‘Tis the Season!

Our almost friend John dropped in for the annual Folkie Palace Christmas party. Our chef, the failed monastic, the Monk, had gleaned most of the feast from market stalls at the Haymarket. You could get great deals or even free ones if you showed up at closing time. There were multiple main courses, sides, and desserts.

Wwhile the Monk had been preparing the food. the other denizens of the Palace had cleaned up; a major achievement for that crew! The living room had been tidied, and the mattresses had been stored out of the way. Christmas lights had been hung, and we had even refurbished the old Fuck Communism sign that hung in the street-facing window. It looked festive with multicolored blinking lights. The apartment leaseholder, the Teahead of the August Moon, was pouring the Special Punch into Dixie cups, and I was serving ratatouille ( without the rat).

The annual party attracted former roommates, neighbors, and people like John, who had an on-and-off relationship with us. Somewhere during the evening, my pal Bill had asked John about what he had going on. Always interested in an attentive audience, John laid it all out in detail.

Charity from a Con Artist

John said he had a soft spot in his heart for the holidays. Christmas always paid, he said, for the winter vacation in Florida. But he maintained that the Spirit of Christmas required him to trim the fleeces, rather than totally shear them. You took. Of course! But you gave as well.

So he rarely got involved with Secret Santa schemes, gift exchange schemes, or the like. Everybody but the con artist lost. He preferred a win/win approach. The Christmas charity donations and the Christmas special card sales.

Charity Donations

At the holidays, even full-blown skeptics, mumbling ” bah, humbug!” relaxed their guard and flung some spare change into a bucket supporting Christmas toys for poor kids in Alabama. After the teenagers ringing the bells were paid off, John took eighty percent and sent a check to a legitimate charity in Alabama. Everybody won! The little cherubs ringing bells and holding buckets made some Christmas present money. The local cop got a gratuity. A legitimate charity got a handy donation, and John got the month of January in Miami. “See, everyone wins!”

He said you couldn’t pull that scam year after year. People got wise to it. This year was totally different. John had “little cherubs” going door to door selling cheap Christmas cards. How do you make money from that grated our roommate The Teahead of The August Moon.

The Christmas Card Grift

Everyone needs Christmas cards, and who could resist buying them from a bit of a ragamuffin going door to door raising money for Saint Eustace’s Foreign Missions in Egypt? The con started with procuring cheap cards from collaborating printers. The indifferent printing and paper quality were not discovered until the mark tried to write on the card, by which time said ragamuffin and cash had cleared the neighborhood.

The ragamuffins were carefully selected for their pathetic appeal, and were well compensated for their piteous cries of “Please, sir, or ma’am, help the poor?!” The most difficult part of the con was in training them to deliver their few lines in an appealing Tiny Tim-like whine.

Once again everyone won. The ragamuffins, the printers, John ( who went to the Gulf Coast that year) and even ( and there he laughed) the mark who could use the cards if he wrote on them very carefully!

What’s So Funny?

The Teahead of the August Moon had grown very agitated at this last statement and reached into his desk, grabbed out a few boxes of Christmas cards, and flung them at John. Overturning the punch, he tossed the empty bowl at the place where John’s head had been just seconds before. It was almost a dead heat at the apartment’s door as the two raced down three flights of stairs, down Grove Street, and towards Cambridge Street. The Teahead continued to shout stop thief, and other less flattering terms. John cried out, “We didn’t sell any on Beacon Hill! To which the Teahead shouted, “I bought them at work in Southie!!!

As the chase turned the corner heading towards Charles Street, we got the party underway again. There was too much good food and drink to waste because of a silly spat.