A Real Hot Shot

Friday night we celebrated Mr. Top's 92nd birthday. By "we" I mean Bert, Ernie, Mr. Top, and I. Bert and Ernie live across-the-street. St. Louis, especially in this neighborhood, is very conservative; so Bert and Ernie are just thought of as "very good friends." And they are very good friends indeed to Mr. Top. They have spent many hours just hanging out with him, and invited them into their home on every holiday since Mrs. Top passed away, four years ago. The kindnesses and hours of companionship they have extended to Mr. Top are astounding. We should all have such neighbors when we're in our 90s. We should all be such neighbors before our 90s. And Ernie has been Mr. Top's stockbroker for many years. His father, Ernie Sr., was Mr. Top's father's stockbroker.

We should all have such a stockbroker as Ernie, and we should all have enough money to make interesting investments. My investments were all far too interesting, and I didn't have such a stockbroker as Ernie, or any stockbroker, which is why I no longer have money to make interesting investments. Wish I'd met Ernie sooner, or at least known what he did for a living when I met him..

So how do you celebrate a 92nd birthday with a right-handed fellow in a wheelchair whose right hand doesn't work, and legs almost don't work, accompanied by two puppets and a nephew? His 90th, two years ago, was remarkable. He threw the party at his "club." He fed and entertained forty guests, only two of whom were family: one of my sisters and I. If you can round up forty friends when you are 90, you are to be congratulated. I couldn't do it now, though Bert and Ernie count their friends in the millions, if not billions. Mr. Top took a fall after his 90th that injured and diminished him significantly, but not as much as the fall he took six years before that, in New Orleans, requiring months of hospitalization and rehabilitation. Either of those spills could easily have killed him, would have killed someone without his grit. He doesn't look like a person with grit. He never has. But he has it. Lots of it. He does, however, look like a person with money. He actually resembles Warren Buffet. But grit is more important than money, just as character is more important than money; and when you lose your only daughter giving still-birth to your only granddaughter and survive . . .  well, that's grit, and character. So, how do you celebrate such a birthday?

Well, Ernie took us to a nice local restaurant. Tom had ribs. I had a chicken Caesar salad. I don't remember what Bert had, though I know he started with a cheese and ale soup. Puppets only pretend to eat, anyway. When we got home I asked Ernie, Bert, and Niecie (his superb caregiver) to sing the song I wrote for him, and make popping sounds with their fingers and mouths at the appropriate places. Bert and Ernie love to sing (we added "Rubber Ducky" and "People in Your Neighborhood," after the birthday song), and Niecie was a trooper.

It's Mr. Top     (roughly to the tune of the Stray Cats, "Stray Cat Strut")

There's a man in St. Louis they call the Top

He's lived a long while and he's not gonna stop,
At ninety-two he's still truckin along,
So we're gonna sing him a birthday song.

He's Mister Top, he's still got his hair,

He's Mr. Top, he's real debonair,
When the ladies see him comin their heart's go “pop,”
“Lookie there,” [make popping sound] “it's Mr. Top.”

He's got more friends and influence in his own way,

Than Dale Carnegie had on his best day,
He makes Norman V. Peal look like negative Nell,
He's positively thinking there's a Ted Drews [local ice cream reference] in hell.

He's Mister Top, he's so debonair,

He's Mr. Top, he's round but not square,
When the ladies see him comin their heart's go “pop,”
“Lookie there,” [make popping sound] “it's Mr. Top.”

He's had both the losses and the patience of Job,

He's carried more crosses than you can know,
He's taken his lumps and he's paid what was due,
Every year of his life, in fact, ninety-two.

He's Mister Top, he's round but not square,
He's Mr. Top, be polite and don't stare,
When the ladies see him comin' their heart's go “pop,”
“Lookie there,” [make popping sound] “it's Mr. Top.”

So Thomas Otto P. we've made this scene,

To tell you we love you, even though you're so mean,
You've said so yourself so many times prior,
That you're not just mean you're also a liar.

He's Mister Top, he has really got “it.”

He's a real hot shot, and that ain't bullshit,
When the ladies see him comin' their heart's all stop!
And they swoon . . . . for Mr. Top.

Bert and Ernie loved the song. They love to sing. Then we all ate the best chocolate cake any of us had ever tasted. Puppets are somehow able to eat cake. It was provided by Mr. Top's bank. They provide cakes to all the birthday boys in St. Louis. Just kidding. We all know to whom they bring birthday cakes. And it truly was a damn good cake.