I’m happy not knowing

I remember reading an article one time that confidently stated, “Well, we now know who Jimmy Durante’s ‘Mrs. Calabash’ is,” and I was a little disappointed. I enjoyed the secret. But then I did a quick internet search, and found a site that named a different person, and a third that named a third person.

I suppose that’s the best of all worlds: the people who need an answer think they have one, the people who enjoy the mystery know they don’t.

I’m happy with a little mystery.  I don’t want to know what happened to Emilia Earhart, or the true identity of D.B. Cooper, or the final disposition of Jimmy Hoffa. I want to believe that Ms. Earhart circled back and lived a long and happy life with a secret lover, that D.B. Cooper enjoys a prosperous new life somewhere in the wide open spaces, that Mr. Hoffa entered the witness protection program with one hell of a cover story.

And I’d also like to believe that Elvis is hiding in plain sight as an impersonator in a kitschy wedding chapel in Las Vegas, eating peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches and laughing himself to sleep every night.

There’s hope in “maybe.”

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