STEVENSON HALL HHH HASH # 89 Date: April 12, 1986 Weather: cool, clouds Set by: Kaufman Runners: Joe Burns, Moy Burns, Dan Wachspress, Bob Pascal, Craig Courtney, Ned Cornman, Ned Jackson, Dave Effross, Evy Parker, Don Miller, Jim Gibson, Matt Tarlach, MJ, MJ III, Matt Baker, Jerome Mertz, Rookies: Carolyn Havens, George Pushner, Bill Hiser, Andy Liefeld, John Kimber, Chris Wrampelmeier, Sue Weinbach, Doug Galbi, Chu Ong "Always First to Cooler" Joe Burns, who else? Matt Baker Description, comments: The biggest turnout in some time for this Joe Burns guru-fete. Andy Kaufman promised a gem (some of us will remember that, Andy), and an impressive array of hashing talent was joined by a large contingent of rookies. Baker was there, recalling his roots and eschewing the Philly hash, Mertz The Silent was back for the first time in months, and Wachspress and the geezer were there recalling the good old days. Many ghosts of ancient hashers were evident: Bono in his shroud of mud, Wecker lurching through a stream, and of course Stephanie, so cruelly maimed. There were those who even claimed to detect the faint aura of Arlene President walking the entire course. But where was Jon Bernstein? Suddenly it was clear-he was still lost! A great caravan set out for Kaufman's start and hopes for a memorable hash were immediately dampened by the cheerless streets and malls of Route 1. Only those with hyperacute map sense could know that we were really headed for the edges of Great Bear Swamp! Past the Mercer mawl, past the Quaker Bridge Maul, past mauhls past and future we went, finally turning in just by an immense village of storage bins. One could imagine muffled cries from within those anonymous boxes-perhaps that's where Bernstein disappeared to. We were sent off with stern warnings to heed the arrows and beware of flora and fauna. The start was a series of scalloped twists along the edge of Great Bear Swamp, now so sadly bereft of its Great Bears. We were tantalized with the murk and thorns with many false trails leading into the depths, but only the geezer was fooled, shortcutting into a thicket of thorns through a "shallow" pool of muck that turned out to be 4 feet deep. Despite the size of the pack we were often lost in the dunes and gravel pits adjoining the swamp as Kaufman's marking showed characteristic randomness. We were once rescued by Cornman who succumed to his ecstacy at finding a mark at last and writhed shrieking in the dust --a break dancing dervish od'd on hashish. Back out to Quaker Bridge Road and across to a nest of warehouses and auto repair joints. Wachspress resorted to removing the bridge over a small canal to discourage those following. No luck though as the pack found its way back once again to the road. Along the road we went, finally reaching the obligatory Amtrak overpass. Down to the tracks ran this mini-pack, Pascal, Wachspress and Gibson in the lead, to find the best part of the hash, an Anheuser Busch in full Bud. However they also found, to their ultimate demise, a mark leading down the tracks (or should we say, these days, "traks"?). Away this group ran, following marks, checking false trails,feeling smug in its collective expertise, and ultimately reaching the overpass for US 295. Here the marks climbed the sheer concrete and then disappeared into the thorns and woods. What was this intrepid group to do? They checked here, they checked there. Nothing availed. Against all reason these seasoned hashers persisted in their now obvious folly. No one had followed; despite the marks, they had to be off. Eventually, if it looks like an elephant, feels like an elephant and smells like an elephant, it must be an elephant. And this especially smelly elephant was a false trail. What, I hear you ask, a false trail 3/4 mile long? A false trail of dozens of marks? Such a thing cannot be. But it was. On whom does the blame for this fiasco rest? On Wachspress for finding the first mark? No. On Gibson for leading us up the concrete? No, No. On Pascal's over- competitiveness? On Jaaxon or Miller? On the geezer? On the poor rookies dragged along? No, No, again No! So reasoned this pathetically lost group who would assign all guilt to Kaufman. Though Andy is surely a deserving recipient, what of hubris? What of their feelings that this elite group, so packed with hashing experience, couldn't be wrong, and indeed must be so far ahead that no one else could catch up, or even find the trail? Hashing as metaphor for...-but enough of philosophy, let's get back to the beer. Eventually the now chastened group straggled back along the tracks to the overpass. The ugly crowd was greeted with jeers at the road by the beer van out searching for them. Ignominy! Shame heaped upon shame! Of course the real trail led away from the Budweiser Busch and then across the traks through a tile strip mine and the Alan B. Dempster, Sr. Firing Range to the endpoint. Baker had become lost on yet another longcut and had stumbled on the end from the wrong direction. Despite this lucky win, there is surely no need yet to reconsider the worry expressed last week as to Baker's hashing sharpness. Burns, nose for beer acute as ever, had followed the real trail to the end and Evy Parker, Moy Burns (think of the genetic advantage of Kiko and Danny--if only there were a Professional Hashing League!) and Sue Weinbach were next. Thank God for the beer! Back to the Jones' for an apres. The keg was emptied in short order; 10,000 chickens were inhaled by the hungry group. Fortunately there were ample Stegs in the fridge, and the evening progressed--some would say degenerated-- to a memorable rendition by Gibson and the geezer of "So long Mom, I'm off to drop the bomb." How sadly prophetic! We all hugged Joe and Moy and headed for home. Next Hashes: Sunday, April 20, #90, 2 pm, Wachspress sets. Sunday, April 27, #91, 2 pm, The geezer sets Sunday, May 4, #92, 2 pm, We need volunteers Sunday, May 11, #93, 2 pm, Courtney,Tarlach set. Saturday,Sept. 13, 1986, #100 (by definition); be alert, save the weekend.