By Les Linz

A year and a day ago, my first Humor: More or Les column appeared in The Tribune.

Today’s work may be the “final” one, though as phrase originator and late author Charles Dickens was to have said through a character in his 1837 work “Pickwick Papers,” “Never say never.”

Within a month (or so), I look to have a book out that revisits all 52 columns. It lets the reader in on what was going on in my mind at the time, along with some other tidbits I hope they’ll find fascinating.

Over the last annum, I’ve become friends with people I’ve never met (which I hope changes at some point), although for at least one of them, the introduction will need to be post-mortem.

I’ve learned a lot from Dave Barry, and my hat’s off to him or anyone else who writes a unique weekly column under time constraints. Perhaps my greatest lessons, though, came from the late actor Steven Hill (Law and Order’s Adam Schiff). A big thank you, sir.

So as I pondered on what to write about for a final column, it came to me: Finality.

Here then are some common “finalities” in our life and what they do or do not mean for us (Note: Please stay tuned to the end of this article to read the preface of the forthcoming book).

Final approach

That sounds ominous.

A dear late friend of mine used to crack me up by contorting his face in faux terror, all the while scrunching fingers on either hand as though he were a hamster begging for food and simultaneously working to bug his eyes out any time he heard the phrase. I was fortunate to be with him when he did — on more than one occasion — and I still laugh just thinking about it. Thank you, Tom.

Final exam

This is an odd duck. It brings both trepidation and delight at the same time.

The trepidation

When I took my junior college finals, I had four the same day and they were all blue books.

Blue books are blue-covered exam booklets of four sheets (eight pages) of wide-ruled blue lines on a white background with a red margin on either side of the page. They are stapled together in a makeshift spine and diabolically designed to extract blood from the student that unwittingly shreds a finger on one (easy to do — quality at the factory does not seem to be job one).

Stress comes in many forms when facing a blue book test-taking session.

For one thing, writer’s cramp is a given and the mind begins to wander from the onset:

“What are they looking for?” “Do they want me to fill up all eight pages?” “Do they want to see how succinct I can be? Do they need extra fertilizer for their lawn? And why did the nerd just go up for his second book while I haven’t finished page one of my first yet and how can I kill him while still making it look like an accident?”

By the time I finished that last exam, my head was so numb I couldn’t feel my hat and my right wrist resembled the thigh of a recently deceased African elephant. The worst thing was I was so tired that any attempt to effectively plan the bookworm’s demise was futile.

The delight

Final means it’s done, as in no more.

After the junior college assessments, I was simply exhausted, but when I finished my university tests (the last three coming on the same day), that was a different story.

If I didn’t want to, I’d never have to spend another day at school in my life, other than parent-teacher conferences, which I presumed would come years down the road.

Now, it was book selling time.

To my surprise and delight, I got something like $85 back from returning my class volumes to the university bookstore — a small fortune in those days — and I immediately went to the student union to play four and a half hours of table tennis.

Then I was off to the bowling center.

Twenty-six games later (with an average of more than 150 per game), I hobbled back to the dorm and over the course of the next few days ruminated in bed on how I would never be able to walk again and put my fine liberal arts education to good use.

Alas, I eventually did walk with the assistance of a cane, and I have since spent decades of career time in the exciting field of customer service.

All sales are final

I feel sorry for anybody having to work with those words above their head. It puts the clerk in an adversarial relationship.

What customer doesn’t think that the employee will either make an exception — or should make one — just because it would be more convenient to him or her, whether or not he or she has a receipt?

This can also be a “Danger, danger. Warning Will Robinson!” moment. If all sales are final, expect that what you’ve bought has a planned obsolescence of about 20 minutes. You can’t win but hope to. You know if it lasts more than an hour, you’re the man (or woman) and that purchasing a winning lottery ticket should be next on your agenda.

And after all is said and done?

Final expenses

Ouch.

Most don’t think in advance as to what they could be suffice it to say you can go out to your mailbox just about any day and find you’re now eligible for this new “secret” Indiana program that enables you to get up to $55,000 without it costing you a penny. It won’t, that much is true. It will cost much more than one, pretty or otherwise.

Don’t fall for the scam.

Insurance to cover final expenses is a good idea. Ask any widow or widower. See an insurance agent sooner rather than later for the best possible ratio of cost to coverage.

A conclusion and beginning

First, the conclusion.

We started off today’s column with the originator of a popular phrase. We’ll (almost) conclude likewise.

Fifteenth century monk and poet John Lydgate was to have said, “You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.”

Not everyone’s going to like or understand everything you write all of the time. Even Dave Barry acknowledges that.

I am grateful for the smiles I’ve brought to reader faces over the past year, genuinely sorry for the ones who sported anguished looks and especially appreciative for the opportunities afforded by Aubrey Woods and the rest of The Tribune staff to have been able to entertain, enlighten and engage.

And now, a new beginning.

Preface from “Humor: More

or Les: A Year in the Life”

Back in May 2005, I was playing piano for New Life Assembly of God in Seymour where the Rev. Stephen “Steve” Hyer was pastoring. Steve was (and still is) a good friend to many, including the Rev. Gary W. Dyer. Gary had not met me yet and asked the jocular pastor who I was.

“Oh,” he replied in seriousness, “that’s Les Moore.”

As Gary tells it, years later, he was introducing me to another when I quietly said, “Gary, my name isn’t Les Moore. It’s Les Linz.”

A shocked brother expressed sorrow and explained that’s how Pastor Hyer had referred to me. We all got a laugh out of it.

But 2005 wasn’t the first time I’d heard that — more or less.

In early August 2020, I wanted a catchy name for the weekly humor column I volunteered to write for The Tribune when I recalled seeking a “word” from the Lord in 1984. Still young in my faith walk, I wanted to bless God as much as possible.

Then it came.

“I want more of you, Les, and less of you more.” At the same time, I understood it to mean “I want more of you Less, and less of humor.”

He wasn’t only wanting me to be more devoted to him while being less devoted to myself, but he wanted me to be less devoted to myself so that the idol of humor was done away with in my life.

I’m surprised I ever asked him for a “word” at all after that.

So when I was racking my brain for that catchy name, the marriage of his “word” and their words, Steve’s and Gary’s, came together.

And so Humor: More or Les was born.

So the next time you’re out and about in Seymour, stop by New Life Assembly of God on Brookhaven Drive, and when you see Pastor Steve, please make sure to tell him Les Moore declared that, “The workman is worthy of his Hyer.”