15th Century Con Man Crystal-Ball Colombo and Don Key Hotay

Marian Learns about Charlatans, Schemers, and Dreamers

“Papa, what story are you going to tell me tonight?”

“Well, Marian, I think it’s time I start telling you some true stories, at least now and then—historical events and such.”

“Hysterical events?”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“Okay....” Marian replied dubiously, not sure if she was really ready to delve into the gray and boring world of real life, and not at all sure just how hysterical these tales were going to be.

She wasn’t disappointed, though. Truth is stranger than fiction, at times, as she found out.

“The villain of this tale is a guy named Crystal-Ball Colombo,” her papa began. “He was from Italy. He was a con man.”

“What’s a con man, papa?”

“He’s a guy who promises you the moon and then moons you.”

“Yick!”

“You can say that again.”

“Yick!”

“I didn’t mean literally. Anyway, in the 1490s—”

“1490s! That was more than 500 years ago!”

“Yep, good math skills, Marian; but to get back to the historical account, Crystal-Ball went to Spain to con the royal couple, King Fernando (later made famous in a song by a Swedish folk troupe called Abba Dabba Doo) and Queen Isabellower.”

“She was a bellower?”

“Apparently so. Old Crystal-Ball told the King and Queen that he could make them a fortune by sailing to America and starting a bread factory there. Although he told them he would call it Holy Toledo Bread, in reality his plan was to name it Colombo Bread, after himself.

“He also told the royals that he could sell them three ships (the Nincompoopdeck, the Pint o’ Guinness, and the Santa Claus), and that they wouldn’t have to pay him anything for fuel to cross the ocean because he had perfected a way to use the sails and the waves to get him to his destination without using any diesel.”

“Hey! What’s so special about that—didn’t all the ships work that way back then?”

“Yes, but the royals didn’t know that; they were out of touch. They knew nothing about sailing, or how much things cost. Crystal-Ball told them that he could make it to America very economically; he boasted that he would get thousands of miles to the galleon.”

“Hmmm.”

“They fell for it, hook, line, and sinkerball, and bought Colombo’s ships from him for him to use on his venture, and provided him with barrels of Sangria, Gazpacho, Paella, Valencia oranges, and Spanish Peanuts with which to fortify himself and his crew while they went to America to start the bread business. The royals were to get fifteen percent of the proceeds.”

“What’s ‘proceeds’?”

“The dough; the bread.”

“What?”

“They would get a certain amount of dough for all the bread sold.”

“Isn’t bread made from dough?”

“Literal bread, yes, but I’m talking about money: moolah, bucks, cabbage—you know: dough, or bread.”

“So they were going to make bread from dough and then sell the bread for dough?”

“You’ve got it, Marian Aubrey! But now, back to the exciting tale of old Crystal-Ball:

“Colombo the wannabe-breadmonger crash landed in Hispaniola. He was embarrassed by this and pretended he had done it on purpose, and that it was the United States of America where he and his crew had ‘landed.’ He forced the natives to build a bread factory and work in it for free. In fact, he would punish them if they didn’t produce as many loaves as he thought they should.”

“I don’t like him! He was mean!”

“Yes, he was so evil and such a terrorist that he makes Putin look like a Piker.”

“Who’s Pootin’?”

“The ramrod—the big cheese—the head honcho—in Russia.”

“What’s a Piker?”

“Somebody from Pike County, Missouri.”

“?”

Marian didn’t say, ‘?’, literally, but that punctuation mark perfectly expresses the look that was on her face. Her papa answered the implied question: “Take Sweet Betsy from Pike, for instance—she was a Piker.”

“Who was Sweet Betsy from Pike?”

“Betsy from Pike had a boyfriend named Ike Slobberchops, who took her to a place called Hangtown.”

“So?”

“Would you have a boyfriend named Ike Slobberchops who would take you to Hangtown?”

“No!”

“Good girl. But we’ve gotten off the track and trail and trace of the story. There was a man named Don Key Hotay who protected the weak and downtrodden and fought injustice around the world. He heard about what Crystal-Ball Colombo was doing to the people of Hispaniola and traveled there on his horse Raisincake with his friend Satchel Paige, who rode a donkey named Grapple.”

“What did they do to Crystal-Ball?”

“When Don Key Hotay and Satchel Paige arrived in Hispaniola, Crystal-Ball was giving orders to the residents of that island and punishing them for not baking more bread (so that he could make more dough). Crystal-Ball was flailing his arms around like Pete Townshend playing his guitar. Don Key Hotay was short-sighted, and he thought Colombo was not a person but a windmill.

“Don hated windmills with a purple passion because he had once been snatched up in the air by a windmill blade and then dumped unceremoniously on the ground. This revolting and disrespectful treatment, as he considered it, dented his armor, bruised his ego, and gave him recourse to prolonged bed rest and a prodigious intake of aspirin and strong spirits.

“Don ‘had it in’ for windmills ever since that event; so when he saw Crystal-Ball doing a rather authentic imitation of a windmill, Don charged Crystal-Ball and knocked him to the turf with his lance.”

“I bet Crystal-Ball forced Don to make bread in his factory for doing that,” Marian surmised.

“No—remember, Satchel Paige and Grapple were there, too. Satchel threw a rope around Crystal-Ball, and then chained him up and had Colombo’s crew take him back to Spain, along with a report to the royals of all the mayhem Crystal-Ball had caused. Don was named the official Knight Errant of Hispaniola, and Satchel was thereafter known as the poet lariat of the country. There are still statues of them there, riding on their horse Raisincake and donkey Grapple.

“So: Crystal-Ball Colombo was delivered up to the royals and lived sadly ever after. Just as he deserved.”

“What happened to Don Key Hotay and Satchel Paige?” Marian wanted to know.

“They live on. And not sadly.”