Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

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ChicoHarris
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Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by ChicoHarris »

A guy on a message board wrote that his wife had lost her wallet twice in one day in the same store and it had been returned not just the first but also the second time. He challenged anyone to top that, so I offered this:


1992: I had been in Europe for six months and wasn't wanting to come back to America, save missing my dog, Wayne, the Rebels and Beanland.

But then it was announced that the Egg Bowl would be in Oxford for the first time in decades, so I made plans to return. I had an open-ended Icelandair ticket, but had to fly out of Heathrow in England. I hitch-hiked from Czechoslovakia across Germany and France to Calais and across the English Channel to Dover.

Agents of the Queen took a look at me (long beard and hair, Communist overcoat I had gotten in Czech and a straw hat I had picked up off a beach on Saint Croix in the Virgin Islands) and I got searched. They told me I didn't have enough money to enter their country and I was being deported back to France. I showed them my airplane ticket and explained about the Egg Bowl and that at that time I would much rather be in Oxford (Mississippi, not England). They wanted to know what I would do for the three weeks between then and "Egg Bowl time" and I told them I would hang out in Liverpool and London. They told me I was being deported and that with that on my passport, I might not get back in England even if I showed up with 1,000 pounds. Guards took me to a ferry that took me to France.

From Calais I hitched down to Paris with some French deadheads, went to our embassy and, after voting for Bill Clinton, made a call to Mississippi and got a few thousand dollars wired to me. I put it into traveller's checks but was too cool to sign either document (which meant anyone could apply their name and cash them). I cashed a hundred bucks worth and put the rest in the pouch that hung around my neck and under my Ole Miss sweatshirt. It also held my airplane ticket and passport.

I then went to a bar I had seen earlier near the University of Paris and started whooping it up.

Having always heard that if an American found himself on the European continent on the the American presidential election night, Harrys Bar at 5 Rue Daunou, about a mile away and across the Seine, was the place to be. I headed over there around dusk and was one of the last people to make it in before the place was at capacity. Harry's was filled with about half-and-half Americans and Frenchies. Most people wore suits and such, while I had on my Ole Miss gear and such.

We partied through the election returns and I left the bar right at daylight. I was going to hitch back to Calais, but figured since I had thousands of dollars, I ought to take a train up there. I needed to sign those traveler's checks, anyway. I walked the four or five blocks to Gare du Nord train station and went to the ticket window. I reached to pull my neck pouch from under my sweatshirt and it wasn't there.

No thousands of dollars in unsigned traveler's checks, no airplane ticket back to the Egg Bowl, no passport.

Man, I was sick and my legs were shaking like they were in the last ten seconds of this year's LSU game. I knew the last time I had the pouch out was at the bar near the University of Paris, about 18 hours before. I also figured I knew what had happened: when I pulled off my Ole Miss sweatshirt in the bar, the neck pouch had come off with it. It probably fell down on the floor and some piss-ant Gitanes-smoking student had already bought himself some cocaine and whores.

I took the shortest route back to the bar, banged on the door until someone answered and was told sternly that my valuables had not been found.

I was dazed. I started walking back to Gare du Nord, where my pack was stored at the police office. This time, I took the route I had to Harry's. I was walking in front of Notre Dame, where Paris city workers were using big green brooms to sweep up leaves.

I saw my pouch laying on the cobblestones right in front of Notre Dame. Honestly, I leapt through the air toward it. While in the air, I realized this was just where whoever had found it had dropped it after taking the treasure within. That was not the case. Everything was in it.

I assume that when I took off my sweatshirt in the student bar, the pouch came off. When I put the sweatshirt back on, the pouch was under it against my chest but without the cord around my neck. As I walked toward Harry's, the pouch worked it's way down and fell out as I passed in front of Notre Dame and laid there, in front of one of the world's busiest tourist spots, for about 18 hours.

I went and got a train ticket north, was allowed back into England after more questioning, hitched around there for a few weeks and then took off for America and Vaught-Hemingway, where the Rebels whipped that Bulldog butt.

I remain thankful.







Someone Finally Renders Chico Speechless.
The Daily Mississippian October 5, 1988

I'M JUST LIKE anyone else. I've got a lot of bills.

Last Sunday, in an effort to pay off some of these (more like scraping at the surface), I gathered all the change out of my couch, sold my 1939 baseball with the fake Lou Gehrig autograph and called on the very few people in the world who owed me money. I pooled this with the $54 I already had and reached the wrist-trembling amount of $400. It wouldn't go far toward paying off the bills, but it would pay $400 worth.

While preparing for Monday morning academia injections, I got out my wallet. I usually don't carry a wallet because they're used to carry cash and I usually don't have cash to carry, so I'm more used to the Gasoline Alley variety.

In fact, I had decided to quit using this wallet. It was my grandfather's last and I didn't want to risk losing it I took all my "stuff" out. You know the kind of stuff that can be used to identify a wallet's owner. I deposited the $400 in the leather folds, not to experience the macho trip some weirdo's do by carrying around a lot of money, but because I was going straight to United Southern once the rigors of class had been sufficiently wrestled with.

A dilemma presented itself; I could either hunt for that identification stuff or I could make it to class on time! I opted for the latter. Hey, I never said a Mensa membership card was one of those identification items.

When the magic moment came, I exited Bondurant into the sunshine and headed for the square. I felt great. Classes gone to and over, Taj Mahal singing "Bourgeois Blues" and about to add 400 good United States of America dollars to the 13 I already had in the vault.
The song was appropriate. At the savings institution I reached in my back pocket for every cent I had and felt nothing but the hole leading the way out the bottom.

Just like in football, the knees were the first logo.

By the time I was back in the car heading toward U of M, the stomach was starting it's own little revolt. Steadily cursing myself, I retraced my steps with the feeble hope nobody was picking up wallets that day. Then I remembered it contained no identification. I felt like someone handed me an anvil.

It was gone. Split. Astray. Left. Vamoosed. Absolutely no longer in my presence.

Man, I was sick. Then I got mad. First at my stupidity, then at getting so worked up over money. I mean, it is just money and it sure as hell don't make the world go around. But it sure does help pay those bills.

"Well," I thought, "I guess they'll just have to garnishee my Daily Mississippian checks for the next 500 years."

I resigned myself to the fact that this would not go down as one of my better days. I went to the DM newsroom to stare at a VDT screen and wait on time to go to work. It wasn't getting any better.

At 4:12 that afternoon, about five hours after I lost the sentimentally rich wallet and the riches it held, (about two lifetimes in lost-wallet time) the phone rang.

"Daily Mississippian," I drearily said. No fake attempts at cheerfulness for me.

"Is this Chico Harris?"

"Yeah," I said. Probably another fraternity boy with hurt feelings.

"Did you lose your wallet this morning?"

I picked my heart up off the floor, put it back in my chest and uttered a tense "Yes." No getting up of the hopes for me.

"With $400 in it?"

Another tense "Yes." Oh, great somebody saw me lose it and now they're going to laugh and hang up. I had my pessimistic glasses-on.
"Well, this is Cliff Anton. I found it you can come over to my house and pick it up any time."

It's rare I'm speechless, but I was. I mean, I've been accused of leading a charmed life, but this entered the realm of unbelievably good luck.

And the luck was that it was found by a person as fine as Cliff Anton.

There was an old gas company receipt stuck down in the wallet. Cliff tracked me down through that. It wasn't as easy as just calling a phone number gotten off an I.D. card. Cliff, a junior political science major from Canton, had to do some detective work to track me down.

I was so elated, when I got to his house the Bush for President signs in the front yard didn't even bother me. I begged him, but the guy wouldn't take a reward for doing a great thing that not every college student would.

He even gave ME a beer when it should have been the other way around!

There are not enough words to describe someone like Chris Anton. Nice. Honorable. Good. Virtuous. Honest Noble. Extraordinary. Grand. August. Sublime.

But I do think I know the best one.

Rare.

muppet hi fi
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by muppet hi fi »

This is a thread.
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101Walterton
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by 101Walterton »

It was a post until you responded and now it is a thread....d’oh

Heston
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by Heston »

I've just been reminded what a long-winded bore he was.
There's a tiny, tiny hopeful part of me that says you guys are running a Kaufmanesque long con on the board

WestwayKid
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by WestwayKid »

101Walterton wrote:
23 Apr 2018, 9:00pm
It was a post until you responded and now it is a thread....d’oh
I think actually it's a blog post... ;)
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JennyB
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by JennyB »

Heston wrote:
24 Apr 2018, 1:47am
I've just been reminded what a long-winded bore he was.
A long-winded bore who shopped local!
Got a Rake? Sure!

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Rat Patrol
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by Rat Patrol »

Bumping a Chico thread: that's a firebombimg. :naughty:

Dr. Medulla
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by Dr. Medulla »

Speaking as a historian, I endorse the idea of nuking every one of that assclown's posts and we all do an Armin Tamzarian and pretend he never existed.
"I never doubted myself for a minute for I knew that my monkey-strong bowels were girded with strength, like the loins of a dragon ribboned with fat and the opulence of buffalo dung." - Richard Nixon, Checkers Speech, abandoned early draft

Kory
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by Kory »

Dr. Medulla wrote:
24 Apr 2018, 12:51pm
Speaking as a historian, I endorse the idea of nuking every one of that assclown's posts and we all do an Armin Tamzarian and pretend he never existed.
Those who delete the past are doomed to repeat it.
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Dr. Medulla
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by Dr. Medulla »

Kory wrote:
24 Apr 2018, 1:33pm
Dr. Medulla wrote:
24 Apr 2018, 12:51pm
Speaking as a historian, I endorse the idea of nuking every one of that assclown's posts and we all do an Armin Tamzarian and pretend he never existed.
Those who delete the past are doomed to repeat it.
Those who delete Chicos from existence will inherit the kingdom of God.
"I never doubted myself for a minute for I knew that my monkey-strong bowels were girded with strength, like the loins of a dragon ribboned with fat and the opulence of buffalo dung." - Richard Nixon, Checkers Speech, abandoned early draft

eumaas
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by eumaas »

Jesus h not this asshole
I feel that there is a fascistic element, for example, in the Rolling Stones . . .
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I've studied the phenomenon of neo-provincialism in self-isolating online communities but this place takes the fucking cake.
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eumaas
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Re: Leaving Paris for the Egg Bowl: challenge met.

Post by eumaas »

I loathe Chico Harris more than any other troll.
I feel that there is a fascistic element, for example, in the Rolling Stones . . .
— Morton Feldman

I've studied the phenomenon of neo-provincialism in self-isolating online communities but this place takes the fucking cake.
— Clashy

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