Many columns ago we introduced Blair Timert, a young man who had been orphaned as a baby and adopted by parents who were Basques. Those are the people who live in a land between France and Spain. We heard from Blair the other day.
You couldn’t pronounce Blair’s parents’ name correctly in English no matter how you tried. Realizing that fact, Blair’s parents retained his birth name, but Blair grew up speaking Basque.
In the earlier story Blair had been in Chicago to pick up a bundle of expired bonds. He was going to take them to his income tax preparer. Two Basque hoodlums saw him coming out of the bank with what appeared to be a bundle of valuable documents.
“Tigo hari kargatuta dago.” (That guy is loaded)
“Ongil armzen dezagun oilasko hari.” (Let’s pluck that chicken).
The hoods grabbed Blair and hustled him into the back seat.
Larry Day’s April column page 2
Blair yelled at the hoods in perfect Basque: “What took you so long,” pretending to go along with the hoods.
One of the hoods froze, but the driver kept his head.
“Eruman itazu buruzagia hauek narusiari.” “Drop me at the next café.” Blair pushed the bundle to the guy in the front seat who wasn’t driving.
The driver pulled up to the next restaurant he saw.
Blair got out without another word and the hoods drove off. They delivered the worthless bonds to their boss who realized immediately that they’d been duped. He reported the problem to his boss who sent someone to “take care of the problem.”
The hoods, sensing they were in trouble, fled and ended up in Letongaloosa where one of them had a cousin who worked at a local bank. They came to town in separate cars and talked in Basque on their cell phones. The local police were monitoring the airwaves and picked up the conversation. They couldn’t understand it, but one officer thought it sounded like Basque. The police called Blair.
Blair recognized immediately that it was his erstwhile countrymen.
“They’re planning to rob the Letongaloosa State Bank,” he told the police.
The authorities set a trap for the hoods and scooped them up when they entered the bank. The hoods ratted out their colleague who worked at the bank, and they were all tried, convicted, and sent to prison.
Blair found the worthless bonds in their car and took them to his tax preparer who worked his magic and got Blair a big tax refund.
Larry Day, page 3
Coming out of the tax preparer’s office, Blair asked himself. “What should I do with this money?”
He bumped into (literally) Dean Ima Farseer,” chair of the Department of Et. Al., Et. Al.” at Letongaloosa Community Junior College.
Blair and Dean Ima had worked together on city boards of directors.
“Pardon me,” said Dean Ima.
“My fault,” said Blair. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Ima, you look concerned,”
“We have a problem,” said Dean Ima. “Our accountant under withheld taxes on employee salaries. Now we owe the Internal Revenue Service a bundle.”
“How much do you owe? I just might be able to help,” said Blair. “The IRS owed me a big refund. Let’s find out how I can make a charitable contribution that won’t require further taxes for LCJC.”
“Bless you,” said Dean Ima.
They took the problem to an accounting firm that specialized in helping people keep their money rather than “contributing” it to the IRS.
The accountants worked their magic, and LCJC came out owing zero in additional taxes.
Afterward Blair said, “I’ll buy you a drink.” They went into a café.
“Make it a root beer,” said Dean Ima. “I’m still on duty.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Blair as they sat down at the counter. “Make that two root beers, please.”