Winning (over) an Oscar
I was once kissed by a camel named Oscar. That deserves an Academy Award.
I have decided not to watch the Academy Awards tonight. No surprise there. I can’t remember the last time I did.
No, I have not seen any of the movies nominated. I don’t go to the theater much anymore. I don’t know which actors, actresses, directors, producers and songs are up for awards. So why should I stay up late for their acceptance speech? Especially if they get political.
I did read an interesting article about why the Academy Awards are called the Oscars. It seems nobody knows for sure. There’s one tale about a gossip columnist using it to make fun of the owner of a local theater. There was also the story of a librarian who claimed the golden statuette resembled her Uncle Oscar.
A story in Architectural Digest claims Oscar was born in 1927, which means he is almost a centenarian. An art director named Cedric Gibbons sketched him, and sculptor George Stanley made him the little man he is today. He has been in the spotlight with everyone from Walt Disney to a 10-year-old Tatum O’Neal.
Instead of watching the red carpet on this Sunday night, I reminisced about two of my favorite Oscars. I had more fun doing that.
Oscar Whisby was 85 years old when he died in 2016. I had met him nearly 20 years earlier when he was in his mid-60s. He had been delivering fruits and vegetables to local schools and businesses for almost 50 years. Most of his career was spent in delivery at Mulberry Provision, where he began working in 1948, and later for Stokes-Shaheen Produce.
If you ever had topped your hot dog with onions from the Nu-Way on Cotton Avenue or had a sliced tomato on your salad over at Len Berg's in the Post Office Alley, chances are it was Oscar who delivered it there for you.
He did his work by the dawn’s early light, driving his truck slowly through the downtown streets at 4 a.m. every morning. His friends and family had called him “Sun’’ since he was a youngster growing up in Jones County. On most mornings, he gets to see his namesake make its appointed appearance in the sky.
He rarely turned on the radio. He sang hymns to himself. What a sweet spirit.
I met my second-favorite Oscar 14 years ago this month when I decided to ride a camel at the Cherry Blossom Festival.
It was a good day for it.
After all, it was a Wednesday.
Hump Day.
I found my “camel lot” in Central City Park, where I introduced myself to an 11-year-old camel named Oscar.
I paid $5 for a ticket to ride. I climbed on the saddle between Oscar’s two humps, and owner Darrell Stanley led me for a couple of laps around the 50-foot ring. At the finish line, an affectionate Oscar leaned across the rail and presented me with a slobber kiss on the cheek. I was not expecting that.
So it wasn’t the ride that made the headlines.
It was the kiss.
Mark that off my bucket list. I have been kissed by a camel.
I guess I won an Oscar. Or at least won him over.