Bob Larson, the one-eyed actuary, was the smartest man I ever met. He was the author of a textbook on actuarial science: The Mathematics of Life Insurance, which was a big seller in India, where he once deplaned and was greeted by dozens (it maybe have been 100's according to Bob, who was not prone to exaggeration, but memory is a net full of holes, and mine is perhaps more or less holy than ever) of Indian actuarial students seeking his signature.
Bob was a dear friend, a man I admired greatly, a brilliant bridge player, a gifted raconteur, a man I loved and admired. He was also one of the finest writers I've encountered; a master of pith. As my Spring Cleaning 1992 project continues ambling along, I uncovered this Larson treasure. It brought many, many fond memories, a smile to my face, and a hurt stomach as I had to stifle a round of gut-bursting laughter lest the other library patrons complain.
All that Bob wrote of was based on his experiences. He did not write fiction (but he maybe have embellished for literary effect; I never asked, and I didn't care - he was just so so so good at it).
Early 1990
THE LARSONS' LATEST FOLLY
FIRST PROLOGUE
The purpose of this letter is to announce a new address. Since we have few friends and not many relative to whom we speak, I can't justify a form letter without adding a few names. Therefore, some of you may wonder who we are and others of you are still mad at me for something you think I said (or might have thought) many years ago. To this last group I deny everything. I didn't even know what an opinionated idiot was until I retired and started playing bridge in Hinsdale.
SECOND PROLOGUE
It finally dawned on us that (1) our house was now too bid and (2) we needed a major change. Therefore, when we got back from our June trip to Chicoutini, Quebec (the famous sin city), we put our house up for sale and said we planned to move to California. We had to endure many house showings and--worse--innumerable comments about smog, earthquakes, kookie people, and expensive housing. It was sort of like our 1966 move from Nebraska. I was in the yard when a passerby saw the for sale sign and asked where we were going. When I said Chicago, she said, "Oh, your poor thing."
We didn't sell until November, closed on January 4, and left the next day. During the last days, we got rid of a large percentage of our possessions by selling, giving, and tossing. I went so far as to toss grade books, diplomas, and pictures of old girlfriends.
THE JOURNEY
Since Fern is our only driver, we didn't try for speed records. We took 8 days to get to Southern California and two more days and a bottle of tranquilizers to make the last 80 miles. When we got here, we looked at apartments in Leisure World, made an offer, had it accepted, and then spent a long stretch in a motel waiting for red tape to be cleared away.
I thought we had an interesting and varied trip. Motel 6 one night and Embassy Suites the next. I thought it said Economy. That's why Fern is our only driver.
The car started misbehaving badly as we crossed the line from Texas to New Mexico. Fern limped into a Weight Station and a mechanic came out from the little bitty nearby town. He raced the motor for 10 minutes and then asked what kind of car it was. When we said Pontiac, he said he wasn't familiar with the new cars. We hadn't even told him it was a 1982.
Eventually a tow truck towed us into Tucumcari where they found the trouble, fixed it, and we haven't had any trouble since. It seems the trouble was a bruised franistan. This is a very expensive part.
While waiting for the car, we found a restaurant called El Toro. There we were served luke-warm soup by a red-hot waitress, who looked very good in what she had squeezed into.
THE ADDRESS
Our new address is
XXX D Ave. Sevilla
Laguna Hills, CA 92653
The "Ave." stands for "Avenida" but I plan to pretend I don't know that.
EPILOGUE
Leisure World is a walled retirement community with about 21,600 people. There's another one in Seal Beach.
We used our daughter Katie's ... address as a mail drop until we had a place in Leisure World. We still haven't convinced all of our correspondents that we aren't in Western Springs, IL., anymore. Getting an address changed is truly frustrating. One non-profit outfit says they have no time for address changes because they work only a 4-day week.
I had planned to write about our marvelous marriage, our super family, my collection of antique cars, and our busy, busy life but I ran out of gas.
Bob Larson
