Richard Daybell – Novels, stories and short humor
Ig Dunford (aka Craig, aka Igarodence C. Igplant) was the titular head of the Salt Lake City fraternity known
as Igma Chi. The Igma Chi was not recognized by a college or university or anyone like that. It was independent (you might say fiercely independent) of any institution. Formed in the early 60s, this august brotherhood saw as its sacred duty the promotion of social good, the furthering of knowledge and understanding, and the organization of summer keg parties.
These affairs were held at a secret gathering place in the canyons above Salt Lake City and were devoted to the exchange of lofty ideas, witty repartee and vast amounts of the liquid from the aforementioned kegs. Often, under the leadership of our mentor the learned Ig himself, we would raise our voices in song (although I was generally asked to mouth the words and let no sound enter the night air). Ig made up the words to our anthem, sung to the tune of “This Land Is Your Land:” I sumped and I scrambled, and I fell in my footsteps . . . (the only line I remember – perhaps someone out there knows more).
Although no particular steps were taken to keep our gatherings secret, they remained so, since no one could actually remember anything that took place after about five o’clock. Ig himself can’t remember 1962 or 1963 (and this is just a guess, but probably many other years between then and now).
Even so, he had a successful career as Salt Lake City’s answer to the Pillsbury Dough Boy, running an outstanding bakery, although rumor has it that he inhaled too much powdered sugar and spent a lot of time alone with the doughnuts.
Yes, it’s been a steady deterioration – although his mind certainly wasn’t a steel trap back then, now it’s complete mush. I offer one anecdote from later years to make my point. During our tenure of running the inn, Ig and his much better half Mitzi came to visit us. We saved our best room for them and personally guided them through the splendor of the Vermont countryside. Ig told us what he liked most about the visit: watching the flies die on the bathroom windowsill while he took a shower.
And if you need any more proof of the state of his addled mind, just check out his comments on this here blog.
We must, however, cut him slack, for he is very old. His birthday celebration this weekend honors (I’ll whisper it) his seventieth year. I understand it will be a very well-attended party as well it should be. I won’t be there – he wouldn’t spring for my airfare. And I do send him my very best.
Well, maybe not my very best.
Your comments are welcome. Particularly from those who don’t know him who might have something good to say.