A Town Idiot Who Sobered Up by Getting on His Knees – Buttermilk S.

Thank you. Thank you, Murray. My name is Buttermilk Smith, and I'm an alcoholic. Howdy, everybody. Good to be here. Quite a buildup this fellow gave me here. I don't know whether I can live up to it or not. Gee whiz. That's better. I thought I was going blind. I don't hardly know how to kick this thing off. Kind of like an old fellow we used to have down in Arkansas. I bet none of you would ever guess I was from Arkansas. We called him Uncle Hooky Jack, and he had long hair some way down here, and he played the fiddle. And I'm kind of like him. I've got two stories, and I don't know which one to tell. He always said, I only know two tunes, and I generally play one of them first. And he said, one of them is just simply awful, and the other one is awfully simple. So I'm kind of wondering which way to go here. If I tell him a sad story, it's a cure-jerker, and I don't like to go into that, because we're all trying to have fun, I guess. I got a fellow with me that hasn't been sober very long, and he can't figure out how a man's going to have any fun sober. But it can be done, I guess. I am from Cincinnati, Arkansas. That's where I was born and got bigger at. And I'll often tell about how I got my start in Cincinnati, Arkansas. It's, Cincinnati is just a very small town. And my great-grandfather, he settled there many years ago. And immediately after he come in there, our town grew to a hundred people. And it's just stayed at a hundred people. It's never got any bigger or any smaller. And you know, most towns will either boom a little bit, or they just play for the amount. But Cincinnati's just about broke even all these years. And I've got a brother over here at Bardersville. It's a pretty well schoolhouse and he thinks faster than I do, but he talks slower. He and I got talking about this situation and wondering why Cincinnati never had come on through. We thought during the war maybe it would boom a little bit. And brother John said to me, he said, you know, ever since I can remember, I remember, town lessons and the home這입니다, and he says to me, do you know which town And he said, no telling how long before this has been going on, but he said, putting it every time there's a baby born, somebody has to leave the country. And Cincinnati was so small that we didn't even have a town, did you? We had a whole multitude of halfwits, and we tried using two of them, but that didn't work out. So as time went along, we decided what we could do was take turns of being the idiot. And due to my looks and intelligence, I got to work quite a bit of overtime. I've often told about one. When I started the school, I've had more nicknames than just about anybody. And I never denied one of them, whatever they called me, I just went by. But I had two big teeth right in front, and they shined just like a pearl. And by the time I'd face that north wind to get in the school, my nose would be running, so they named me Two Big Teeth and Dirty Nose. And that is my first nickname. But anyhow, as I got... I got a little bigger. My older brothers made a batch of strawberry wine. And I stole a galleon of that and started drinking it, and they just put me on study. They never did look for another idiot after that. I don't know. It seemed like I had an awful time growing up down in the hills back during that Hoover boom. And everybody was as poor as Lazarus. And I'll tell you, it is pretty rough getting grown down in that country. Of course, I had a lot of advantages over some of the other kids. I was the only one in the second grade that had a Social Security card. And I think I was the only one that had a razor. But so much for Arkansas. So I've had a number of requests since I got over here to tell how I got the name Buttermilk. And I'm kind of hesitant to tell a bunch of my experiences because I've had people to doubt some of the things I tell. And if there's anything that perturbs me, it's for somebody to doubt my word. Thank you. But again, back during Depression days, and as I said, we were having quite a time stirring up a little something to eat down in the hills there. And we kind of called a bunch of the farmers together to see if there's anything that could be done about it. And we had an old fellow there by the name of Bill Bond. And he was quite a businessman, Bill was. He owned one of the nicest farms around there. And he was a pretty shrewd operator. They took inventory on him in 1934, and I think they figured he could sell out for $1,200. He had done all right. So we appointed Bill as a kind of a committeeman or a leader or whatever you wish to call him to see if anything could be done. And he went to St. Louis. And after a couple of weeks, he came back and reported that Buttermilk was a good farm. But musste 10 acres past the end, and it's without mention in Astoria. And we left and went with that bulldog there. And I remember that bulldog was still big enough to give 40 cents a gallon, that bulldog could be made weird! The kind of bulldog was aormany big, and was 80 centimeters long as a bulldog. The bulldog was a tenth of a gallon. But Minuch customize the bulldog. And the bulldog was 40 cents a gallon in St. Louis. to pipe that buttermilk up there and feed them people. So that's where I got the name buttermilk. I always get through with the story. I don't know where to go from there. About all I ever do is tell stories. Boy, I'll tell you, back in the drinking days, if I could get my boot heels propped up on something and a good audience telling stories, I was the happiest man in the world. And I've tried to be pretty happy at telling them since I sobered up. I don't know whether it helps anybody else in here or not. I've heard people say, I'm going to tell a story to relax the audience. You can take care of yourself. I'm trying to relax buttermilk. There's a fellow leaving. He ain't no better than the rest of you. I've got another experience that I went through with that I often tell. Back when I was... I was about to wind up my drinking career then. I got off on that sweet Lucy, if any of you know what it is. I doubt if you do. And somehow or another, I'd saved up a little money or robbed somebody or something, I had a little money anyway. And I had always wanted to go to that fat stock show at Fort Worth. So, I wound up down in Fort Worth a few days before the show started. I was drinking that wine and it seemed like every one of them Texans I'd tried to talk to wanted to whip me. And some of them is getting the job pretty well done. They had both of my eyes shut and my nose broke and my teeth loosened up and I was a pretty sad-looking hillbilly. And I was staying over there in an old Skid Row hotel and this old gal that run it was just as kind as a mother's love. And so ugly, she'd have to slip up on the dipper to get a drink of water. But she was good to me. And she told me one day, she said, I don't think these people like you. And I said, well, they certainly haven't showed me much hospitality so far. She said, if I was you, I'd leave. And I said, well, if you'd be kind enough to help me get packed up here and get down to the deep hole, I would leave. And I had a pipe that she had gave me and a pallet pipe and a pouch at the back or I guess some room or left it there or something. She gave it to me. She was good to me, as I said a while ago. And we got me two or three bottles of wine and put in my little 98-cent suitcase and got down to the deep hole and I bought a ticket to Amarillo. And I got on the train and found me a double seat by myself, put my little suitcase up and I got on the train and got relaxed. I was going to enjoy my trip. And then just as the train is pulling out of the deep hole, in the door come a woman carrying a little old fuzzy dog and a pair of shoe heels on about that long walking right straight up and down and a fur coat on that is a-shedding and sat down with me and started chattering like a chipmunk. And I didn't know what to say. I didn't say nothing to her. I just kind of looked her and that dog over because I'm afraid of dogs anyway. And I got up and got in my suitcase and went back and sat in the club car and I raised the window. There wasn't nobody in there but me. And I raised the window and lit my pipe and took a drink of wine and I thought, now this may be pretty good after all. And lo and behold, it wasn't three minutes till the door flung open and in come that woman as that little old dog. She called him Poopoo. And sat down there with me and started talking again. I said, now woman, if God don't thank any more you and Poopoo than I do, you're lost and I'm sure you're on the wrong train. So go on and leave me alone. I've got some serious drinking to do. And she just kept sitting there popping off like a dollar shotgun. And directly she said, you'll have to quit smoking that pipe. It'll make Poopoo sick. And I said, now I've already told you what I thought of you and Poopoo and we should just go on. But she didn't. She kept sitting there and directly I laid my pipe down in the ashtray and she grabbed it and throwed it out to wonder. Well, when she did, I just grabbed Poopoo and threw it in there. And she said, well, I'm not going to do that. I'm going to get him out. And I never seen a woman go into such a tantrum in my life. And she had the engineer and the conductor and the porters and everybody on that train in there. I thought they were going to hang me there. And then this conductor finally got upset and he said, if you don't shut up and be quiet, he said, I'll stop the train. And he said, I'll stop the train and put you both off. And I said, well, I wish you would. Maybe I could get under that mesquite tree and have a drink without being disturbed by this thing. And he didn't put us off there, but she kept raising so much cane. We got into the next little old town and he did stop and put us off. And I reckon every farmer and rancher in that country had matched the train. And she was walking up and down that platform and telling them people, see, that savage man there said he throwed my little dog off the train, my little poo-poo's out there. And I thought they was going to get out of a ranch party. Pretty soon here come one of them hundred dollar a month cops that I always hated anyway, you know. And he said, did you throw that woman's dog off the train? I said, that I did and I'm fixing to stick 200 pounds of fist in your mouth if you open it anymore. He said, this is none of your business. And while I was arguing with him, I looked up directly and she was jumping up and down hollering, poo-poo, poo-poo. And I looked up and here come that dog up the railroad track with my pipe in his mouth. laughter laughter laughter laughter laughter laughter laughter laughter laughter Oh, you're all right. laughter Now you can kind of see why some people doubt some of my experiences. laughter I don't suppose this has happened to everybody. laughter Oh, heaven, uh, as I said a while ago, laughter I grew up down in them hills back during that Depression. And the whole roll of preachers was thicker than the fiddlers. laughter And there was one of them preaching under every big tree and in every schoolhouse, preaching the NRA and the Blue Eagle and the end of time and what have you. And I want you to know this hillbilly didn't know what to believe. But I guess I didn't believe like a lot of those people down there, because I've often said I left Arkansas and I left the United States. I left the United States. I left the United States. I left Arkansas on the account of my belief. I got to believing if I didn't get out of there, I was going to starve plumb to death. laughter But there was always something that had me scared. That them preachers were preaching in the time and that was back when they were having these dust storms in Kansas. And one of them preachers had set a date for the World War II and they were preaching about the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the war and the water and the double and the double and the double in the triple and the triple in the And I said, Boy, this is it. I haven't had a new life that scared me to death. And I thought I was too young to die. I used to always be telling people I was tired of living. I think I was tired of dying is what I mean. I was always threatening to kill myself, trying to get somebody to stop me, and they'd always encourage me. Never did anybody try to keep me from it. And about the time that this, in the time in the preacher business, about the time I got old enough not to be too afraid of that, old Hitler started taking everything over, you know. And I was afraid he'd want Arkansas. And I worried about this war for two or three years. And by the time, when it come time for me to go, I was too drunk to go. I didn't even get in the war. So a lot of these things I worried about, and they never did come to pass. And, oh, I was 23 or 24 years old. I don't know how old I was. I don't even know how old I am now. I got an urge to go to Alaska. So I made my way up there. I'd gotten married in the meantime. And I had one girl. And I made my way to Alaska and got up there. I was still pretty young and healthy. And I hadn't been in this town of Cordova, Alaska, but a few days, until there was three day goes there, whooped the police chief and throwed him out in the street. And he quit. And I was in the bar having one of them double shots. And I never will forget that bartender. I run in there one time and I said, Give me a double shot, Slim. I'm going to have to sober up. He said it out there. And he said, Now, buttermilk, you might sober up drinking them double shots, but it'll take a while. But getting back to my story, I was in this bar and I made a remark. I said, Looks like a police chief would carry enough a difference to swap out at these fellas. Well, I said, You've been here about long enough that you could probably get the job. And I said, I'll go ask about it. So I went and applied for it. And I stupid enough to think that they hired me because I was a nice, young, intelligent man and capable of being a police chief. But I found out they hired me because they didn't anybody else want it. So there I was, the town clown. And in this town of Cardo, and you think Wyatt Earp had any trouble in Dodge City, you ought to have been there. That was a nightmare. But if I could have all I wanted to drink, you know, this didn't bother me. So I had a good excuse to stay drunk there for four years. And I've often said I may not qualify for this program. I've only been on three drugs. I've only been on three drugs. I've had three drunks in my life. And then one of them lasted 17 years. I went up there to Cardo. I started to anchorage. And I went uptown to get a drink and missed the boat. And I missed every boat that came in there for seven years. Until I finally drank up everything in that town. There wasn't nobody to hire me. So I started in on the rest of the contractors. And I finally got them to drink up. And I wound up back in Bartlesville, where I called home at that time. That's where my mother and brothers was. I'd already drank up this wife and baby. I guess I just about scared her to death one time, this first wife of mine. I told her, I said, if you don't quit bugging me about my drinking, I'm going to leave home. And the next day she wrapped my lunch up in a road map. And I got back to Bartlesville carrying everything I owned in a shoebox. And it wasn't full. And I'd made pretty good money all them years. But I hadn't made enough to do me the way I was living. Got back in there flat broke. Disgusted. And I had always been able to stay up and keep a-going. I might not go to work, because I was kind of allergic to that damn work when I was a-drinking, you know. But got back into Bartlesville and quit eating anything and started drinking about three-fifths of that booze a day. And in about six weeks I was a pretty sad-looking character. And then this brother of mine kept on trying to find me. And then this just upset me something awful. I'd say, why don't he tend to his own business and leave me alone? I'm not hurting anybody but myself. And I was out there at a place called Uncle John's Cabin. And this old gal that run the place, she'd run every both-legged joint from Texas to Canada Line, I reckon. Good old girl, though hard as big as an ox. If I'd run out of whiskey, she'd get me some. And I was staying in a little old cabin out behind the place. And she come out there one morning, she said, that brother of yours keeps driving by here and asking questions about you. Said, he's decided you're here. And I didn't like the idea, but it went on another day or two. And she come down one morning, woke me up, said, that brother's up there. And I jumped out of bed right quick and vomited, if you want to call it that. And took another drink. And I probably lost it, but I finally got one down. And the more I think about it, the madder I was getting. And I was going to whoop him. Now, this was always one of my hobbies, to whoop somebody. And I don't suppose any of you people know him, but this fellow's name was Big Tobe. And he stand a six foot five and weighed two and a quarter. Nothing but muscle and blood and skin and bones. Could have whooped a calf pen full of buttermilk when I was in my heyday. And I made out down there I was going to whoop him. And when I got up close enough to see him, I guess he'd already got a look at me. And he started crying and looking at me. And I thought, well, you can't whoop a man and him a ball, then, so. I kind of shut that off. And he took me down to my other brother's. And this other brother of mine, he's something else. He'd had a stroke paralysis then, and he had one good arm. I always called him the one-armed bandit. He's the one that is a preacher back there in that Depression days. He even got to preaching. And he was telling me about it. He said that he knew he was called to preach. He said he got to seeing this vision. And every morning he'd see this big sign that loomed up in front of him. And it said, GPC. Well, he just knew that meant to go preach Christ. So he got this Bible in a canvas sack and took off. And after about six months he hadn't saved a soul. And I said, Jim, you don't suppose that sign could have meant go plow corn, do you? . Anyhow, he was down there. And he was on another preaching spree that I couldn't get a drink from him. And I laid around there under the shade of this tree and drank that ice water. And it had come back up still ice cold, shaking like a dog on a wet sack. . I'm not telling you I was in a sad shape. . . I went in the house and called somebody. And I thought they were fixing to have me put in the booby hat or something. I didn't care much anyway. Pretty soon up in front drove a little old short man in one of them Jeepsters with a tweed suit and one of them snap-brimmed hats on. And I've always disliked all three of them things. . And he comes paddling over there and shook hands with me and called me by name. And I said, well, I'm going to go ahead and get him. And I said, yeah. That's one of them little old FBI men. And he's followed me from Fairbanks, Alaska down there. He's after me. Well, I thought as sick as I am I could whoop him. I was a whooper. . Never did win any, but I've had a few. . And I kept my eye on him pretty close. And directly he said, fellow, you're sick. . I said, well, that don't take no genius to figure that out. Did it? . Well, he said, you're going to have to have a drink. I said, well, tell that preacher there that. I've been trying to convince him of it all morning. . And he went over and told Jim. He said, he's going to have to have a drink. . I'd had to do these for three years. I hadn't went in. . A white horse rode around in a truck with me. . . I'd learned to like him. I'd talk to him just like I talk to my wife. A lot kinder sometimes, too. . . He's a good horse. I didn't have him. . Anyhow, this little short man, sweet suit on, tough off. But he got a foot taller and got to looking a lot better to me when he mentioned that drink. . I went back to Fifth Whiskey. And this one-armed bandit brother of mine held me to the hair of the head. My head is just going that way. . And they poured about half of that Fifth Whiskey down me. . And that's where I could kind of talk and the white horse laughed. . . . And he approached me about this AA. . And you see, I had done a lot of drinking around Bartleville back before I got too bad, you know. I was bad enough, but I wasn't as bad as I was then. . I was pretty bad when I first started. . And he got to telling me what you wasn't supposed to do. But he told me it was two or three characters that belonged to the band. . And I immediately told him that I didn't feel like any kind of an organization that would accept either one of them or me could amount to very much. . . . But I did agree to go with him. . So I did. And I got down there and I found this bunch of sober people. And some of them were people that I used to drink with. . I remember one fellow, I won't call his name, he's dead now. He's a good fellow. He was sober twenty years before he died. And he was sitting back there with his nose turned up. . And I looked at him. He got up and said, I've been sober three years. And I said, he's a big one. And I don't know how long I stayed dropped in until I went broke or got in jail or something. . This went on for ten years is what I've been trying to tell you. I'd go to AA when I was dried out. I never was sober, just dried. And I just knew that I was trying as hard as I could to learn what these people had because I liked it. And I'd already had enough of it that it messed up my drinking. I'll tell you that last ten years was a mess. . And it seemed like I could go for maybe six months. And I'd just camp in one of those AA halls and talk to those people. . And I'd say, I don't know if I'd ever be able to listen but to talk. There's an old Mormon in Ogden, Utah who told me one time, he said, Buttermilk Man can't hear good with his mouth open. . And I think I was doing most of the talking instead of listening. But I can recall all of these old timers. They'd say, read the books. And I'd say, I'd say something but didn't tell the truth. I was kind of allergic to telling that truth. But of course I got over that. That lying was a problem at the beginning. . And I'd wind up drunk again. . And as I said, this went on for ten years. . And drunk of all drunks, I guess, I was out in Arizona. . And a good job. I could generally get a job before I'd get sober. Some of them wasn't as good as others, but I'd get one of them sometimes. . And I'd saved up a little money. I think I always figured on getting drunk again, because I'd start buying stuff that you could hop good. I wouldn't buy anything that wasn't hoppable. . And I wound up on this drunk. . I came out of psych, and I laid over there in the hospital three days. And I couldn't say nothing. I could hear people. Might have been that horse I was hearing, but I thought it was people. . But I couldn't say nothing or get up or nothing. . They finally brought me through it. But in the meantime, my mother was buried while I was in there. I didn't know nothing about it until I got out of the hospital. . And then things happened. Of course, I went for broke again. . And I got out of there and I fooled around out there a while. And I wanted to go back home. . So I wound up back in Bardotville. . And there was an old boy there that went to AA, and I never did like him, but he used to talk to me a lot when I was on this little short sober sale there. . And then I liked his brand of AA. I liked the way he talked to me. I liked the way he was living. I didn't like him because he was hard-headed as a goat. . And then he never would agree with me on nothing. I never brought up anything that he never agreed with me on. . So naturally I didn't like him. But I thought I'd go talk to him anyway. . So I went out to his house one morning. Or I guess it was one morning. . And I was drinking. It didn't make no difference. I'd just lay down and sleep a couple of hours and get up and go on. And of course I didn't have a watch. I didn't have the price of a watch. . So I didn't know what time it was. I got out to his house, knocked on the door, and he hollered, Who is he? And I told him. And he said, What do you want? I said, I want to talk to you. Well, he said, I don't want to talk to you today or no other time. He said, I've already talked to you. . And I said, Well, I don't care if you want to or not. You just, well, get up and talk. Or I'm going to lay down here on the porch. . And I'll catch you in the morning. . And he finally got up and put on a robe and come out there and called me everything but mister. . . And then he said, I'm not going to fool with you very much. . . I said, I'm going to tell you something. . And the reason I tell this, I think it's the only thing that saved me. I believe if it hadn't been for this, I'd still been drunk or dead or something. Probably something. . Now, he said, the way I got this thing, he said, I found me a God and I talked it over with him. And we come to an agreement on how for me to quit drinking. . And he said, If I was you, he said, I'd go down there in the park or under the bridge or wherever you're going to sleep. . And I'd get down to the side of a tree or a bridge buttment or something. And I'd try to fence everything out but God, as you know him. And he said, If you don't know him, you better get to know him. And see, if you can't come up with some kind of a solution on quitting this drinking. . And the more I thought about that, the more I thought I'd try to put in everything else. I guess it's worth the trial. So I went back out to my brother and finally talked him into letting me in on this back porch where I was sleeping. And I got down on my knees on the concrete floor. And I don't know yet what time it was. But it's daylight when I got up. And if I make it till the sixth day of January, that'll be nine years ago. And so help me God, I have never thought I'd take a drink or wanted to drink. Or felt like that I would ever have to drink again if I didn't want to. It just seemed like there was some kind of a burden lifted. And to me this was one of the, I guess the greatest days in my life. Because I was hooked on that stuff till I couldn't do anything without it or with it. If I was drunk, I couldn't do nothing. And if I was without it, I couldn't do nothing but think about it. I was in such a shape that I could be on one of my sober spells. I thumbed through a magazine and come to a pretty bottle of whiskey and I'd just get to slobbering like a hydrophobic dog. I was a mess. I craved to drink all the time. But thank goodness I don't have to do that. Now you know, this wasn't my first experience with God. I think I always knew there was a God. I don't know what he looks like. I never have seen him, but I was raised to believe there was a God. And I think I always believed that. And I had a pretty good task one time. I fell off of a shrimp boat out in the middle of that Gulf of Mexico. And there was two of us on the boat with the gear out. And you know, I didn't holler for the group to come and get me out of that frog pond or some light bulb, as I've heard people talk about being in a higher power. I said, God help me out of this frog pond. And I wasn't bashful about it either. I wanted him to hear me. And I got out. And I've had to ask him a lot of times. I forgot to tell you people what I was doing. But when it started to get, my wife and Ruby Mae wrote this speech I gave you. They was going to write me one, but they didn't get around to it. I've only been married to Pauline going on six years now. I drank up that other wife and two children. And I hadn't been sober very long when I met Pauline. And this story I'm fixing to tell you will prove it. I'd been sober a little while I had a necktie. I remember that. Did you ever look at some of these neckties we drunks buy when we were first sober up? Boy, they're dandy. But I hadn't been dry too long. And this was in our courting days. And I went over there one day and she had had a pink telephone put in. And I mean, she was carried away with that thing. Now that to her was just about the greatest thing ever. And I left and was going back uptown. And I just happened to look over on a car lot and there sat one of them old, long Cadillacs the same color as it. And I just stopped and bought it. I thought I'll fix her. And I did and I fixed me too. You know, that thing kept me barefooted and needing a haircut for three years. But Pauline has meant a lot to me over the years. We've had some pretty rough times, but we've had some good ones. And it's been a great life for me since I got off of that Rookus juice. You know, I woke up the other night. I've been up in Colorado all summer, most all summer, up in that Marlboro country. And we didn't have any AA there at this little town where I was. And I called around all over the country trying to find somebody that belonged to AA, but I never did find anybody. And it got to be a pretty hard grind on me. I was in Gunnison there one morning and I had a little time on my hands. And I went over to Hertz and tried to rent me a drunk, but they didn't have one. . . . I was looking over there at Kennedy's supposed to tell me when the house should end. . I don't know my foot's over. . . . Good heavens, I don't think I can last this long. . . I'm going to have to start exaggerating some of these things. . . . . . . I guess I could tell another story on this preaching brother of mine. . Back when he was preaching, he used to take me with him. I was just a big old boy. . He said he took me along to do the cooking, but he didn't because he didn't have anything to cook. . We'd been over east of Prairie Grove, Arkansas there, preaching in a little old schoolhouse. He'd preached two or three weeks and hadn't done a bit of good. He never did, I don't reckon. . So I decided to quit. . We was going out across the country there, leaving out and carrying this suitcase. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and they'll have one certain step that they're hung up on and couldn't get over that, and they're drunk over it. I just don't see any reason for this. Now, if I run into something that they couldn't handle, I'd just put it on the bench and get a hold of another step. I don't believe you can get drunk working either one of these steps if you'll be working it all the time. And as our old friend Chuck said, it didn't say to discuss or debate or argue about these steps. It said we tuck them. And I've never met anybody that's tucked these steps whatsoever. And I know that it's meant life to me, and I'd certainly like to take this minute to thank the conference and everybody in the room for their support. Thank you. Thank you to everybody that had anything to do with me being here tonight. It's been a great pleasure to me. I don't suppose that I've said a whole lot of things that would help anybody, but I certainly haven't meant to harm anyone. I joke a lot. I like to joke. I had a fellow tell me one time that there was no room in AA for jokes, and I said, well, there's a hell of a bunch. I don't know if there's a bunch of us here for some reason. I don't know. It seems like I never attempt to make any notes to talk on, and I might be cutting off a little bit short here. But I'll tell you, it's certainly been nice being here. And thank you all. Good night. Thank you. Thank you.