A Piedmont Lantern Story

Now, Piedmont had seen its share of charitable endeavors over the years. Everything from bake sales to curing all known diseases to car washes that left every automobile dirtier than before. But no one in their right mind ever thought Jimmy Matthew Cartwright ought to be placed anywhere near a cash box, a clipboard, or a plan.

Which is exactly why he ended up helpin’ organize the April Fundraiser for the Piedmont Fire Department.

The trouble began when Chief Hardy muttered, “Lord, we need help,” and Jimmy overheard the word help floatin’ across the room like it was lookin’ for a fool to latch onto.

Jimmy puffed out his chest and declared, “Chief, you done asked the right man.”

Jim Leroy, witnessin’ the moment, whispered under his breath, “Naw, he shore didn’t,” but it was too late. The Chief had hope in his eyes, desperation on his breath, and no backup plan whatsoever.

The idea was simple.
Too simple.

A community yard sale to raise money for new hoses and maybe, if things went real well, a decent coffee maker that didn’t spit grounds like tobacco juice.

All Jimmy had to do was handle donations and sorting.

Now, Jimmy Matthew believed himself a connoisseur of yard-sale goods. He once bragged he could tell the difference between treasure and trash by smell alone. This, unfortunately, was prob’ly true because Jimmy smelled everything he touched.

Folks brought piles of old clothes, mismatched dishes, lawn chairs with only three trustworthy legs, and a box of VHS tapes so warped by heat they looked like modern art.

Jimmy set the piles in his own system.

A system no human mind could decipher.

One table was labeled:
“Usable.”

Another:
“Almost.”

A third:
“Spiritually Intact but Physically Unsound.”

And a fourth, the largest, simply said:
“Bless Its Heart.”

Jim Leroy stared at that table long and hard, wonderin’ how many objects had their feelings hurt just sittin’ there.

The real catastrophe came when a nice lady from over near Spring Garden donated a cardboard box that once belonged to her late father. She said it held “old tools and odds and ends.” She wasn’t sure what, exactly, but figured someone might find use for it.

Jimmy, who did not hear the full sentence on account of bein’ distracted by a squirrel, hauled the box straight to the “High Value” table and decided to open it for display.

Inside were:

• A rusted monkey wrench
• Three hand-forged chisels
• A hammer with the handle taped together
• A pocketknife older than sin
• One brass spittoon
• And a small, cloth-wrapped object Jimmy didn’t recognize

Naturally, he unwrapped the mystery object.

It was a taxidermized bobcat head.

A very angry-lookin’ one.

If Jimmy had stopped right there, Piedmont might’ve been spared what came next. But Jimmy, full of enthusiasm and devoid of wisdom, lifted the bobcat head high and shouted:

“Now who wouldn’t want one of THESE on their mantel?”

Problem was, the head was full of untreated tannin dust, and when Jimmy shook it like a trophy, that dust clouded out like the wrath of God.

People screamed.
Children cried.
Mrs. Betty Cole fainted against a table of Pyrex dishes.
The fire department itself nearly called the fire department.

The dust set off three allergies, one asthma attack, and a marital dispute between Earl and Delores Simms (Delores later claimed Earl ducked behind her to avoid the cloud, sacrificin’ his wife as a human shield).

Somewhere in all the commotion, Jimmy knocked over the cash box, which scattered the fundraiser money across the asphalt like holy confetti. Donations blew into the drainage ditch. Rae Ann Morgan’s Yorkie chased the spittoon. A chisel lodged itself upright in the ground like the sword in the stone.

When the chaos settled, Chief Hardy took a slow breath, looked at the sky as if seekin’ counsel, and then spoke in a solemn tone.

“Jimmy Matthew… son… I don’t know what to do with you.”

Jimmy squinted, confused. “What’d I do?”

Jim Leroy answered for the Chief.

“You raised awareness. Not funds. But by the Lord’s grace, you raised awareness.”

Chief Hardy nodded slowly. “Awareness and my blood pressure.”

And so, the Great April Fundraiser Fiasco entered Piedmont history, filed neatly between “The Cow in the Voting Booth Incident” and “That One Year the Duck Still Won the Cake Walk.”

Folks talked about it for weeks.
Some in laughter.
Some in bewilderment.
Some while scrubbin’ bobcat dust off their church clothes.

But as always, nobody stayed mad at Jimmy Matthew for long.

Because Piedmont knew the truth.

Jimmy never meant no harm.
He only meant help.

It was just that the universe insisted on respondin’ to his good intentions with a heavy dose of slapstick tragedy.