Noodle Wars 1

The  Houston Daily News Jan. 26 1992                                      

                        
“Extra! Extra! Read all Read all about it! Ramen Rain at the Courthouse! Bomb Squad Called!  Early this morning Sally Johnson had an appointment at the courthouse. Walking up the steps, she noticed a large black garbage sack sitting on an old bench. In light of the recent bomb scares, Sally called the police.  After closing the courthouse for three hours, the bomb squad blew up the bag. Says Chief of Police Samuel Reed "It was incredible. Everywhere. Like, all this stuff. Clouds and clouds of like, top ramen noodles all over the place."
All involved had very sheepish grins. But when Inspector Bond found a note in his office later that day, he vowed to track down the Ramen Man. He isn't saying much, but it appears that the bag was placed there intentionally to make everybody look like a fool. And Houston is not going to take that from anyone.”

There is no further introduction necessary for our story today. Without further ado, we launch into the journey of Houston. A journey of concealment and discovery. A journey in which our hero rises from the midst of a bumbling government to take his place forever in the archives of history.
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Who but Houston would have thought of converting the noodle bomb event into something that would produce revenue? The large numbers of noodles that had been embedded in the courthouse after the demolition of the  "Ramen Bomb” was a brilliant tourism opportunity. Although it had made the mayor and the government look like idiots, what better thing was there to discuss and look at all day long? Admission to the courthouse steps is now only $4.99!

The event, however, was the only the beginning of a long series of similar incidents all across town.  These “little” incidents soon led to the ban of Top Ramen within the city limits of Houston. But fans of the Noodle Man quickly came up with unique ways to skirt the law. The whole thing became such an embarrassing situation that Mayor Eustace Hodge ordered the man to be found. "Government," he said, "should not, can not, and must not be ridiculed. Justice must be done”

The result of this resolution was the formation of the Ramen Squad, dedicated to the removal of the public menace known as Top Ramen Man. At the head of this band was Inspector Bond. Bond dedicated all his energies to capturing Noodle Man. He sat in his office looking at reports. And, every time he picked up the phone, he could be heard busily rapping out orders. Working hand in hand with the Mayor, nightly blockades were established.

Meanwhile, our hero, Fred Dunderson, was instructed to lead the intrepid Ramen squad on a search for each individual ramen noodle not already consumed. On each of these, a serial number was placed. This order, needless to say, came directly from the mayoral office.  And, lo and behold, it was not surprising to find these serial numbered noodles plastered across Inspector Bond's front seat as they returned from their long day of inventorying.

Feb 18, 1992 Houston Daily News
What is the Government for Anyway? An Expensive Circus Act? Do Serial Numbers Accomplish Anything? What will Mayor Hodge Think of Next? Here's the Score: Noodle Man 5; Houston 0!

So read the Houston headline on that snowy Tuesday morning, just under a month since Episode One of the Noodle Wars. Fred, who was as disgusted as the rest of Houston with the farcical nonsense, stormed respectfully up to Mayor Hodge’s desk.

“Sir,” he said, “If you insist that I continue to carry out such ridiculous ideas, I will resign and carry out my own investigations. Do you insist?”

“I do indeed!” Replied the mayor. “One must do something in the case of an extremity such as this. And I am doing so. Go ahead and try. Alone, what can you do?”

Mayor Hodge, in case you couldn't already tell, was one of those elected for their eloquence more than for their brains.

 And here we leave our hero of the story, who is indeed Fred. Shortly after the inventorying and numbering of every noodle in town, Fred signed up with >STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL< and was sent on an undercover mission to >CLASSIFIED.< To see if he could >CENSORED< and to >TOP SECRET.<

So ends Part 1 of the account of Noodle Man's Noodle Wars. Check back later to see what his mistake was, and how Fred found out who this Noodle Man really was!

The Not-New Car

First off, I'd like to offer my sincerest congratulations to you, as the reader. Why congratulate you? I congratulate you for the understanding and wisdom that led you to this site, and to the first of several narratives recounting the the long history, or possible history, of mankind, from the past to the future. Oh, wait, can the future be history? hmm, I'll have to think about that one.

The following account is of special interest for me, as the historian, or futurian, because it reminds me of the time when my granddad was in his seventies. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? Have I told you yet that he was seventy? No... I don't suppose I did. I reckon that's what I get for getting old.

Looking back,.... No, no, no, not that far... just to the previous paragraph. I see the folly of trying to write, or text, just one short introductory sentence to capture my passionate feeling regarding the following legend of this dear old fella. Hmmm.... I see I'll just have to start, or you'll never get to read the the true-blue story of discovery.

Once upon a time; but only because all good stories begin that way. Once upon a time there was a wizened old man. He had white hair and a white mustache, but no beard. He wore the thickest glasses you ever did see, the kindest eyes, the most wiry frame, most wrinkled hands, and the tiniest pug nose.

This man lived in a...No, I won't tell you. Not until you ask first. Weelllll, all right. I'll tell you where he didn't live. By the way, did I tell you his name yet? I don't think I did. His name is Giuseppe. What's that? Italians don't have pug noses? Oh, well then, his real name is Alexander, but most people around here call him Canopy Al. Why? Hold your horses, and don't interrupt no more! See?

Now then, where was I? Of course, we were talking about where Canopy Al lives. Let's see here. He didn't live in a mobile home. No, no, no. And he didn't live in a trailer. A castle I hear? ha ha! No, child, he's not a prince. No, Old Al lived in a house that was built Victorian style. You know, she was a Queen! of all of England she was. A very long time ago. They named a whole system of architecture after her.

The house was all decorated in pink and white frills and was always neat as a pin. Al loved it. It reminded him of his wife. There was only one room that wasn't frilly and that was the garage. There wasn't any space for frills there! It was stuffed full of this and that and the other thing. Some gardening tools, metal scraps, all sorts of things! Why, one corner was piled to the ceiling in junk.

Naturally, I can see some of you are thinking what a dreadful pig our Al must have been. But no, some of the junk had been there when Al had moved in. He was always working away at clearing it out, but it never seemed to get done. Maybe he spent too much time in the coffee shop with the guys. Or in the garden with the flowers. Or on his mail route.

Yes, Al had a mail route. And it was that which, indirectly, led him to his great discovery. You see, at seventy, people were starting to say that Canopy Al was getting to old to deliver mail. Only, they felt bad about saying so. Al had been the mailman since he was a youngster of nineteen. And a good job he did too. But when he hit seventy, he started doing stuff. Stuff like dropping pieces of mail and forgetting to pick it up again. One letter was found all the way in the next town!

Before you get overly attached to his mail route, however, I'm sorry to break to you his loss. It was what made this story possible. Unfortunately, for a guy so young as Old Al, the management of the Postal Service found it necessary to relieve him of his time honored position as the oldest mailman in all fifty states. This then freed up time to clean out his garage. His plan for the garage after he completed the monumental project of emptying it was to make room for a bright red Corvette. A fancy car was was his fondest dream, and Canopy Al had fixed upon a Corvette as the fanciest thing out there.

So, my ole granddad started work. So motivated was he that he had finished everything but that one messy corner in less than a month! You know, he couldn't do it any sooner. He absolutely could not leave his coffee shop friends in the lurch. Much less his beloved nasturtiums! He only worked in his garage during the hours formerly taken up with the U.S of A Post Office.

At last, one bright sunny morning, he started to tackle the corner with the junk stacked to the ceiling. Inch by inch, piece by piece (of garbage), our hero Al made the pile smaller. Brave Al! Hardworking Al! Our Canopy Al! My GRANDDAD! Oh, maybe I'm getting a little carried away with myself.

As the clock dinged the lunch hour, (and the quitting hour) that sunshiny day, Al had only one thing left. He didn't know what it was. He carried away one last piece of garbage from on top of a large thing with a dusty old canopy over it, went in to lunch, and didn't even peek until Monday. Did I mention that it was Friday, and that Al never worked on the weekends? Ah, if he had only known what lay underneath that canopy.

On Monday, Al went into the garage and lifted the canopy. Dust flew everywhere and we have accurate accounts that he sneezed exactly three and a half times. What was underneath? Oh, just an old car. Awww, what's so special about that? You don't want to hear the story? Fine. No, don't leave!!

Now, where were we. Oh yes, Al pulled out the car into the middle of the garage. He figured he could fix it up a bit and sell it to somebody and then use the money for a Corvette, with a sport muffler! After he fixed up the car, Canopy Al drove it through town to his favorite car dealer. This guy, his name was Dick, had a red Corvette for sale. When Dick saw Al's souped up car though, he whistled.

'Say Al! you sure you want to sell that thing?  Why don't you take it and have it appraised first. That looks authentic.'

Al laughed, and replied, "Sure, it is. 100% Genuine authentic garbage." But Dick continued to insist, so Al got it appraised. It ended up being several weeks before he heard from the appraiser, but when he did, he was mildly surprised. Hmmm, mildly surprised doesn't quite capture it does it? Let me rephrase that..... He received the shock of his life when the appraisal came back at $63,752 for what he thought was garbage on wheels.

Dick was just trying to take it from Al when I walked upon the scene, and unlike the typical teenager; I loved it. So began the short process of what, or who, Granddad Al liked more, a red Corvette, or his young teenage grandson. Al had no doubts. Like the good grandfather that he was, he kept the car for the sake of the more insistent and younger of the two fighting for the car, his grandson.

Al taught me to drive that old car, and I taught it to your dad. While not bright red, and not very speedy, (but with plenty of noise) the car, once souped up a bit, was just the thing for granddad. When the story got out, as it soon did, everybody started calling him Canopy Al after what he'd found beneath that old canvas cloth.And, when Al saw that he was the celebrity in town, he grew to love it too.  After all, it's not everyone who has the original Model A designed by Henry Ford himself!