The Lamb Chop Murders

Today, an old friend made the mistake of asking me if I remember the kiddie TV character "Lamb Chop."  Ha!  Do I remember Lamb Chop?  Who doesn't remember Shari Lewis' adorable and timeless Lamb Chop?  Yeah, that would be me.  At least, I don't recall the puppet itself, or the show.  But I remember the incidents.

Not many people know of the first one, because there was another, much more widely-publicized story, involving a frozen leg of lamb, from around the same time.  This story, short on details though it may be, is better, because it's true. 

There was a wife, mercilessly berated and belittled by her bully of a husband for years, who reached her rope's end one evening and cracked his head open with a stack of lamb chops that had frozen together in their icebox.  Thinking quickly, she screamed a few times, broke the window that opened onto the fire escape, threw the bloody chops into a sink full of warm water, and called the police.

By the time the deputies arrived, she had concocted a story about a break-in by a crowbar-wielding thug who had struck the fatal blow upon her husband's crown and fled when she had screamed.  She had also cooked the lamb chops - pan-seared in a little olive oil, rosemary and mint.  She was never even arrested, and always thought it pathetic that the cops hadn't bothered to ask why she had cooked eight chops, when the table had been set for two.  She had no idea that they had absolutely made that observation, but that her husband had been a monster and her actions were more than justified.  Why put her through a trial, they had decided before even knocking on her door.

The second "Lamb Chop" murder took place in a studio prop room in the 1980s, and well, we all know about that one, don't we?

The third incident, and the only one I was lucky enough to have witnessed in-person, was more about "Rambo III" than it was about Shari Lewis or her TV puppet. I was working at Erol's Video Club in late 1988 when "Rambo III" was released on VHS.  It was a Friday night, and the video had come in the day before.  All 25 copies - a lot, for our store - had all gone out Thursday, so most of them were coming back at random times throughout the evening.  We didn't have a waiting list, because they had always been more trouble than they were worth, so there was a small crowd gathered around the "returns" table, waiting for Stallone's latest Razzie Award-winning masterpiece.

I hated approaching that table under those circumstances, with a copy of the sought-after video du jour or without.  This time, I was with.  A couple of people shouted something or other about having been there first, but I just tossed the tape onto the table and ran.  NEEDLESS TO SAY, a scuffle immediately ensued.  Punches were thrown.  Our brand-new candy display carousel was toppled.  Noses were bloodied, screams and obscenities filled the air. The police were summoned. 

I didn't see anyone leave in particularly serious condition, but we learned the next day that one of the combatants had died of his injuries, having been struck in temple with a videotape.  A detective came by that afternoon to pick it up from the manager's office.  It had been the only other tape on the returns table, at the time of the fracas, and it was the only one that had turned up broken, that night. 

It was our lone copy of "Lamb Chop's Sing-along, Play-along."

Do I remember Lamb Chop?  Yeah, I do.  In my nightmares.          

The Lost Revelation

So, what happened was...

The year was 1986. Having been left behind by friends and girlfriends who had gone off to Real College, I was living with the 'rents, attending Montgomery Community College and working at Erol's Video Club in Rockville, MD. I was working open-to-close (we called it "AFD") at the tiny Store #6 on a Saturday in March. On the 30-minute parole I called break time, I scampered over to Yekta Deli for my lunch of Funyons and Cherry Coke. This routine was relatively new, thanks to the closure of the Chesapeake Bay Seafood House, where I used to annoy the host/hostess by coming in only for to-go hush puppies.

It was when I reached into the fridge and pulled out my 16oz glass(!) bottle of (NEW!) Cherry Coke that it happened.

This post is going to be painfully short, thanks to the fleeting nature of what happened to me that afternoon. It's small and simple, yet unfathomably massive and complex. I had a spontaneous, overwhelmingly powerful revelation. Yeah - that kind of revelation.

There's a scene in one of Douglas Adams' "Hitchhiker's Guide" books, in which an unremarkable young woman in an unremarkable café comes up with the simple, brilliant, perfect answer to the "ultimate question of life, the universe and everything," a notion that transcends religion and human existence as a whole -- only to be vaporized with the earth moments later to make way for a hyperspace bypass. That's how profound my revelation was. It was THE answer. It was as simple as "love each other," but way bigger, more complete. It was deep and clear and powerful and it shook me to my core.

I literally staggered to the cashier. I remember with photographic clarity the register's display of $2.65, and the black turtleneck the owner/manager was wearing. What I don't remember - at all - is the revelation itself.

I KNOW! How cruel is that? As suddenly as it had manifested itself, it vanished. The only thing sadder than the desperate deflation I felt at that moment is the fact that I am not making any of this up - including the fact that I actually went back into the deli a minute later and retraced my steps, up to and including going back to the soda refrigerator and chips rack and purchasing another Cherry Coke and Funyons. I was disconsolate for the rest of that weekend, and I couldn't articulate to anyone exactly why.

I had had it. It was simple and right and true and universe-changing, and it was in my head. And it was gone. Forever.

I have no doubt whatsoever that, had I been able to get to a piece of paper - or even a friendly ear - before that notion had left me, I would have been instrumental in the salvation of not only all humankind, but the planet itself. Such is the depth of my frustration and regret.

I had it. For just a second.

And I lost it.

It's still out there somewhere. I know that the odds against me finding it a second time are just silly, but someone else - maybe someone with a better short-term memory - can find it. I hope they do so. Like, soon.