Book ’em, Dave-O
Did you get your letter from “The World Book of (Your Last Name Here)”? I did. It arrived last Thursday, my letter from “The World Book of Molters.” And, boy, was I excited!
I thought that, just like the Guinness Book of Records, “The World Book of Molters” would contain impressive facts and figures, a list of unbelievable feats and world records either set or smashed by my long-lost relatives.
I thought it would at the very least be a veritable compendium of Famous Molters Who Changed the Course of History, such as Gen. G. Willikers Molter, one-time commander of the U.S. 7th Cavalry, who died June 24, 1876, allowing his second-in-command, Gen. George Armstrong Custer, to – on the following day – invent the first arrow shirt.
Imagine my surprise to discover “The World Book of Molters” turns out to be merely a listing of “the other 1,264 households bearing the Molter name in the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Germany and Austria.”
I have my doubts about this book. Mainly, I think, because I have the uncomfortable feeling that a household in Argentina just received a similar letter from “The World Book of Hitlers.”
Still, I couldn’t resist reading my personal letter from publisher William C.Z. Forman. Here’s what else it said:
“I have exciting news for you and your fellow Molters! As you may already know, extensive work has been done on a project relating to your family name.”
As a matter of fact, I do know. That work was done by my sister, who compiled a pretty thorough history of the Molter side of my family about 40 years ago. And gave me a copy. GAVE me a copy – not asked me to pony up $30 for it.
“The first Molter we found came to North America in 1764,” the letter continues. “His name was Peter. Like thousands of others, he sought a better life for himself in this land of opportunity.”
Well, that makes sense. Hardly anyone goes anywhere because he seeks a worse life for himself. Except, maybe, for those joining the Trump administration.
But the key words in the first sentence quoted above are “we found.” Peter was the first Molter they found. But at least one Molter must have sneaked into North America long before 1764. I figure this because in the paintings I’ve seen that depict the first Thanksgiving, there’s a Pilgrim who looks suspiciously like me standing in the background. He’s the one smirking and writing everything down, saving it for a column.
There’s more to my letter. Just in case you didn’t receive yours, I’ll summarize. And, in case your name is Molter but you don’t plan to spend $27.50, plus shipping, for your own, personal copy of “The World Book of Molters” (as I do not), I’ll reveal, in parentheses, what my own research uncovered.
“It has been our goal to locate as many Molters as possible (and share their locations with telemarketers worldwide).
“This unique publication also covers what the distinguished Molter name means (“He who, after having had two beers, can be talked into almost anything”), as well as an artist’s drawing of an early Molter Coat of Arms that dates back centuries. (Two dachshunds, rampant on a field of cobalt blue, running in terror from a badger, below the family battle cry, “Roooowwfff!”)
“I am writing all the Molter families listed in the Molter International Registry (stolen from the Molter International Hotel in Atlantic City, N.J.) at this time in order to keep publication costs low (1,115 times what it cost me to print).
“But you must order now (before the IRS finds out what I’m up to). Please see your MOLTER APPROVAL FORM (the 10-cent piece of scrap paper included with this letter) for details.”
But I’ve left the letter’s best revelation for last.
“Peter,” Forman wrote, “may be the sole reason you or I live here today.”
So that’s why I reside in the state with the highest gasoline tax in the nation.
I’ll get you for this, Peter.