US President Donald Trump has recently threatened to plead the fifth in regards to his obstruction of justice investigation. One of Secretary Hilary Clinton’s aides did plead the fifth during the presidential campaign regarding a case of missing emails. I wish that for certain experiences I and I’m sure that others have also, we had pleaded the fifth, rather than face embarrassment or humiliation.
It seems that in the Valley, a ‘secret’ is telling only one person at a time. It might as well be published in the Whitewater News website and splashed before the people’s eyes around the globe. “Pleading the fifth” means to decline to tell anyone or especially just one person in the Valley, any self-incriminating information.
An incident last winter still bothers me. I had volunteered for a sub-group of the Westmeath District Recreation Association (WDRA) to help plan the upcoming Winter Carnival. I went to the arena for an arranged meeting but didn’t see any other volunteers until the chairperson happened along and said, “Bob, what are you doing here?” I hesitated for a second but not thinking of the fifth, said instead, “I’m here for your meeting.” He glanced at me as if something didn’t add up and stated, “It’s tomorrow night.”
A retired ironworker in building construction told me a story about an overhead crane, a wrecking ball and an adventurous girl. His crew were working in an alleyway between two buildings where part of one wall was being demolished by a wrecking ball, hanging from an industrial crane. In the iron-workers lingo, it was known as a ‘headache’ ball because of the frequency of workers accidently banging their heads on it. However, the wall wasn’t visible to the operator who had to be directed by two-way radio. Lunch-hour came and the ball came to rest a few feet off the ground in the alleyway. Some women arrived from a nearby office to eat lunch outdoors. One jumped up on the steel ball and while hanging onto the chain, proceeded to act silly for her friends. The crane operator came back on the job, lifted the crane over the height of the buildings and swung it around. The poor lady, still clinging on, was terrified as the ball was in the air and swinging like her own emotions, from one extreme to the other. Eventually, she was carefully lowered to the ground. A hero for a few days, even agreeing to an interview with the press – which referred to her as “Ballwrecker”. The nickname stuck. Now everyone called her “Ballwrecker” except for her mother and a couple of others. She really hated the name and was regretful she hadn’t “pleaded the fifth” to the interviewer. Not able to deal with it, she finally moved away from the town.
If that wasn’t peculiar enough, I stopped for a coffee the other day and heard this saga that had its roots back in 1958. After being stationed in Egypt for a 13-month deployment as part of a United Nations peacekeeping force, Canadian service people were finally on their way home. The return flight was interrupted by a vicious storm that forced the plane to divert to Gibraltar for a couple of days. That was an opportunity for some catch-up drinking. Afterwards, many staggered back to the barracks. Our guy had the bottom bunk. He fell dead asleep with one arm outstretched. When he awoke, that arm had substantial dried puke on it and it stunk to high heaven. Apparently the person in the top bunk was sick during the night. Never having met before, they left the footprints of the ‘fifth’ swearing they would have nothing to do with each other again. Not too be: Some years later they ran across each other at LaGuardia airport, had a most brief chat and went on their own way. Many years later our guy answered the telephone at work from someone in Gatineau interested in buying a house in his region. The two parties arranged to meet at a coffee place and they did. Our guy in total astonishment, said, “Not you again!”
It happened when I was still a student. Somehow a $20 bill was accidentally on purpose removed from my coat pocket by my sister who must have forgot to return it. I didn’t realize that it went missing at all until my sister, who should have definitely ‘pleaded the fifth’, some 20 years later couldn’t keep that secret and confessed to me what she had done. I was so infuriated with her. It still irks me occasionally to this very day.
To dispense with the notion of pleading the fifth, even if it wasn’t designed for most (if any) individuals, I did find it had some merit. It helps to prevent me from saying more than I should – resulting in less hostile pushbacks.
