For the longest time I was wondering where the president of Afghanistan got his hats.

They were remembered but I did not know where from. Today, l remembered. It happened like this:

As a kid, I spent a lot of time with other kids hanging around the street corners of New York City. Every now and then, an organ grinder played out snippets of operas, which were pleasant even to our ears. He had a cute little monkey on a lightweight chain. We would drop pennies on the sidewalk, the monkey would pick them up, doff his hat and take them to the grinder, who smiled.

Alas, along came the ubiquitous incorrigibles (they are all over). One bought a pair of pliers and a supply of pennies, the other, a goodly supply of matches. The pliers held the penny and the matches heated it. The monkey picked it up and ran screaming to the grinder, who ministered to him, packed up and left. We never saw the grinder again.

Then I remembered. The monkey wore a hat just like the one Hamid Karzai wears.

One would think that with all the money we send to Karzai he could go out and at least buy a turkey feather for his hat.

Robert W. Vitolo


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