THE LOTTERY by Shirley Jackson

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o'clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at the boys. and the very small children rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers' coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves's barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up--of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it was," she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. "Thought my old man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson went on. "and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running." She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, "You're in time, though. They're still talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after all." Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn't have me leave m'dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson's arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly, "guess we better get started, get this over with, so's we can go back to work. Anybody ain't here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar."

Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his leg, hasn't he? Who's drawing for him?"

"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for her husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?" Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this year."

"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, "Watson boy drawing this year?"

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I m drawing for my mother and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man to do it."

"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?"

"Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. "All ready?" he called. "Now, I'll read the names--heads of families first--and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?"

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. "Hi. Steve." Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe." They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at his hand.

"Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson.... Bentham."

"Seems like there's no time at all between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the back row.

"Seems like we got through with the last one only last week."

"Time sure goes fast.-- Mrs. Graves said.

"Clark.... Delacroix"

"There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward.

"Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said, "There she goes."

"We're next." Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.

"Harburt.... Hutchinson."

"Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed.

"Jones."

"They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, "that over in the north village they're talking of giving up the lottery."

Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy fools," he said. "Listening to the young folks, nothing's good enough for them. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about 'Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.' First thing you know, we'd all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There's always been a lottery," he added petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody."

"Some places have already quit lotteries." Mrs. Adams said.

"Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools."

"Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. "Overdyke.... Percy."

"I wish they'd hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. "I wish they'd hurry."

"They're almost through," her son said.

"You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs. Dunbar said.

Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box. Then he called, "Warner."

"Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time."

"Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Don't be nervous, Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your time, son."

"Zanini."

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of paper in the air, said, "All right, fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. "Who is it?," "Who's got it?," "Is it the Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices began to say, "It's Hutchinson. It's Bill," "Bill Hutchinson's got it."

"Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.

People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!"

"Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us took the same chance."

"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said.

"Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that was done pretty fast, and now we've got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time." He consulted his next list. "Bill," he said, "you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?"

"There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. "Make them take their chance!"

"Daughters draw with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently. "You know that as well as anyone else."

"It wasn't fair," Tessie said.

"I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her husband's family; that's only fair. And I've got no other family except the kids."

"Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in explanation, "and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too. Right?"

"Right," Bill Hutchinson said.

"How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally.

"Three," Bill Hutchinson said.

"There's Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me."

"All right, then," Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you got their tickets back?"

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr. Summers directed. "Take Bill's and put it in."

"I think we ought to start over," Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I tell you it wasn't fair. You didn't give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that."

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.

"Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.

"Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children. nodded.

"Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box.

"Take a paper out of the box, Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take just one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

"Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.

"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

"It's not the way it used to be." Old Man Warner said clearly. "People ain't the way they used to be."

"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave's."

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened theirs at the same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.

"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.

"It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. "Show us her paper. Bill."

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.

"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's finish quickly."

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said. gasping for breath. "I can't run at all. You'll have to go ahead and I'll catch up with you."

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few pebbles.

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. "It isn't fair," she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, "Come on, come on, everyone." Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him.

"It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

------End-------

HEARTS IN THE SAND by Bob Clark

If thirty-two year old Eugene Pavelik had known how to find the beach community of Port Aransas, he never would have stopped for the scruffy hitchhiker on Highway 59. Dusk was rapidly waning and in the coming dark, he knew he'd be totally lost in the jumble of unfamiliar roads that led to his holiday hideaway. He needed help.

In the rear view mirror of his five-year old Cadillac, he watched as the slightly built hitchhiker shuffled toward him. He was surprised at how much older the shabbily dressed man was than most guys who stick out their thumbs. The man was cradling a gray canvas gym bag in his arms and for a moment, the frightening thought of a possible weapon flitted through Eugene's mind. Before his hand made it to the door lock button, the older man tugged at the door handle and pulled it open. He slid onto the seat and unzipped the gym bag.

"Hope you don't mind," he croaked in a voice that sounded as though his morning routine included gargling with broken glass and sandpaper. He pulled out a disheveled lump of hair with legs and plopped it on his lap. It was a small Terrier mix with a red kerchief around its neck. The mutt licked his master's hand once, closed his eyes, and settled into a snooze. "That's Toby. Been my only friend for the last eight years." When Eugene slipped on a weak smile, the man continued. "Say amigo, you wouldn't by any chance have some lunch leftovers, would you? Toby really could use something to munch on."

Eugene looked at his new traveling companion. The man also sported a red kerchief around his neck and wore a black knit cap on his head. He appeared to need the leftovers as much as the dog. "Um, sorry. I ate at a Dairy Queen in Victoria a little while back. Cleaned my plate." The rider nodded and Eugene asked, "How far you going?"

"Toby and me, we're going to the place I was born, Port Aransas."

Eugene beamed. "What an amazing coincidence. That's where I'm headed. I have a week's vacation from my job in Houston and I have a reservation at Pirate's Cove Resort Condos. I'm sure glad I met you because I'm not sure how to get there."

"How 'bout that?" The old man flashed a gap toothed grin as his weathered hand smoothed out a tangle in the dog's hair. "A few miles up ahead in Refugio, you gotta get off Highway 77 and onto 2678. Tell you more later. Don't want to confuse you." The old man stared at the logo on the steering wheel and closed his eyes as if remembering something pleasant. "This a Caddy, huh? Reminds me of the time Elvis give me one."

Eugene's mouth dropped open and he took his eyes off the road for a second. "Elvis Presley? He gave you a Cadillac?"

"Yeah. Ugly color. Canary yellow as I remember. Sort of a goodbye present. One of his regular singers got deathly ill and I sang backup for him in Vegas for a few weeks. That was back when I sang and played harmonica for my supper. He wanted me to come to Nashville with him, but I turned him down."

"Well, uh... what was he like?"

"Good guy. One weakness though. Never met a fourteen or fifteen year old girl he didn't like. Went through a bunch of 'em on that trip."

"Wait a second. You say you sang with him?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah. Hard to believe, huh? I didn't always sound like this, you know. Sinatra changed that."

"You're pulling my leg aren't you?"

"I worked Vegas when I was young. Met a lot of the big names. When I got a pickup gig from Sinatra's bandleader, I guess I went nuts. Thought I had it made. Trouble was, I celebrated with a bottle of vodka before the show. Got so drunk, I embarrassed Frank onstage. After the show, he told Eddie, one of his boys to get rid of me. Frank told me later that he meant I should be fired, but Eddie misunderstood. Within minutes, I found my harmonica being forced down my throat. Frank's manager saw what was happening or I wouldn't be here now. Sinatra paid for the hospital and had a check for ten thousand dollars sent over to my room. Doctors said it was a busted larynx and ripped vocal cords."

Eugene didn't know if the man was letting him in on real secrets of show business or inventing stories, but it was an entertaining way to spend time. "How did you make a living after that?"

"I blew the ten thousand in no time and then I just started drifting like the sand on the beach where I was born." He paused for several seconds and when he spoke again, fatigue had crept into his voice. "I gotta go back there tonight before it's too late." After that, the man pulled his cap down and faced the window. Except for the necessary directions he gave to Eugene, he kept silent. They made it to Aransas Pass, went over a bridge that spanned the Intracoastal Waterway and continued on to the free ferry that would connect the mainland to Port Aransas on Mustang Island.

The old man drew in an audible breath and croaked, "I can smell it now." He looked down at the dog. "So can Toby."

Indeed, noted Eugene, Toby was stirring. "What? What do you smell?"

"It's the sea. The salt air of the Gulf of Mexico. It's good to be home."

In just five minutes, the ferry glided across the waters of the ship channel and Eugene said, "I guess we're finally here. Where to now?"

The older man nodded, chucked Toby under his hairy chin and said, "End of the line, little buddy." He looked ahead through the windshield and cleared his throat. "The place you want is up ahead a couple of blocks, but I'd really appreciate it if you could take me just a little further to where I'm going."

Eugene followed the man's simple directions and within minutes, the Caddy was on the Port Aransas city beach. Streetlights spaced out at two block intervals showed the hard packed sand that served as the road to where the old man wanted to go, the South Jetty. It was a line of jagged boulders that formed the building blocks of a quarter mile walkway into the waters of the Gulf. The car stopped only a few yards away from the jetty and the rider smiled.

"You done good boy. That's where I'll be staying for the night."

On the opposite side of the jetty was the cut between Mustang Island and San Jose Island where the ocean going vessels exited Corpus Christi Bay. Eugene saw no shelter for the man. "You're gonna stay there?" he asked.

In response, the other man took off his knit cap and placed it on the gym bag. He slipped off the tattered and filthy sneakers he wore and scooped up the dog. Pushing open the door, he got out of the car and stepped over to the jetty. He suddenly stopped and placed the dog on a boulder so that he could use his hands to undo the belt holding up his pants and pull off his shirt. In an instant, the older man was naked.

"Hey!" Eugene shouted over the sound of the surf and the wind. What's going on here?"

" This is it for me boy. Ain't going nowhere no more." He kissed the dog's forehead and held Toby out to the younger man. "Here, you hold him while I get down." Eugene took the dog as his rider eased himself down and took up a cross-legged position on the sand. "This here is the very spot where my mother gave birth to me. That night, my father was over there on the rocks fighting a fish for their meal. She suddenly went into labor and out I came no bigger than the fish he had on the line. They washed the sand off me with the sea water." He saw Eugene begin to gather up the discarded clothing and shook his head. "Don't bother, boy. I won't need them where I'm going. It's my ticker. Ain't got much power left. I'm going back where I came from dressed the way I was when I got here. You take Toby. He ain't fancy. Table scraps are OK with him."

Eugene held onto the old man's clothing and approached the dog. "I don't feel right leaving you like this. It's not humane. It's not..."

"Soon as you get to your resort hotel, you pick up the phone and call the cops. Let them take care of me." The older man coughed twice. His head slumped down and he took a shallow breath. After a pause, he brought his face up to look straight into Eugene's eyes. "Nothing you can do for me now. Just go. Feed Toby."

Eugene backed away, the dog cradled in his arms. He sensed that the naked man had very little time left and that it was senseless to argue. When he got to the car, he placed Toby on the man's cap. With a last look back, he drove away. As he left the sandy road for the paved streets, a thin, high-pitched noise from inside the car caught his attention. The warning lights on the dash were not lit. There was no visible indication of a malfunction so after two blocks, he pulled over and shut off the engine. The noise continued. As he opened the door to get out and check the engine, the dog stopped making the sound, took the knit cap into his teeth and jumped down from the seat onto the pavement.

"Toby! Come back here. Toby!" he shouted as he saw the dog run off. He knew where the dog was going and also knew that the dog would be picked up when they got his call about the man at the jetty. He would go to the pound in a day or two and pick up the dog as if it was his own. He would feed Toby as the man had requested.

Two days later, he found a small story about the hitchhiker on page two, section B of the local paper. It said that an unidentified nude man was found dead on the sand next to the South Jetty. The police found no indication of foul play and the authorities thought the man was a drifter who stripped because he wanted to cool off, but the effort was too much for his heart. One officer said that a small dog was found at the scene. He was also dead. The officer speculated, "Probably from malnutrition."

Eugene folded the newspaper and put it down on the table poolside at the Pirate's Cove. The pretty girl who was serving him a cold drink was startled when he said, "They can call it malnutrition if they want. I know better. That dog died of a broken heart."

-----END-----

WRONG NUMBER

Leola Starling of Ribrock, Tenn., had a serious telephone problem.

But unlike most people she did something about it.

The brand-new $10 million Ribrock Plaza Motel opened nearby and had acquired almost the same telephone number as Leola.

From the moment the motel opened, Leola was besieged by calls not for her. Since she had the same phone number for years, she felt that she had a case to persuade the motel management to change its number.

Naturally, the management refused claiming that it could not change its stationery. The phone company was not helpful, either. A number was a number, and just because a customer was getting someone else's calls 24 hours a day didn't make it responsible. After her pleas fell on deaf ears, Leola decided to take matters into her own hands.

At 9 o'clock the phone rang. Someone from Memphis was calling the motel and asked for a room for the following Tuesday. Leola said, "No problem. How many nights?"

A few hours later Dallas checked in. A secretary wanted a suite with two bedrooms for a week. Emboldened, Leola said the Presidential Suite on the 10th floor was available for $600 a night. The secretary said that she would take it and asked if the hotel wanted a deposit. "No, that won't be necessary," Leola said. "We trust you."

The next day was a busy one for Leola. In the morning, she booked an electric appliance manufacturers' convention for Memorial Day weekend, a college prom and a reunion of the 82nd Airborne veterans from World War II.

She turned on her answering machine during lunchtime so that she could watch the O.J. Simpson trial, but her biggest challenge came in the afternoon when a mother called to book the ballroom for her daughter's wedding in June.

Leola assured the woman that it would be no problem and asked if she would be providing the flowers or did she want the hotel to take care of it. The mother said that she would prefer the hotel to handle the floral arrangements. Then the question of valet parking came up.

Once again Leola was helpful. "There's no charge for valet parking, but we always recommend that the client tips the drivers."

Within a few months, the Ribrock Plaza Motel was a disaster area.

People kept showing up for weddings, bar mitzvahs, and Sweet Sixteen parties and were all told there were no such events.

Leola had her final revenge when she read in the local paper that the motel might go bankrupt. Her phone rang, and an executive from Marriott said, "We're prepared to offer you $200,000 for the motel."

Leola replied. "We'll take it, but only if you change the telephone number."

Received from Steve Sanderson. from The Good, Clean Funnies List

Experience with the Nature

It was Sunday, a holiday, the weather was very pleasant it was raining heavily. It was pure fun to be in the Jungle. But a fear was lurking in my mind that my friend could read easily.

He assured me that I should concentrate on the beauty of the weather and have faith in God; nothing can harm us on the way.

On the way, we came across herd of deer and other harmless animals. It was so exciting to be on such a track of wild animals. Excitement was also holding our nerves. And finally we reached an Ashram. Scene was wonderful there. It was surrounded by a fruit-laden garden, a gaushala at one end; some huts were on the other side. It was like you are away into a different world away from human dust and contamination. I was amazed to see that life can be so simple even in this cyber age.

Sadhus offered us prasadam. We stayed there in the night slept under the star-studded sky, looked like a decorated bride waiting for her groom. It was a stunningly beautiful night. Stars were so bright and so close that they could easily be touched.

A cool breeze was blowing with a wonderful fragrance. It seemed like a dream place. I really could not sleep and kept thinking that nature is so charming and beautiful.

Feel Happiness in Making Others Happy

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.

He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Epilogue:

There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.

Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."

Interesting Love Story

A certain rich businessman had a beautiful daughter, who fell in love with a guy who was a cleaner. When the girl's father came to know about their love, he did not like it at all, and so began to protest about it. Now it happened that the two lovers decided to leave their homes for a happy future. The girl's father started searching for the two lovers but could not find them. At last, he accepted their love and asked them to come back home thru a local newspaper. Her father said "If you both come back I will allow you to marry the guy you love, I accept that you loved each other truly." So in this way, their love won and they returned home.

The couple next day went to town to shop for the wedding dress. He was dressed in a white shirt that day. While he was crossing the road to the other side to get some drinks for his wife, a car came and hit him and he died on the spot. The girl was devastated and lost her senses. It was only after sometime that she recovered from her shock. The funeral and cremation was the very next day because he had died horribly.

Two nights later, the girl's mother had a dream in which she saw an old lady. The old lady asked her mother to wash the blood stains of the guy from her daughter's dress as soon as possible. But her mother ignored the dream. The next night her father had the same dream, he also ignored it.

Then the girl had the same dream the next night, she woke up in fear and told her mother about the dream. Her mother asked her to wash the clothes with the blood stains immediately. She washed the stains but some remained. Next night she again had the samedream. She again washed the stains but some still remained. But again the next night she had the same dream and this time the old lady gave her a last warning to wash the blood stain, or else something terrible would happen. This time the girl tried her best to wash the stains, and the clothes nearly tore, but some stains still remained. She was very tired.

In the late evening the same day while she was alone at home, someone knockedon the door. When she opened the door she saw the same old lady of her dreamstanding at her door. She got very scared and fainted. The old lady woke her up... and gave her a blue object, which shocked the girl.

She asked "What is this...?"

The old lady replied...

"This is Nirma Washing Powder"
"Washing powder nirma,
Washing powder nirma,
Doodh si safedi nirma se aaye,
Rangeen kapde bhi khil khil jaye,
sabki pasand nirma
Washing powder nirma,
Washing powder nirma.
Nirma"10 ka 1,
do pe ek free

How you all are feeling now about this story...

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