Adventures in Liar Land
In the past here we have discussed the possibility that misrepresenting the truth when it doesn't hurt anyone is not a sin deserving the threat of hell fire and brimstone. Can recall writing about serious research being done by social scientists who were studying lying and they made distinctions between white lies, fibs, blatant lies and harmful prevarications even had a category for thoughtful untruths which were justified because they kept from hurting someone's feelings; however, they had left out what we tall-tale spinners have labeled "high quality B.S." In honest labors, those researchers had determined just about everyone tells mistruths (lies' on a daily basis, some a lot more than others. I've admitted in this column to occasionally using the gift of "creative recall," especially when it comes to such difficult to remember things as waist measurements, golf scores, size of fish, etc.
This subject was called back to mind last week when I found a membership card and letter from the nationally renowned Burlington Liars Club, dated Dec. 5, 2000. It was acknowledging a story sent to them in November. The letter said, "Thank you for sending a dollar to the Burlington Liars Club. We have to wonder about anyone who would send money to an organization dedicated to lying, but we are sending you a lifetime honorary membership card anyhow.
"This card enables you to submit lies for the annual contest to determine the World Champion Liar, which is judged each December. Lies not received in time for the current contest are automatically entered in next year's contest."
Why did I correspond with those "Burlington exaggerators' in the first place? Used to listen in rapt awe to stories told by Glacier Park's famed packer, the late Bill Yenne. Hung on every word while deeply wishing that I could recall such wondrous things as his tale about romancing a girl who was so tall "… she would go down to Flathead Lake each fall and hunt geese with a rake." Even recall his noting that girl's father was so tall "… he had to stand on a chair to put on his hat."
Bill also narrated heart breaking stories like the one about a jobless man over at St. Mary who went bankrupt after having to leave a rented truck up on blocks for two weeks. According to Bill, the unfortunate fellow forgot to take it out of gear and "… the wind blowing against the tires ran up 60,000 on the mileage gauge."
It is hard to compete with world class stuff like that, but in a wild moment of over optimism I gave it a shot back there in 2000. This is what was sent to the boys in Burlington:
"Dear Liars Club,
The following is a true story, but even knuckle walkin' drunks won't believe it, so am sending the facts to you out of pure frustration:
"Swiftcurrent Peak towers into the northern Montana sky on the Continental Divide at Glacier National Park. In 1988 a friend, Ivan O'Neil, and I hiked nine miles up there to its summit where a wilderness fire-lookout is located. We noted the Park Service had built a very sturdy outhouse on the edge of a high cliff, and it was anchored securely by thick steel cables wrapped around and clamped into three large boulders.
"A ranger going up the next summer discovered the outhouse was gone, apparently blown away by unusually strong prevailing winds from the west.
"The following October, Ivan and I were riding the train to Minot, North Dakota, and spotted the Swiftcurrent outhouse sitting out on the Great Plains near Fort Belknap. That is only a hundred miles from the Rockies, BUT the boulders were still attached."
Truth-fully Yours,
George Ostrom
O.K.! So I've got a "Lifetime Honorary Membership" in The Burlington Liars Club. Somehow I don't feel worthy of such high distinction. Maybe this year I'll enter one of Yenne's best tales. Naturally I'll give Bill full credit; but there's still one big concern. What if they won't believe me?
G. George Ostrom is a Kalispell resident and a national-award winning Hungry Horse News columnist.