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By Tom Anselm

Greetings:

You may think it a bit odd today, seeing this column space taken up by a guest writer. However, in the interest of fair play, said columnist has graciously agreed to relinquish his bi-weekly ramblings for my benefit. My appreciation is unbounded.

So, here I am. The foundation of your feast soon-to-be. The main course, so to speak.

I am Tom Turkey.

   You also may be wondering just how that name came to be. Well, there is a rumor, rather comical in nature, that my name was originated by Benjamin Franklin. He wanted the national bird to be the turkey, and then-President Thomas Jefferson instead chose the bald eagle.

So in defiance of this, Franklin named me “Tom”. However, it seems to be a product of ‘fake news’, as no corroboration exists to this effect. In reality, the term ‘tom’ refers to the male of many animal species. And, truth be told, I am not offended to have lost the title to one of Nature’s most elegant of birds. Can you imagine one such as me flying into a sports stadium, or decorating a coin? Nor can I.

I actually came to this nation from the south, Mexico to be exact. Domesticated by the Mayans, and migrated northward, through the middle and eastern parts of the North American continent. I populated the heavily forested regions of this land, went as far as the Atlantic Ocean, where I made my most famous appearance in 1621. More on that later.

I was a very popular and unique bird, with my deep-rich brown tail plumage, bright red facial appendage and unique call.

Hunters (those devilish beasts!) could hear my gobble a mile away, and so I unknowingly doomed myself to gracing many-a table in brown, crackling goodness. So popular was I that merchants carried my forebears to the Middle East and then to other parts of Europe. Thus, ‘Turkey’ became my moniker, although I prefer the more accurate Melleagris gallopavo. Just sayin’.

Now despite that elegant name, I have been cruelly denigrated over the years. Why, I ask, am I so often depicted as a daft-looking idiot in a tall, silver-buckled black hat? And, in the 1970s, things sunk so low as to call someone who was a chump a ‘jive turkey’. To paraphrase a comedian of the past, ‘I get no respect.’

There are a few instances, however, that have salvaged my name, such as referring to getting three strikes in a row in a game called bowling as ‘rolling a turkey,’ because, apparently, in the late 1890s, this feat was awarded with… you guessed it, a prize turkey. Pretty cool, right? And of course, we Melleagris’ regained some esteem in 1941 with the onset of a rather high-end Kentucky bourbon whiskey called ‘Wild Turkey.’ We are a wild fowl, after all.

Now back to 1621. Plentiful in the region, my ancestors were sought out by a group of religious settlers from England. The native population in that area, in the interest of peace, co-hosted a feast to celebrate the harvest. And so, ‘a-fowling’ they all went, in search of delicious dinner. Ironically, the legacy of my forebears will forever be linked to good feelings of family and feasting, fellowship and faith.

Not a bad way to be remembered, even if it means annually sizzling on a platter as Guest of Honor. However, right now this jive turkey must be gobbling along. I see a hungry-looking human on the horizon.

Happy ME Day, Pilgrims!!

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