Just when you think you've heard it all . . .

Puttering around the house yesterday afternoon, I had on Channel 4 News. They were reporting on a controversy arising from a comment made by Dallas County Commissioner Ken Mayfield in some kind of county meeting. The topic of discussion was a county office responsible for collecting traffic fines or some other sort of county revenue, and it seems the office is way behind in their paperwork. Mr. Mayfield likened the office to a black hole.

Now most reasonable people know what is meant by a black hole -- the term comes from an astronomical phenomenon where a collapsing star creates a vacuum and pulls everything into it. There is no light, ergo, a black hole.

Commissioner John Wiley Price and a black Justice of the Peace are demanding an apology. They don't feel Mr. Mayfield is racially sensitive. They want to know why it's not termed a white hole. I have never heard of anything so stupid and ignorant in all my life. White holes and black holes are not the only holes in this story! So with all that in mind, my creative juices started flowing, and I wrote this little story.

Black is Beautiful

by

Essie May

Dedicated to the brilliant John Wiley Price

John Blackaby, the Blacksmith, wrote the instructions for voting on the blackboard. Each member had the power to blackball any applicant to the club. "Before voting begins," Mr. Blackaby said, "our treasurer, Mr. Blackstone, will give the financial report." Mr. Blackstone stood. "I am pleased to report that we are in the black."

The marbles in the bags counted, the club welcomed onto their rolls Mr. Blacketer who worked for the FAA. His job was to find and analyze the black box when an airplane crashed. Mr. Blackbear, a Blackfoot Sioux Indian, also made the cut. He was an ornithologist who specialized in blackbirds.

After the voting, the new members were to be entertained at a black tie dinner. The menu included blackberry compote, blackened swordfish, blackeyed peas with black pepper, biscuits with blackstrap molasses, black walnuts, and a choice of blackbottom pie or black forest cake for dessert. All of this was to be washed down with pots of black coffee. Entertainment was to be provided by country singer Clint Black.

Everyone had gathered in the dining room for dinner when someone missed the master of ceremonies, Dr. Blackthorn. Suddenly, he burst into the room causing quite a stir. He had misunderstood the nature of the affair. Thinking it was a costume ball, he had come dressed as Blackbeard the pirate. "My apologies for the lateness of my arrival," he said. "I was watching my favorite PBS series, Blackadder, and I lost track of time."

Just as the festivities began, the power went out. Calls to the utility company confirmed that the cause was a rolling blackout. One of the ladies, Mrs. Blackstock, became so distressed that she fainted. Some of the other ladies feared she had been bitten by a black widow spider. But when Dr. Blackthorn saw she had merely blacked out, he called for his black bag. "I have just the thing," he exclaimed, as he drew out a bottle of Black Draught Elixir.

As Mrs. Blackstock began to come to her senses, another hubbub arose. The doors burst open and a man covered in something black and sticky stumbled in. "We're rich! We're rich!" he yelled. "Oil! Black gold in our backyard!"

Just then it began to snow. Huge crystal flakes falling fast and furious soon covered the land and the blacktopped roads. And this very black day ended in a veritable fairyland of snowy white.

The End