Sturdy Gert McCurdy had just returned from a visit to her old stomping grounds of Red Eye, and I don’t believe she had even set her bags down when she was asked to correct a problem with some of the clientele at the Stunted Pines Saloon and Manicure Shop down on White Plains Boulevard. She walked in, sized up the situation and felled the principal troublemaker with a thunderous forearm smash to the midriff, and that was the end to that, believe you me.
On her way out she paused only long enough to introduce her latest romantic conquest, a weak-chinned chap named Palmer who always followed ten steps behind Sturdy, and invariably began trembling when she came any closer. Palmer seems like a nice enough chap, but I really don’t see a lengthy future for the relationship because I suspect that Palmer cannot withstand an uupercut to the chin, and that happens to be Sturdy’s favorite way of showing affection.
It is a well known fact within our little group that she really likes you if you have been knocked cold by one of her wallops, but she gets cross if you are unconscious for longer than 15 minutes. It is not because of the time and effort involved in getting the loser back on his feet, she explained to me, it’s the expense.
Sturdy pointed out that the cost of smelling salts keeps increasing, and she really can’t afford to keep running around reviving her victims before they become entombed in the snow banks that dot the landscape when winter arrives.
By the way, I happened to glance out the shop window just in time to see Palmer being carted off to the train station, and I fear that he did not measure up to Sturdy’s code of conduct. He seemed like a nice enough sort of chap, and I am sure he will get right back in the middle of the social scene just as soon as his facial wounds heal.
Now that those matters have been cleared up, the time has come for me to tell you that Sturdy and I and all the other social miscreants that you have encountered in this column are calling it quits. Speaking for myself, it has been a joyous run and one that has been made so thanks to the editorial freedom I have been accorded by Sheila Blinoff, the big boss at Beach Metro, and Carole Stimmell, the editorial chief with whom I worked so closely through the years. I learned a great deal from both of them and I hope their patient tutelage has been reflected in the offerings that I have produced over the years.
And before I leave I wish to thank all the other members of the Beach Metro staff who always treated me with unfailing politeness whenever I came to them with my inane problems. Thanks to all of you, and my best wishes to Carole’s successor, the well-travelled Jon Muldoon. All the best Jon and welcome back to the fold.