Paul Richardson: No place for old noses

Gifts are often an act of futility, representing what the bearer has either invested in or simply made a rush decision to obtain in order to meet social conventions.

It was in 1982 and the good wife and I were living in the depths of Clark National Forest. We had obtained the position as caretakers on a property that was owned by a doctor in Saint Louis.

While there were certain tasks that were required it did come with a residence in one of the most scenic and remote places in the state. We had a close friend that had went through some personal trauma and the cancellation of a wedding who took solace in our location by tent camping on our front lawn for a good portion of the summer.

It was on my birthday that this friend gave me a gift that went beyond social convention. The gift was personal, thoughtful and represented the depths of our relationship. While simple in construction, it was deep in content. The construction consisted of a framed handmade document, nothing more, but the content had extensive implications.

Over the years and after a few various abodes, the location of the gift is unknown at the moment, but it is in the house somewhere. While the physical location of the document is out of sight, the content is still in my mind and soul. On my birthday in 1982 I was inducted into and given full privileges as a member of the Non-Existent Occidental Society of Exiles, i.e.: NOSE.

This was not a reflection of my physical attributes as everyone knows I have a freakishly small nose in relation to the rest of my being. My friend on the other hand had one of those honkers that would cause one to wonder, “Is that his nose or is he eating a ham’? No, this was a reflection on our relationship and the fact that he had stuck his nose in my business. I was in the midst of a very tumultuous period in my life. The consequences of his “sticking his nose in my business” affected me in every aspect of my being. It affected me physically, emotionally and eventually, spiritually.

Without going into every detail of the body of the text included in the gift, he did address the depths and meaning of our friendship. We continued that friendship into the years that followed. He originated from the Grand Island, Nebraska area, returning there later in 1982. We saw him on occasion over the following years as he married a gal that had a couple of aunts that resided in Carthage. We lost track and then in 2010 I was able to locate him in North Carolina.

NOSE members kindly request that you keep your nose out of our business, but we won’t necessarily keep ours out of yours! I think it is time to track my friend down once more and stick my nose in his business!

(Paul Richardson's column, The Horse I Rode In On, is published weekly in the Neosho Daily News, Seneca News-Dispatch and on the Turner Report.)

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