THE COCKROACH

            If you happen to be in San Francisco this year for the Eclipse Awards, I’ll consider it a personal favor if you refrain from killing any cockroaches.

            Especially if their name happens to be Herman.

            It’s not that I have any particular love for cockroaches.  I’ve been properly brainwashed that they will inherit the world, but I’m not too keen on the idea of them doing this in my lifetime.

            In fact, I once had an argument with a girlfriend on the subject of cockroaches.  They were running rampant in her apartment, and whereas I wanted to immediately call Otto The Orkin Man at 3 AM, she contended that the ones taking over the kitchen sink should be left alone since they represented playful and nutritional diversions for her pet cat.

            Exit one girlfriend.

            But I began to appreciate cockroaches in 1979 because of the Eclipse Awards.

            That was the morning before the awards presentation when I was sitting in a bar at the Fairmont Hotel nursing a $3 Bloody Mary when a cockroach suddenly materialized on the bar and decided to make a kamikaze attack on my celery stalk.

            I thwarted this attempt by promptly banging him on the head with the glass, which attracted the immediate attention of the bartender, three racetrack general managers, and the owner of the San Francisco 49ers.

            “What’s wrong?” the bartender asked me with far greater alacrity than I had experienced when I first arrived trying to buy a drink.

            “Oh, nothing,” I explained.  “I was simply killing a cockroach that didn’t want to pay for a drink.”

            The bartender looked at me strangely.  “A cockroach?” he said in disbelief.  “Sir,” he stiffened defensively, “the Fairmont Hotel does not have cockroaches.”

            I tilted the glass in his direction so he could see the bottom.  “Well,” I allowed, “whatever that was, it sure makes for a dirty glass.  Do you suppose I could have a clean one?”

            “If you insist, sir,” he sniffed.  “But I’d appreciate it if you don’t create any more disturbances by banging on the bar and maligning our reputation with ridiculous accusations about cockroaches.  After all, there are some very important people here in the lounge that are attending the Eclipse Awards.”

            “Is that important?” I asked as innocently as I could.

            “It’s only the Academy Awards of racing,” he stated with finality, placing a fresh drink in front of me while picking up three dollars off the bar in the process.  “And,” he added somewhat sarcastically while ringing up the money, “most of the people here are excellent tippers.”

            “That’s nice,” I smiled as he wandered off to make a couple of Margueritas.

            I had just started to peruse an advance copy of the awards program when, out of the corner of my eye, I detected a brief blur of motion near my drink.  Another cockroach was looking back at me.  Without thinking, I instinctively hit it with the nearest thing at hand, which, unfortunately, was my Eclipse program.

            “Now what?” the bartender almost yelled in reaction to the sound of program striking bar as he rushed back to where I was sitting.

            I carefully reviewed the cover of my program for a moment, then showed it to him.  “Well,” I began, “maybe the Fairmont Hotel doesn’t have any cockroaches, but that sure as hell is one great imitation sitting there on Eclipse’s tail.”

            He studied it for a moment and I could see a light of recognition dawning in his eyes.

            “Well, yes,” he began, looking around to make sure no one else was listening, “I do believe it is a cockroach.  But I certainly can’t understand how it got into the Fairmont Hotel!”

            “Maybe it crawled in,” I said brightly.

            “Well,” he said, regaining his composure, “I’m certainly going to see that the manager hears about this.  And,” he continued as he started to make a Bloody Mary, “I want you to have a drink on the house to make up for this embarrassment.  I’m sure you recognize that this is an unprecedented situation and you won’t mention it to anyone else, right?”

            “I might have to mention it to Joe Burnham if he asks me why I need another program.”

            “How about if I put some vodka in your free drink?” he smiled.

            “It’ll be our little secret,” I said appreciatively.

            The bartender walked down to the other end of the bar and picked up a phone, presumably to call either the manager or the Cockroach Control Squad from the San Francisco Police Department.  I pulled a Daily Racing Form out of my briefcase and was just starting to get interested in that afternoon’s sixth race at Golden Gate Fields when I heard a small voice that seemed to be coming from on top of the bar to my left.

            I glanced to where I thought the voice had come from.  A baby cockroach wriggled a feeler back at me.  I started to reach for an ashtray.

            “Hello, nice human,” the cockroach said.  “Have you seen my parents?”

            “Your parents?” I asked incredulously while gently setting the ashtray back down.

            “Yes, they were supposed to meet me right here by the olive dish, but I can’t find them anywhere.  You didn’t happen to see them scurry past, did you?”

            I suddenly felt very guilty.  “Uh, no,” I stuttered, “afraid I haven’t.  But tell me, how is it that you’re able to talk?”

            “My folks taught me, they thought it might come in handy while we checked out your Eclipse Awards program.”

            “You’re here for the Eclipse Awards?”

            “Well, just to check on the format, you understand.  You see, the Cockroach Racing Association is thinking of having an awards dinner next year, and we thought it might be helpful to see how you humans do it.

            “By the way, my name is Herman, mind if I crawl a little closer and read your Racing Form?”

            “Uh, no, of course not.”

            “Thanks, maybe I can find a good horse for you while I’m waiting for my parents.”

            “Uh, tell me, Herman, what do you think of the Eclipse affair so far?”

            “Well, I checked out some of the rooms last night, and the hotel seems nice enough.  And some of the people are certainly interesting.”

            “They are?”

            “Oh, yes.  For instance, I’ll bet you didn’t know that that nice John Forsythe, he even smiles in his sleep.”

            “He does?”

            “Oh, yes, there are a lot of nice humans here, although,” he hesitated, “a few of them seemed a bit strange.”

            “Such as?”

            “Well, that writer fellow for one.  Joe something or other.  Do a lot of humans sleep wearing sunglasses?”

            “Not to my knowledge.  Uh,” I said, deciding to change the subject, “what else has impressed you so far?”

            “Well, I checked out the party last night, that seemed pretty pleasant.  But do you humans always drink so much?”

            “Only on special occasions,” I said, taking a sip of my Bloody Mary.

            “Anyway, this really is a first rate hotel.  Notice how they monogram the sand in the hallway ashtrays?  Very neat, very clean.”

            “That’s important?”

            “It certainly is,” he said, wriggling his left feeler.  “You ever sleep in an ashtray full of cigar butts?  We may be only roaches, but we have our pride.

            “Incidentally,” he went on, “did you happen to notice this five horse in the sixth race in your Form?  Just lost his last race by an antennae—excuse me, that’s roach talk, I meant by a nose—in 1:10 flat.  Looks like a good bet in this field.”

            “I’ll, er, check it out.”

            “Do you plan on going to the dinner tonight?” Herman asked.

            “Well, I hadn’t quite decided yet, the tuxedo shop I went to didn’t seem to have my size in stock.”

            “Yeah, I know what you mean, I didn’t find one until early this morning.  You humans sure have some strange ideas about enjoying yourselves.  If you want to all look like penguins, maybe you should hold the next meeting in Nome.

            “Anyway, if you go to the dinner, be sure and have the truffles.”

            “Truffles?”

            “Absolutely excellent, my aunt lives in the store that sells them.

            “You know, you don’t seem to be such a bad guy for a human.  How would you like to be a guest speaker at our first awards banquet?”

            “Well, I don’t know…”

            “Hey, I’m sure it’d be okay, my Dad’s in charge of the program and I’ll ask him as soon as he gets here.  If,” Herman went on more sadly, “he ever gets here…”

            I looked guiltily at my celery stalk, then nudged a sliver of it in his direction.  He seemed to brighten.

            “Thanks,” he said.  “And if you make it to the dinner tonight, I’ll be next to the salad bowl on Table 57, maybe you can explain a few things about the activities and we can talk more about you coming to our banquet.

            “In the meantime, I have to go, still a few more rooms I want to check out.  If my parents crawl by tell them where I’ll be tonight and, if they can’t make it, tell them I’ll be crawling to Louisville in the morning for the next NTWA dinner.  Goodbye, nice human.”

            “Goodbye, Herman,” I said thoughtfully, finishing my Bloody Mary.

            So if you happen to be in San Francisco for the Eclipse Awards, just remember that the Fairmont Hotel doesn’t have cockroaches.

            But if you see one that suspiciously looks like one hanging around the olive dish, ask him if his name is Herman.

            If it is, slip him a piece of celery for me.  I kind of miss him.