Bucks County HeraldAugust 14, 2008

Potentate Picnic

 

Dear Friends,

            Good morning. Last week, my friend John Moyer and I made our annual pilgrimage to the Pote’s Picnic near Reading. “Pote” is shorthand for Potentate, the chief executive of the Rajah Shrine. This is the day that John and I leave our healthy diets behind and sin with random abandonment.

 “If you’re going to eat the wrong stuff, do it all at once,” my heart surgeon, Dr. Richard Edie advised 27 years ago. Fortunately, we’re 40 years older than we were when we first joined, so we can’t ingest as much sin as we used to be able to do.

            On the first Wednesday of every August, the Rajah Shrine creates a food frenzy, attracting tons of men who spend the afternoon gorging themselves on the following: smoked, fresh and beer sausages, hot dogs, hamburgers, New England clam chowder, chicken noodle soup, chips, pretzels, varieties of cheese, six flavors of ice cream, peanuts, soft drinks, six choices of beer, and of course steamed clams. The steamers are served at 1 PM…raw clams 90 minutes later.

            And the price? Just 30 bucks! ($25 if you pay in advance.)

            There were more than 1,400 who attended (my ticket stub number was 1401). John estimated that the average age and weight of the Shriners was 67 ½ and 225 pounds, respectively.

            Before I confess to what we ate, let me tell you about the Shrine fraternity.

            “The Shriners have a rich history of fellowship and philanthropy,” its website begins. “The organization consists of approximately 500,000 men belonging to 191 Shrine Temples, or chapters, throughout North America. (Most Bucks, Montgomery, and Lehigh Shriners belong to the Rajah Shrine.)

“The Shrine is known for its colorful parades, circuses and clowns. But there is also a serious side to this international fraternity,” the website continues. “For more than 75 years, the Shrine has operated a network of 22 specialized hospitals to treat children with orthopedic problems, burns and spinal cord injuries, up to their 18th birthday, free of charge. More than 700,000 children have been treated at no cost to the family.”

 

But I stray.

We arrived at 12:15, expecting to pig out ‘til five. But like our college days when we’d see how far we’d get in Philadelphia, buying one beer in every saloon along Market Street, we just wore out. John and I left at 2…we’re such wimps!

He made a list, plus an estimated retail price of what we consumed: clam chowder $3; buttered corn $1.25; sausage sandwich $5; bologna and cheese $1.75; peanuts .50; 18 steamed clams $7.50; three beers, $13.50; a pint of ice cream $5…for a total of $37.50.  And we paid $30, each!

You can understand why the professional heavy weight eaters made a killing. I figured that we stayed one hour, 45 minutes at the picnic so we were eating at the rate of 35 cents per minute. If eaters kept that pace for five hours, they’d polish off $105 worth of food (300 minutes times 35cents per minute). Fortunately Rajah Shrine didn’t take a financial bath because most of the food and drink was either donated or provided at deep discounts.

John advised me to take a towel…I did, although I should have worn a leaf bag with a hole cut out for my head. When I arrived home, Mighty Betsy complained that the aroma was so frightening that I rinsed off with the garden hose.

We forgot to take our shotguns and were unable to shoot on the clay pigeon range. But we did stay long enough to hear the Rajah string band, which was seated on a specially built trailer. Consider the instrumentation…nine banjos (one player also sang), one guitar, one drummer, four trumpets, one trombone, two saxophones, and a conductor thrown in for good measure. What occasional glorious and curious sounds they made! I was intrigued by the intonation…but they played robustly.

Fortunately, I forgot to take a few cigars along. Although we rode to the picnic in my 198,000-mile, dented convertible with the top down, even the fresh air couldn’t erase the 105 minutes of sinning.

My friend, Father Fred Riegler, the pastor of St. Isidore’s Catholic Church has often advised me, “Confession is good for the soul.” He’s lucky that I’m not a member of his congregation.

 

Sincerely,

Charles Meredith