“Give me some poison!” said a customer, in Riga,
Latvia.
“I’m sorry sir,” said the proprietor, “we’re all
sold out!”
Then he stopped and thought a moment, said:
“Wait a minute; I do have some strychnine, for how
many?” he asked.
“About ten,” said the customer.
“Here,” said the proprietor, “these should do it,”
handing
him ten in pill form…
How much do I owe you?” he questioned.
“Naught,” he said, “we never charge for such
items.”
#3425 (9-12-2012)
Note: Not
long ago, in 1952 (I was five years old then) 20,000 people escaped under the
Iron Curtain a month, to find themselves refugees, trying to find free
countries to live in. Most tried to go to America, one way or another. Should
we forget this, perhaps it might be wise to remember, poison for customers,
behind the Iron curtain, were often sold out in the local city and small town
stores; that’s how bad it was; or we could say, that is how bad the world was. The author’s Grandfather was born in that
area, and escaped in1916, to England, onto New York City, and then to St. Paul,
Minnesota, his brother going to South America (Anton Siluk).
