WC Fields on Friendship

W.C. Fields

on Friendship

Edwin H. Cooper, writer of human interest stories and articles, has been published in many Texas magazines and newspapers, and prior to his death was active in numerous civic and school organizations. His book, 40 Years at Aggieland, was published in 2013.

There must be hundreds of ways to define the word “friendship.” Probably no two people in the world would describe it precisely the same way. And yet its meaning to each of us, should the truth be known, is probably exceeded in importance only by the word “love.”

In a movie comedy scene way back there, W. C. Fields was engaged in a friendly game of eight ball with the local sheriff. As the game ended, the sheriff reached into a pool table pocket and came out with a couple of balls and a strange object which he held up to identify. Turns out it was a glass eye, brown in color. “Who do you suppose this eye belongs to?” the sheriff inquired. Fields said, “It probably belongs to old Seth Tatersall who was playing just before you. He’d had a few and probably doesn’t know it’s missing.” The sheriff put his cue stick back in the rack and left to track down old Seth. “There goes a real friend,” said Fields to the other players hanging around. “Who else do you know who would give up a game of pool just to give a drunk his glass eye back?”

With no trouble at all, I’ll bet that you can recall many acts of friendship that have occurred in your life. Things that you just don’t forget—some humorous, some that will twang your heart-strings.

When we were growing up, it was not uncommon to judge a person by how many friends he/she had. This was not a kind thing to do, but we did it anyway—along with some other unkind things. I tried real hard to have lots of friends and succeeded fairly well. Along this line, Mother always got a kick out of a sign I posted on the back screen door after staying home from school one day on account of illness. The sign said, “To all my friends— Come on in—I have the measles—signed, Edwin.” Now that I think about it, I’m not sure my motive wasn’t self-indulgence rather than friendship. Anyway, they did come in and waited on me hand and foot, my being so sick and all.

In more recent times we were staying with old friends in Temple while I was going through some serious testing at Scott and White Clinic. Having a friendly place to stay during such times was a morale booster in itself, as opposed to the cold confines of a motel room. I was told afterwards that while we went to the clinic for results of the most important test of all that my old friend sat down in his home polishing a worn-out pair of loafers I’d left behind, big tears rolling down his cheeks as he pondered my fate. Well, the tests turned out good, my friend was relieved, and I wore those old shoes several more years—with warm memories of a special friendship that had been rubbed into that brittle leather.

One of the presidents of a very large school told me several times, as a bit of friendly advice, that a person can’t afford to have more than three or four really good friends. “To have a good friend is expensive,” he’d say. “Because to have a good friend you have to be one yourself. You do whatever it takes to keep him, no matter the cost. You need to share a lot of time together—when ties are good or when they are gloomy,” he would go on. “You maintain friendships during times of sickness and health—during times of good fortune and bad.” He made friendship sound like a serious affair. And I think he was right.

Through all this experience and advice, when I see a good friend walking up, it makes me smile all over—inside and out. Whatever the price, it’s worth it. Maybe the words friendship and love are kin to each other.