The latest meme in internet ads is the teaser titled “N things that X hid from its fans.”  Examples include the twenty things the producers hid from Bonanza fans and the sixteen things the producers of Three’s Company hid from its fans.  If you search “hid from fans” you will find references to Bewitched, Golden Girls, Seinfeld, Cheers, The Walking Dead, The Beverly Hillbillies, Forrest Gump, and many other first-world entertainments.

The incredible amount of hidden information now being revealed about beloved movies and television shows must be due to some deplorable leaker like Edward Snowden and/or the Russians.  At least that’s who I would blame.

But why wait for Comrade Snowden or Wikileaks to reveal my secrets, I said to myself.  After all, these are my beans to spill.  So I have decided to publish a dossier of the most fascinating things — thirteen to be exact, since thirteen is the most fascinating number — that I have, until now, hidden from my fans.  The secrets you are about to learn are pretty much true, and best of all, they are ad-free.

 • 1 •    When I was very little, I remember reading rhymes from the book “The Tall Book of Mother Goose”  (pictured at right).  It was my older sister’s book, and it turns out that she (and my mother) had held onto it all these years.  So, the last time I visited my sister, I thumbed through the book and I was shocked to see that most of the pages had been scribbled on with crayons.  The book was more or less ruined.  Guess who had done that.

 • 2 •   I was in a spelling bee in either fifth or sixth grade, and I lost because I didn’t know how to spell mattress.  I still don’t know how to spell mattress.  I have to look it up.  But at least I no longer cry about getting it wrong.

  • 3 •    Before I started college, I gave up a part (as an extra!) in a hometown play directed by a good friend, because my mother would not let me park her 1968 Chrysler Imperial in “that part of town” where the playhouse was.  Later on, I imagined that the reason she didn’t want me to be involved in the play might be due to her disapproval of my friend’s sexual orientation.  But now, I have gone back to thinking that her paramount concern was in fact the Chrysler Imperial, and I cannot decide what speaks worse — and that includes my choice to withdraw from the play.  After all, I could have taken a bus.

 • 4 •    I play an online billiards game at miniclip.com.  When I lose, as I do 42% of the time, I am more likely to attribute it to my opponent’s luck (or some paid-for advantage of his) than any deficiency in my own skill.  Not sure why I continue to play if I think I am being hustled.  (Note of comfort to spouse: I have not spent, or lost, any money on this game.)

 • 5 •    I call myself an artist but I have given away five times as many works as I ever sold.  I worry that knowing this would make my buyers feel remorseful.

 • 6 •   My middle initial H stands for Howard — not Hoss, Harry, Hogwarts or Henceforth.  The name Howard goes back four generations on my father’s side.  I have a sentimental detachment toward it.  My son will have to speak for himself.

 • 7 •   I remember a short-lived TV series in the 1960s called “The Baileys of Balboa.”  It was the perfect example of how a great character actor (Paul Ford) could be miscast as a lead.  I am probably the only person in this world (other than his grandchildren) who remembers “The Baileys of Balboa” or pays even scant tribute to Paul Ford or that awful show.

 • 8 •   I voted for Gerald Ford, John Anderson and Ross Perot for president.  I have voted for the winning candidate only three times in twelve presidential elections.  It would have been four for twelve in 2016 — but for the Curse of Ford!

 • 9 •   I would have emigrated to Canada before I ever would have reported for duty for the Vietnam War.  I didn’t believe in much back then, but my belief in my own continuity was stronger than my belief in the legitimacy of that war or the legitimacy of those who called upon young people to fight and die there.  Others could make their own choices, but I saw no point in taking on something I would never be suited for and could never agree with.  And I would have come back dead, there can be no doubt of that.  The draft lottery not only spared me from the decision to emigrate, but it saved my life — my number was 244.  I still harbor a discomfiting mix of gratitude and guilt toward that number.

 • 10 •   I have a pin-on button from the 1960s that says DRAFT BEER NOT STUDENTS, along with a button from 1972 that — depending on the viewing angle — flashes a headshot of Richard Nixon or his campaign slogan, NIXON’S THE ONE.  The Nixon button was one of those things my mother picked up because she thought it would be a collector’s item.  Mom would be disappointed to learn that the Nixon button is being sold on eBay for about $7.50 (or $1.30 in 1972 dollars).  I really should throw the buttons away… but then again, why not just let my kids do it.

 • 11 •   Although I express plenty of political thoughts on this blog, I must now tell the truth: I never passed the bar exam.  In fact, I never even enrolled in law school or took the LSAT.  I never attended a political science class.   So I am uniquely unqualified to comment on ineptitude in government.  Instead, I must defer to KellyAnne Conway, as she seems to be the reigning expert.  Forgive me, but I could not hide this fact anymore.

 • 12 •    I liked Nancy Drew books much more than the Hardy Boys adventures.  I still recall the titles of those I read:  The Hidden Staircase, The Mystery of the Tolling Bell,  The Sign of the Twisted Candles.  Nancy was pretty cool, but I never could reconcile Nancy driving her roadster around the countryside, at age eighteen, without telling her father where she was going — let alone having her own roadster.  (See 1968 Chrysler Imperial, above).

 • 13 •    Half of what I write here is written while having a martini.  The other half is written while having either another martini, or a bowl of cereal.  Proofreading, deliberations and second-thoughts tend to take place the morning before publication.  As if this is news.

 • BONUS •    Speaking of news, I was the cartoonist for our college newspaper, The Tartan.  I had good days and bad days.  Luckily, it was the 1970s, and the paper did not have to try to look professional.  That (and the fact that I was also features editor) is how I got away with publishing my most perplexing strip (click to enlarge) on April 15, 1971:

Today, I can publish anything I want. That’s because I don’t have to look professional here. And besides, I’m still the features editor.