Mr. Huntington Had No Time For The Renaissance
A couple of people have written me recently to ask if my high school gym teacher, Mr. Huntington, was really as beloved as I thought he was. You couldn’t find a student at the school that didn’t love him as a man and a teacher. He was the most often thanked teacher at senior graduation. I think one year he was thanked 53 out of 54 times. Oh, and yeah, the person who didn’t thank him later had to issue a press statement apologizing for his oversight, blaming it on his recently acquired crack habit. Or something. But seriously, he really was the most liked guy anywhere.
In fact, rainy days at my high school were called Much Huntington Days. See, when it rained, that meant no PE, so what that meant was sitting in a classroom with Mr. Huntington as he turned another story for students lucky enough to have him for PE that day. It was a day we all hoped for, and it always at some point in the year. It’s the day we always learned the most about the world.
One of those days was in 11th grade. It rained and rained and rained. It was as if someone was doing a rain dance on speed, it rained so much. So there were many Much Huntington Days. He sat us down and decided to tell us about his previous weekend. Friday night he and his wife were invited to a friend of a friend’s live performance. It was a one-man show and was described to him as “Renaissance Comedy.”
“Reanaissance Comedy?” Mr. Huntington responded.
“Yeah, like how comedy would be if we lived in the Renaissance.”
“But we live in modern times, motherfucker,” replied Mr. Huntington vehemently. “And as if there was really all that much laughing and chortling going on back in the days of da Vinci and Michelangelo. Yeah, those guys were a fucking riot! No fucker, there weren’t ain’t no comedy back then, just fuckers painting naked bitches or carving ‘dudes’ in marble.”
But, Mr. Huntington being the good friend he is, went anyway.
The night of the performance, Mr. Huntington went to the small theater in North Hollywood, CA to see “Renaissance Comedy.” Turns out that was the actual name of the one-man show. The creative bastard was clearly hard at work with this one. Everyone milled about before the show, then took their seats when the lights were dimmed. They sat patiently when finally the night, of what Mr. Huntington thought would be pain, was about to begin.
The lights rose and there stood on the stage a man in full renaissance faire type garb. He had the fluffy, poofy, much of the gay blouse on, with trousers made of cotton material that was all loosey and flowy and what not, some turd brown mocassins made of thin leather that couldn’t possibly be comfortable shoe things and a pissed-Mr.-Huntington-off Renaissance flavored hat. He said the guy looked like a retarded Peter Pan, but not in a good way and no, there is no good way to view Peter Pan. And then he opened his mouth.
[English Accent] “Good evening my wonderful gentleman and beautiful ladies,” said the actor.
Mr. Huntington thought to himself, “Why is it that whenever there’s a Renaissance flavored sketch the actor always takes on an English accent. As if there were no other accents during the Renaissance. How about the French, motherfucker?!”
Getting back to the actor. [English Accent] “Good evening my wonderful gentleman and beautiful ladies,” said the actor. “Thank you for making a visit this fine day. (pauses, lays out right hand) On this hand we have comedy (then lays out left hand) and on this hand we have drama.”
At that precise moment, Mr. Huntington stood up from his seat and shouted, “And in this hand I have a big fuck you, motherfucker!” And there he stood with his right hand outstrecthed with a middle finger pointed squarely at the heavens.
Half of us sat there in the classroom quiet and dumbfounded, while the other half laughed hysterically! Did Mr. Huntington really have the balls to do that inside a crowded theater?
After about five seconds he said, “Shit, I didn’t do that shit. My wife would have my dick sack for lunch if I said that. But I wanted to. Oh sweet Vanessa Williams’ ass I wanted to.”
We all had a good laugh and he went on to admit he did go to Renaissance Faire’s as a young man with some friends because they wanted to. He’d always go along, mock his friends who went in costume, have himself a turkey leg and a healthy pint, then on his way out of the Faire he’d scream out, “People, there’s a reason we wear proper clothing and don’t ride mules no more - it’s called progress you cracker motheruckers!”
