, I have greatly enjoyed many a lunch there at the "Captains Table" in the "Men's Grill" with the manly men at my same station in life.  The  lunch buffet there is truly a thing of culinary beauty reasonably priced. (Aha, the connection to a Lunch in the Gump theme). The conversation is keen, spirited and conservative.  But, as we have previously noted in a prior post, lunch at Gumpwood CC can sometimes involve unabashed buffoonery and perhaps even an occasional kerfuffle. However, the correspondence from the participants in a recent dust-up have documented events so bizarre that acknowledging they occurred at your club would embarrass even the low-born members of what used to be called Bonnie Crest Country Club (soon to be a Wal-Mart) and perhaps even the usual rabble at Sundown East-home of "The Beast."

The protagonists--long time members of Gumpwood and the legal profession (I suppose I now use that term pejoratively)--were former members of the same law firm. One of them, as you will recall from a previous post, has the grace and tact of a Honey Badger. The other has an ego that can fill any room. It has been said they deserved each other as partners. In any event, apparently on Oct. 1, 2014, these two bull moose had to be separated by a Marine staffer after some harsh and profane words were exchanged.  (One wag lamented that instead of separating them the Marine should have furnished each man a trenching tool.) However, due to the Marine's quick and brave action a true altercation was avoided and one would have hoped that when the dust settled these two attorneys would shake hands and make up.

Of course, for one to hope for a civilized resolution of hostilities between these two "gentlemen" it would require complete amnesia of their past history. For in truth, the end of physical hostilities was only the beginning of a bizarre display of literary buffoonery the likes of which Gumpwood has never before seen.

First came the account from the alleged victim of the Honey Badger.  It was written upon his formal law firm letterhead to the president of Gumpwood. It was by and large a blow by blow account of the events written without a hint of embarrassment. After naming all the witnesses to the dust-up, the author recounted that as he returned to the table with a plate of food the Honey Badger yelled: "You Mother F*er don't you ever send me a letter like you sent me or I am going to whip your ass!." Incorrectly thinking it was a joke the victim ignored the Honey Badger. But that only enraged the Honey Badger who pointed his boney finger yelling "You Mother F*er" while charging to the end of the table. The Badger then invited the author to "go outside so I can whip your ass right now."

At this point, perhaps, I should remind you that these two stalwarts of the legal profession are not 17 or 7 but each about 70 years old.

Here I will simply quote the victim:

"Everyone in the room watched (Honey Badger's) tirade. It is well know that (the Honey Badger) carries a pistol in his car and I am now highly nervous at how I am going to be able to use the facilities where I have been going for 40 years. I am over 70, diabetic and have had a triple bypass.  I do not intend to have my life end at Gumpwood Country Club being assaulted by (the Honey Badger), a known bully and blow hard."

The victim ended his correspondence with a plea to the good judgment of the club president as to how to address the "assault" of the Honey Badger ("I actually think his finger poked me in the chest.")  Although criminal charges were considered, the victim developed some modicum of judgment and decided not to press charges because it would only drag his witness friends further into the middle of  "this absurdity."

One would like to also assume the victim's letter was not intended for public consumption.  Not so with the response of the Honey Badger who, after apparently mulling over whether to respond for a few days, on Oct. 7 set the tone of his letter to the club president in the second sentence when he replied with accusations of unethical and deceitful conduct. This letter, and the letter to which it responds, began circulating the internet shortly after Oct. 7.

It got even more personal. The victim's appeal to sympathy due to his age and medical problems carried no weight with the Honey Badger: "I am so sorry [the victim] is a diabetic and I suggest he quit stuffing his fat little toady face and get in shape.  [The victim] being 70 means nothing to me. I am 71 and have chosen not to deteriorate into an amoeba-shaped squid."

The above statements appeared on the letterhead of the same law firm in which the victim had previously been a partner.

Having thoroughly insulted his victim, the Honey Badger went on to essentially agree with every fact set forth by the victim EXCEPT the "poking" claim. While admitting he had about all he could take from "this limaceous cretin," the Honey Badger emphatically denied touching the cretin because: "I learned a long time ago to never put one's hand in garbage."

"See here you limaceous cretin!"

The one bright light in all of this came in the form of an anonymous "editorial" in the "Montgomery Egadvertiser." The editorial first reminded the reader of the famous Scopes "Monkey Trial" of 1925 which escalated the long standing debate between creationists and evolutionists.  The editorial noted:

"In an ironic twist, a related matter was partially and inadvertently settled during the first week of October in the Men's Grill at the Gumpwood Country Club in Montgomery, Alabama. Two septuagenarian members, while not addressing the question of whether man evolved from monkeys, did prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt that, in at least two instances, monkeys did certainly evolve from human beings. This episode also provides empirical evidence that not having the oxygen level set high enough on your CPAP machine will assuredly result in irreversible brain damage. Furthermore, it debunked the belief that there is no way that the food in the Men's Grill could ever be made any more unappetizing. Spectators report that the events of that day were reminiscent of scenes at the old Copa Club on a Saturday Night at closing time during the 70's. "

The gratuitous dig at the food in the Men's Grill was, in my opinion, a cheap shot but the other observations are spot on.

Our anonymous author concluded:

"Well no one can envy the Gumpwood Board of Directors who will have to mediate this dispute. It's kind of like trying to choose the cleanest sheet in the Ebola Clinic in Liberia."

Did I mention Gumpwood is having a membership drive?

Unused name tags at Montgomery County Bar Association Holiday Party

Microgump: Lunch at The Club

Although I gather that most of the members of this nouveau-literary venture are probably not currently members of "The Club" or are former members currently on "sabbatical" for a variety of tawdry reasons, that should not exclude a review of the fare at fine gentlemen's clubs within the inner circle of Montgomery proper, what some of you refer to as "The Gump." Therefore, I have taken it upon myself, Chesterfield Northfield Allpots (my friends call me "Chase"), to report upon a gentlemen's lunch at "The Club." Like my friend and visiting Irish MP, Bustafer Jones, Esquire, we have enjoyed the witty banter found in some of these web postings, or "blogs" as you say, but we fear those not fortunate to be from this area will gain the wrong impression that lunch in Montgomery is only about, and I shudder to say it, "meat and three" pubs with the "meat" usually being Southern fried chicken. So forgive us in advance in recounting today's (Friday 4 December) lunch at The Club.

After Bustafer and I motored past the iron gates and guard house along the tree-lined entrance to the circular drive and portico we were are greeted by our tuxedoed doorman who bowed as he bade us entrance into the grand foyer of "The Club." Seated at the long "Captain's Table," were indeed the captains of local law firms, medical practices and mercantile businesses discussing the stock market, politics and their beloved Alabama football. [Some were prattling on about some upcoming match with some amphibians from Florida as I recall] Of course, there were no discussions of "business" as such crass conversation is as strictly prohibited as are those awful mobiles and Blackberry devices "businessmen" find essential these days. (Derisively described as "Crackberries" by the younger members). As we chatted I noticed the beautiful view outside of a perfectly manicured 18th hole still green from the freshly planted winter rye. Perfectly lovely to see (and to drink I might add).

In the "Gentlemen's Grille" the fare was simple and elegant like many of the members. A pot of steaming seafood gumbo with bowls of rice and fresh cornbread muffins at the side quickly allowed the sharp set BJ some relief. Of course, the staff--knowing all--had already placed my favorite adult beverage at an open space recognizing who at the table I would not care to share my lunch with because of slights and offenses occurring to and taken by past generations. ("Why that boy is not trustworthy. You know his grandfather shot at a low bird at a dove shoot at the Home Place back in '53) These are long-time staffers so wise that every statement, no matter how inane, vapid or cliche, elicits the retort: "I heard that." (BJ remarked--and I certainly agree--that the Zen of such a remark is profound). Such attentiveness--before the food even was partaken--sets a tone that is unmatched at public eateries anywhere. And while you eat the staff will even be so kind as to carry the fine Irish whiskey (Midleton of course) you have purchased for your upcoming Christmas party to your vehicle.

BJ and I chose to stay with only the gumbo and a salad from the salad bar. We are not ones prone to gluttony. But, if a full buffet is desired, a short walk into the "Gold Room" reveals tables brimming with salad fixings, vegetables and meat selections. A carving station for beef brisket and a tureen of chicken noodle soup provides a "finish line" for those making it down the entire length of the table. On one wall is a selection of desserts, brownies, tarts and cakes all fresh from the nearby kitchen. And all of this, with tea, for a paltry 10 USD with no tipping allowed. Why, that's only 5 shares of local bank stock. At our house we have taken to using such certificates to start fires in the hearth.

Rubbing elbows and bantering with gentlemen as they dine has a way of calming the nerves and bracing one for spending the rest of the day clipping coupons or playing a round of golf in December while your friends in the north freeze. All said, a fine way to lunch when you want to get away from the rabble. The food at The Club is always good and reasonably priced. The service outstanding. Occasionally, the conversation is even interesting. When it is not, CNBC or ESPN are always available distractions on the wall-mounted flat screen HDTV Tellys. Bustafer and I rated lunch at The Club this Friday very high. Four of five golden cufflinks. Bustafer said it reminded him of his club on St. James' Street in Dublin--minus all the bad dental work.

Some of you are probably thinking that it is not fair to rate a place so few may enjoy. At one time that may have been the case. However, I understand that today, our local clubs are experiencing membership problems due to the economic situation and whatnot such that membership "deals" abound and initiation fees are the lowest in years. Most clubs also have open membership. But if one can find a minority member to overcome the popular "stigma" associated with private clubs in the South you should invite them to consider joining. So I say "cherrio" and "carry on" to our local clubs and I say to you, there is no time to join like the present. Mixing with the crowd may ground us and make us feel like one of them, but an occasional lunch in the lap of luxury among "members" with staff you consider to be friends feels like home to me every now and then.

---Chase N. Allpots with the kind assistance of B. Jones, MP, Esq.