Village Squire, 1976-06, Page 34"PO •
BY KEITH ROULSTON
Stop the presses. Here's a flash to go
around the world.
I have just found the authentic
unadulterated will of Howard Hughes. I
found it in my attic the other day while
looking for my tennis shoes, the ones with
the hole, where by big toe sticks out. What
was it doing there? Well can't really say,
but Hughes always liked seclusion so
maybe he sneaked in one day while I was
out and stayed there for a couple of months
(what the heck, I never used it anyway).
Lets face it, my attic comes a little cheaper
than the tcp floor of the Bayshore Inn in
Vancouver where Howard lived for a while.
He didn't even have to seal off the windows
like his other haunts, because the attic
doesn't have any. He would have stayed a
couple of months for all I know because I
never go up there if I can help it...bats, you
know.
Anyway, the will was there, just behind
the genuine antique Canadian pottery urn
that I "stole" at an auction for only $150.
and proudly displayed in the livingroom
until my smart -aleck brother-in-law
showed the "Made in Taiwan" stamp on
the bottom. I know the will's authentic,
because it's written on the back of a sheet
of hotel stationery from Howard's Los
How Howard Hughes came to leave
me his fortune
Vegas hotel (everybody knows he wouldn't
have gotten so rich if he hadn't cut corners
here and there, like on paper).
Anyway, I want you to be the first to
know I'm rich. Old Howie came through
just like he told me he would. He left me a
1/164 share of his fortune. He left the bulk
of the rest to National Society for the
Preservation of the Spruce Goose, and to
Girl Watchers International.
Why me, you .say. Well, everybody
knows that Howie baby had two great
passions: pretty women, and sweets. He'd
send photographers all over, the world to
get pictures of gorgeous women. It was
little known, however that he also sent
gourmets all over the world to seek out the
best sweets. It was in such an incident that
a strange man showed up on my doorstep
one day, trench coat pulled up around his
ears.
'rve come for the fudge," he said.
'What" I asked bewildered.
"The fudge, the fudge man. Come,
come, we know you've got it."
"How did you know"?
"We have ears everywhere. Now give
me the recipe or we have ways of making
you talk.".
"Sure," I said,. "no big deal." Actually
I'd become used to people fighting over my
1
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32, VILLAGE SQUIRE/JUNE 1976
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great aunt Myrtle's fudge recipe so
nothing surprised me anymore. He took a
picture of the recipe with the miniature
camera he had hidden somewhere
underneath his coat.
When I asked who he was he just
shrugged. It was a few days later that I got
a rather sticky note in shaky handwriting
thanking me for the best fudge recipe
Howie had ever tasted. That began our
friendship. I later sent him my great
grandmother's recipe for taffy apples, my
cousin Herman's recipe for ginger snaps
and my own special recipe for c4rmel
popcorn. Our letters became more frequent
and more friendly. I liked the man. I didn't
even object when he asked me- to bake my '
letters for three hours in a 350 degree oven
before sending them to him so that all my
germs would be killed.
He invited me down to see him a couple
of times but somehow the idea of talking to
him through a glass petition in a,darkened
room didn't seem all that great. Maybe I
should have gone. I might have gotten a
full on percent share of the estate. Ah
well, what's money anyway..See you after I
come back from my round -the -world
cruise
And don't believe those people who try
to tell you m` ill's a phony Howie'd
never lie to me
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