Whooping Crane Stops Whooping.

This is a story that Molly Ivins told. It has nothing to do with me or with Point Roberts, although it does feature a big bird, and I believe it is true. I miss her running commentary on the dying days of the Bush Administration, and I imagine she misses doing the commenting. So this story brings her back if only for a few moments. I heard her tell it on Prairie Home Companion, so it is as I remember it and not, perhaps, as she actually wrote it.

Down in Texas, the Enron people were pretty much used to getting whatever political favors they wanted, so it was no surprise to anybody when one of the upper echelon Enron guys was appointed by the Governor to a commission. The press, which in Texas just like anywhere else, is supposed to look over these kinds of things, keeping an eye out on behalf of the people, to make sure things are more or less on the up and up. When somebody is appointed to one of these commissions, they have to fill out a bunch of papers, and the reporters were sitting around one day looking over the Enron guy’s papers. Pretty much seemed in order, except for one section that stirred a little comment. It seemed that one section of the paper had been whited out. ‘What do you think that means?’ asked on of the reporters to the room at large. ‘Hard to know,’ replied another, but considering that the general heading of that section is ‘record of convictions,’ probably ought to look into it.’

And so they did. Well, it turned out that the Enron guy at some point in the past had in fact been charged with shooting a whooping crane. Not permitted in Texas. Not permitted anywhere, really, but on the other hand, anybody could shoot a whooper by accident. I mean, you’re hunting, you see something, turns out to be a whooper. So nobody was too worried about it. People were understanding. Press and public.

But then it turned out that the Enron guy and his friends were out hunting ducks. The inquiring mind was obliged to do some more inquiring. I mean, a whooper is about five feet tall; a duck…. not so much. Hell, if he couldn’t tell the difference between a whooper and mallard, maybe he ought not be on the commission.

And then they made him resign from the commisison.

That was the first time I ever heard the phrase ‘not so much’ used like that. I hope that she was the first one to use it that way, or at least gets credit for it. You can look this story up on the web and it is more complex or different: he not only shot the whooper, but he then set it on fire and 'accidentally' buried it, I gather. In some versions it was a goose hunt not a duck hunt. But I am happy with the economical version I heard from her.