TWO AMAZING BUT TRUE DC TURKEY STORIES

FIRST STORY: THREE TURKEYS - ONE HOLIDAY?

One little, two little, three little turkeys. except that they were great big turkeys, and each one became the family turkey in succession, three turkeys in 24 hours. How did this wretched excess happen?

The first turkey was bought the night before the day before Thanksgiving, in a late-night splurge at the Social Safeway. Because we were having so many guests, we needed a 24 lb. turkey, and the Social Safeway in Georgetown seemed like the likeliest spot to snag a fresh one. Bingo! The turkey and all the trimmings filled every inch of free space in the car. We were so tired after all the purchasing that emptying it late at night was a chore we were all barely capable of organizing. Somehow we managed to empty the car of everything – except the turkey itself. The turkey spent the night in the car.

Horrors! The Turkey Institute had done a fine job of prosyletizing everyone against leaving out the bird. I called their Turkey Hotline reluctantly, dialing with trembling finger. Sure enough, they managed to convince me that I should throw out that fine bird, that I would be endangering a large number of guests as a result. Never mind that the weather was cold and the possibility of poisoning them was quite remote. They told me it had to go, so out it went. Turkey Number One bit the dust!

Now this was the day before Thanksgiving, and very large turkeys were beginning to be difficult to find. Not to worry. I worked not far from Hechinger Mall, where one of the biggest Safeways in the District was located. On my lunch hour, I drove straight to Hechinger Mall and snagged the last remaining huge turkey. Bird Number Two was a beauty! Mindful of the need for keeping it cold, I paid for the bird and asked the staff to put it aside and keep it chilled. I would return right after work and take it home. I had a lot of work to do and arrived at Hechinger Mall well after nightfall. No problem, I’d have plenty of time to cook and get ready for the big day. But WHERE was my turkey?? I looked and looked and called for the staff. They finally were forced to confess that they must have sold it. Sold my turkey??!! The last big turkey they had had in the store? It was a horror story. No way was I going to accept any excuse. So…

I dug deep in my pocket and hauled out my secret weapon - the tool that I had been promised would take care of any serious situation. At least ones involving Safeways! I was an Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner with a tiny Safeway in my jurisdiction. After a great deal of effort on my part, I had gotten a major zoning change rammed through the city that allowed the Safeway Corporation to eliminate an unneeded parking lot and double the pitiful size of our Safeway. (Even doubled, it is still small enough to be known locally as the Soviet Safeway because it hasn’t room for more than one of anything!) The Safeway Corporation owed me big time for my successful efforts on their behalf, and showed their appreciation by giving me an Executive Safeway card. It was usually given to their upper level executives, and gave me no extra savings, but it was supposed to act as a kind of Get Out of Jail Card. It was supposed to solve Safeway problems; I put it to the test. I brought it out and passed it back and forth under their stricken noses. I announced to them that by their reselling my already-paid for turkey, solving the problem of finding me a turkey to serve over 20 guests the next day was now their problem. They had till tomorrow morning to solve the problem. I went home to a sound sleep.

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, a 24-lb. unfrozen turkey was still unsold. The union leader was promised double or even triple time if that turkey could be long-distance hauled to the District. At 7:00 am the next morning, when I had already started to string the celery and slice the mushrooms, Turkey No. Three arrived at my door. It was perfect – twenty-four people dined well. Moral: a bird in the hand is worth three in the bush, if those birds are hiding in the car, the supposedly safe location and the far reaches of the Eastern Shore!

SECOND STORY: THE LONG LINE, THE TURKEY, THE DOG AND THE GYPSIES

Many years ago it was possible to buy a live turkey in DC and have it executed, defeathered and rendered oven-ready while you waited. Eating a freshly-killed bird was thought to be both healthier and more delicious than eating a previously rockhard frozen turkey which had to be thawed (usually in the bathtub) for several days before cooking. Far fewer people were vegans or even vegetarians in those bygone days, and a really fresh turkey was considered to be the epitome of a gourmet approach to cooking a bird, especially a Thanksgiving bird.

The result was a huge line the day or two before Thanksgiving. People would wait for hours for their bird. On this day before Thanksgiving a good three decades ago, I found myself in such a line. It is quite common for strangers who are stuck in what seems to be a permanent line, to start talking to each other to pass the time and eventually bond together. This is exactly what happened that morning. We found each other congenial as well as slightly demented from the wait. Stories were passed around, judgments were made on public events, politicians and musicians past and present, and anything that could be dredged up to help pass time during the long wait became fair game.

Now fair game is precisely the right word. It was hard not to notice that a few of the butcher’s stock in trade were small birds strutting around outside amongst the persons in line. They pecked away at invisible goodies in the hard, rocky soil, quite unaware of their impending doom. Probably the butchers allowed them a small period of freedom as they couldn’t get away, having had their wings cut as chicks to deter flight. Their potential for fine dining was gratefully commented upon by the waiters-in-line, who had nothing better to do with their time as they waited.

Now as it happened, the potential purchasers were not the only assessors of the little birds walking around. A tough old mutt lurking nearby seemed also to be sizing them up. The dog was sufficiently dirtyy and fierce-looking that it was assumed to be on the loose and without an owner. It looked hungry. Eventually, specific hypotheses began to develop around the question of whether the dog might have an eye out for a free dinner, as it seemed to be hanging around for some dinner-related purpose. The waiters began to hope for the possibility of a genuinely time-passing event. Having nothing better to do, and slightly crazed from the hours in line, they began to encourage the mutt. The mongrel was evaluated and positively rated for adequacy of size, potential speed and sufficient nerve to carry it off. Bets started to be laid whether or not the dog would have the nerve or capacity to grab a bird. To assist the game, the waiters parted just enough to give the hardened old dog enough space to do the evil deed. The dog looked up at us, scarcely believing that it was being encouraged to abscond with a bird. Go for it, the waiters cried, and go for it the mutt did. It made a quick dash, grabbed the bird by the neck and threw it over its shoulder and took off at top speed to the wild applause of those who had bet that he would make the attempt.

What I learned only later was that the dog was the prize valuable of a band of gypsies camping nearby. The dog had been trained to provide them with a free dinner upon command, and did so regularly. It took the waiters, however, to turn his depredations into a genuine, DC sporting event.

Some terrific music we've heard lately - Tango, Puccini and Antiphonal concerts

Lately, we've attended some terrific musical productions. Mme. Magpie hopes you might enjoy a quick review of them.

1. Quintango at the Gala Theatre. This one was a real surprise! We had met several members of Quintango at a Day of the Dead party recently, and they told us about the show. We decided to go, not knowing exactly what to expect. This chamber ensemble is thoroughly professional musically, and fully deserves to be compared in its performance to serious string quartets - the quality was far higher than we expected. In fact, the small ensemble - piano, bass, 2 violins and cello - could hold its own against any of the serious groups in this city. The pianist was sublime in his technique – way past that showy 19th C. crowdpleaser, Louis Moreau Gottschalk, and that says a lot. The addition of two other instrumentalists for a few pieces - a bandurion player and a drummer - were welcome, but actually not critical; Quintango had enough going for it that their absence in much of the program made little if any difference. The program was greatly enhanced by the co-performance of two sublimely talented Tango dancers - their credentials were first-rate, as were their technique and sensitivity to the music to which they danced. Check out Quintango's website - if you like Tango and want to hear it as an artform, Quintago is the group for you. Yummy!

2. Puccini. This was a Washington Chorus production, featuring a substantial orchestra (including four bass fiddles!) the huge chorus that is their trademark, an extremely well-balanced group of soloists, and some of the most hummable music that has ever been sung. It is not so common to have a group of soloists who were as evenly talented as this group was. Almost any of them could have slipped into one of the other roles written for the same voice without any loss of smoothness or artistic production. There wasn't a slacker among them, and the voice quality was uniformly excellent. Some fine acting as well! The performance was sparkling, with lots of arias that persons with any interest in opera would certainly know. The audience left the Kennedy Center positively fizzing with delight.

3. Antiphonal Music through the Ages. This concert, from the Washington Choral Arts Society, was a hands-down winner. Antiphonal music was a new experience for Madame Magpie's husband, if not for her - a former member of the Boston Pro Music Antiqua - and both of us had a rousing good time. Antiphonal music, both choral and brass instrument-oriented, is really exciting stuff. Fundamentally, the music is split up into at least two groups and can go up to as many as eight choruses. Pieces may be call and response, or everyone singing the same music at the same time from different locations around the concert hall, or the music may be polyphonic - different melodies and harmonies sung at the same time from different locations, or in great massive blocks, in two or more locations. The most delightful and unusual experience was to be able to follow a phrase or theme when the chorus was divided into eight groups, with some on the stage and the rest across the first balcony completely circling the concert hall. The theme would appear on one side of the hall and rise then fall, moving around, usually clockwise until the entire concert hall had been traversed. That was great fun, indeed!

As different pieces were divided up into different sized and placed groups, there was a lot of chorus moving; it was something like seeing a living kaleidoscope in action. This was handled extraordinarily well- the logistics involved were equal to those involving the moving of armies over complicated terrain - and the program used the time necessary for carrying out the chorus redeployments exceptionally well by putting on a wonderful antiphonal brass program while the choristers gracefully moved to their new location. Mme. Magpie was particularly taken with two of Praetorius' Dances from Terpsichore, but she must reveal bias in her delight, as one of the Dances was part of the musical prelude program to her wedding forty-two years ago.

An interesting sidenote to an antiphonal concert is how the conductor arranged himself so that his direction could be seen by choral - and brass - members who were not to be found in their customary straight line-of-sight locations. The conductor had to modify his usual technique in order to be seen by musicians to the right and left, as well as a whole tier higher than his head. He solved the problem by conducting from a raised podium right in the center of the concert hall itself. Very thoughtful, very clever, very successful - exactly the right words to describe the concert itself.

The Gabrieli, Tallis and Biebl pieces were the choral highlights of the concert. The Gabrielis were delicious, over the top swooning crashes of pure, sensual sound (if those two adjectives can both refer to the same sense at the same time!). Thomas Tallis is one of the stars of the brilliant Tudor musical scene, and his piece is profound in its meaning as well as its musicality; its deep religious pull is gripping, the words and music combining and turning in a setting that offers sublime musicality. The little Biebl piece was a true charmer. Its composer was unknown to me but won me over instantly because of its sweetness and melodic charm. The Martin piece seemed drier, and was considerably lengthier - not that it was boring, but it wasn't in the same class. The fine Benjamin Britten piece had been written when the composer was very young, but it shone in its beauty like the polished piece it is. Genius show itself early in Britten's case!

Not every hall can accommodate antiphonal productions, but this was a true joy to listen to. If you have access to home theater surround sound, so get CDs of the program and give yourself a spectacular treat!

DUPONT CIRCLE CAT BURGLAR CAUGHT - AT LAST!

BREAKING NEWS! Mme. Magpie could not have been happier. At the Dupont Circle ANC Meeting tonight, the MPD announced that they had FINALLY caught the notorious Dupont Circle cat burglar, and that he was confessing his crimes with great relish!

After he had been arrested, he was driven around town and amused himself by picking out home after home into which he had broken. The MPD seemed somewhat stunned with the breathtaking number and variety of his chimney-top entry methodology, but were definitely taking notes.

Mme. Magpie recalls his antics with a certain 'je ne sais quoi", because her nest had been a possible break-in site not long ago. One 4:00 am, she heard a strange noise, and asked her hubby if he had also heard it. When he said yes, she got up to investigate. Lo! and Behold! When she carefully and slowly opened her interior front hall door, she found that it was entirely filled with blue-uniformed MPD officers. She was appalled, of course – because she had on her second-best nightie rather than her Gloria Swanson, Marilyn Monroe special. The shmata didn't even come with a bathrobe, much less any sequins or rhinestones to set off Mme. Magpie's pure white hair! She complained to the Police Powers that be, and they just laughed at her.

It seems that Mme. Magpie's tenant had heard a sound on the roof and called in the MPD, which VERY much wanted to catch said burglar. The tenant didn't call Mme. Magpie, as it was, after all, 4:00 am. So it was quite a shock for Mme. Magpie to find her very own front hall had ben taken over by the MPD hoping that this call was going to be the magic, winning bell. Unfortunately, the sound most probably came from an overachieving raccoon who had been spotted, in a previous incident, shinnying down her rain spout. Such nerve!

This time, Good Karma has prevailed, and the Cat Burglar of Dupont Circle has finally been apprehended. To put it gently, the MPD is breathing a collective sigh of relief; after all a half a year without a Victory was serious bad, not only on the MPD's overtime budget, but on its morale – to say nothing of the morale of Dupont Circlers who came home to find their ceiling stomped in or the skylight open and the little goodies that make life worthwhile all gone. . .

Happy days are here again, folks! Mme. Magpie is imagining a brass band marching this way in celebration, but will settle for the drummers of Dupont Circle. Having solved this problem, let's bring on something much harder – how to find some good mayoral candidates, or maybe how to get voting rights in Congress. Anything seems possible on a day when the Cat Burglar of Dupont Circle is finally down to his last life, which she trusts will be well-spent in a permanent suite in the slammer! .

A CRAZED DRIVER BLAZES DOWN MY BLOCK; WHAT TO DO?

What do you do when some damn fool whips his turbocharged car past you, accelerating up to 60 mph (my estimate) on the block where you live?

Mme. Magpie – a past Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner - and her hubby – the current Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner of our Dupont Circle neighborhood - and a constituent were walking back from a community meeting the other night, when we were practically blown away by the undertow when a fancy foreign car went barreling past us like greased lightning, slamming on the brakes at the last possible minute at the end of the block. It was one of the worst exhibits of unsafe, risky city driving I’ve seen on our block, and I’ve lived at the same address for the past forty years.

There was no way I could let this outrage pass without notice. So I walked up to the car and called the driver on his life-threatening deed – I used no bad words, didn’t lose my temper and didn’t raise my voice. He responded with a sneer about

• how important he is (he said he was a doctor) and

• did I have any idea to whom I was talking, and

• who the hell did I think I was, anyhow, and

•how he intended to repeat his NASCAR experience ”multiple times” now that he knew where we live.

He then proceeded to unleash a full-blown diatribe, filled with unpleasant and certainly erroneous assumptions about what people who objected to his driving must be like. He swore

• that we were old geezers who disapproved of urban street life

• that we must think that everyone living here should be and act just like us, and

• that we wanted to prevent a varied, urban neighborhood.

His final, grand point was that because we lived in the city we had no right to expect people to obey traffic laws – I guess traffic laws must be strictly suburban. He told me, and I quote, “this is the city and I can do anything I want to here.” Perhaps I should be grateful that he didn’t have a Terrible Two temper tantrum on the spot. (Actually, short of lying on the ground, kicking his legs and holding his breath, that’s exactly what he was doing.)

I responded quietly, trying to explain that all I wanted was some sane driving on the block where I live, and that this was not an unreasonable expectation. At that, he stormed off in high dudgeon, disappearing into the evening crowd on 17^th Street.

I was afraid both of what further dangerous actions he might do with his car if he had (any more) alcohol in him, and I was dismayed by his threats to rerun a Grand Prix Course on Corcoran Street. And so I called the MPD.

The police responded quickly and in force. They took seriously his potential for dangerous driving as well as his threats to return and deliberately speed on the little street where I live – a short block with plenty of pedestrian traffic due to the “Soviet” Safeway on our block. Unfortunately, we didn’t know where he had gone, and after several minutes of waiting to see if he might return, the MPD slid off to check out other urban city activities. It was another night in Dodge on a street that used to be called Stab Alley.