My Jug Runneth Under

WALTER RIPPERTON had to admit that, despite everything, he felt unemployed. Laid off in October from his job as a steelworker, he hadn't been back to work since. Instead, he padded around the house in his bathrobe and a pair of worn argyle socks each day, getting dressed on Thursdays to pick up his unemployment check. He watched people winning thousands of dollars on "The $10,000 Pyramid" and "Hollywood Squares," rearranged the living room furniture with his wife a few times, and generally would have been more relaxed than he ever imagined he could be, had he known where his meals would be coming from a few months hence.

Walter had looked for work, of course; he might even have found some if everyone else he knew had not been looking at the same time. So after three months or so of searching, late in December. Walter gave up. And although he didn't realize it, he suddenly was not unemployed anymore.

The change, of course, was subtle. Walter was still unsure of what he would do when his unemployment benefits--or, as the people at the unemployment office suddenly began referring to them, his un-unemployment benefits--ran out. He still didn't know if he would find work again. His wife continued to clip every coupon she could find, and his meager savings continued to dwindle.

He did notice, however, that his friends--who he always felt were more in the know than he--regarded him with a new air of respect. When he would scrape together enough pennies for a quick visit to his local tavern, he would walk in and hear people whispering quietly almost reverentially, about how the United States needed more people like Walter Ripperton to pull itself out of the recession.

All this was quite bewildering to Walter, who would ease up to the nearest basket of pretzels, slip it stealthily under his coat, and go home to share it with his wife as they watched people winning thousands of dollars on "Treasure Hunt" and trading away a new Cadillac Eldorado for the oxcart behind The Curtain That Carol is Pointing To on "Let's Make a Deal."

It was on just one of these occasions, late in February, that the letter came. It was on cream-colored stationery--quite thick and impressive looking--with "The White House" embossed in small, plain letters on the flap. Walter had received no mail in the past three months, except a foreclosure notice from his bank and a curt note from the finance company telling him his 1959 Chevy had been repossessed. Walter was, needless to say, excited. He carefully ripped off the end of the envelope, pulled out the letter and read:

"Dear Mr. Ripperton:

"It has come to the attention of my office that you have joined the growing ranks of the un-unemployed. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your courageous decision.

"As you may know, when patriotic Americans like yourself take the big step and stop looking for work, they mysteriously disappear from the Labor Department's statistics on unemployed persons. In the present economic situation, we have found this is the most effective way to hold down the rising rate of unemployment.

"More than half a million Americans have done just this in the past three months, helping this country to solve its unemployment problem. We're pleased to have you among them.

"There is, of course, the possibility that we could find a good place for you with other courageous Americans in a small operation we're starting in Cambodia, which you may be hearing more about within the next few months.

"Meanwhile, I am pleased to enclose a brand new 'JUG' button--Join the Un-unemployed Group--and my thanks.

"Sincerely,

Gerald Rudolph Ford."

Walter understood completely. He pinned the JUG button to his bathrobe, put the letter on the mantel, and boiled the envelope for lunch.