Liar's Club
If you want to one-up someone in the member's lounge at the Myers Rod and Gun Club, you better come armed with more than the truth.
by Alan Jones
February 1, 2005
The Myers Club got its nickname, 'The
Liar's Club,' thanks to one of its longstanding members, 'Bellicose' Bill Vanderbelt, who
steadfastly maintains he is a member of the Vanderbilt family, those scions of America's industrial
royalty, (claiming that his spelling is the more proper European form) ' despite not displaying any
of the trappings that one might normally associate with a person of wealth, like a fancy car,
pocketful of cash, or, at the very least, a decent pair of shoes.
No matter what fantastic tale of daring and swagger a member relates to the gathering of men
in the cigar and brandy room, Vanderbelt has done something similar, yet slightly more remarkable.
No one, it seems, can top him. That is, until an elderly new member joins the club. Having passed
the rigorous screening process, which consists of the ability to remove $500 from one's wallet and
hand it to the club's secretary, the stranger enters the lounge, where Vanderbelt is in the midst
of another tall tale. 'There I was in the Everglades reeling in a little snapper when a 10-pound
trout comes up and eats it. So I start easing it in when a 50-pound snook comes up and swallows it
...'
'That's a fine story,' interrupts the stranger. 'It reminds me of the time I was in Africa
fishing for Nile perch with a hand line when a 150-pounder grabs my bait. I loop the line around my
hand and dig my heels into the sand when I hear a commotion behind me and see a cape buffalo pawing
the ground ready to charge. They're one of the most dangerous animals in Africa, so, at the time,
it almost seems like a fortunate occurrence when a 16-foot crocodile decides to dine on my fish,
snatching me into the water in the process. But I'm sorry, I think I interrupted your story ... as
you were saying.'
Bellicose Bill grimaces at the stranger like he just bit into a green lemon and harrumphs
indignantly at the interruption, but continues his tale. 'Finally the snook comes next to the boat,
and I reach over to grab it when an 18-foot gator comes up and clomps down on him, getting a piece
of my shirt in the bargain. Well, he jerks me out of the boat, and drags me through the water, and
just when I'm running out of air, he stuffs me into a gator hole, which is an underground cave only
partially underwater.'
'Amazing,' says the stranger sarcastically, 'a member of the crocodilian family got your
fish too, quite a coincidence. Well, as I was saying, the croc was towing me through the water when
apparently it strayed into an area frequented by hippos, which are quite territorial. They break
the crocodile's back with a chomp, then turn on me and begin tossing me around like a beach ball.
By accident, one of them flips me into a passing river boat whose occupants cheer my arrival,
explaining that my distraction has saved the life of the Duchess of Argyle, who had fallen
overboard and was facing certain death from the hippopotami. Along with this nasty scar I received
on my leg, I was given a handsome reward to remember the occasion by.'
Vanderbelt glares murderously at the stranger, but continues his story, 'The gator leaves,
and I light a match, revealing the most amazing sight: a pirate's chest overflowing with gold
doubloons and jewelry. I stuff my pockets full and try to leave right when the gator comes back to
eat me. We wrestle around, and I manage to wrap a gold chain around its mouth and escape. I too was
left with a scar.' And he rolls up his sleeve to show everyone.
The stranger leans over to inspect it and says, 'What another amazing coincidence. I once
knew a street urchin who had a scar exactly like this one. An incorrigible little brat this one
was; always stealing things and lying. I think he got his scar from reaching into a hole in a
chicken coop to pilfer a hen and got his arm bitten by a guard dog. What was his name? Oh yes, I
remember now ... little Billy Vanderbelt.'