Sunday, January 22, 2012


Masters of the Art: A Recap of Rhode Island's First Ever Liar's Competion
        By Rhema Thompson

Nationally-renowned storyteller Tejumola Ologboni regales the crowd at ROOTS Cafe. (Photo courtesy of Rhode Island Black Storytellers)
I believe it was Mark Twain who once lamented the demise of the noble art of lying, dismissing today’s verbal concoctions spewed from D.C. podiums and S. C. pulpits as sloven amalgamations of what once was.
How fortuitous, then, that in the great state of Rhode Island an acclaimed team of high-minded individuals have assembled to restore this time-honored tradition to its truest art form (so to speak.)
As part of FUNDA Fest weekend, Rhode Island Black Storytellers hosted the first ever “New England International Open Invitational Tall Tale Tellers Contest for Liars Only” on Friday—the first contest of its kind in the state.
 Before the gullible masses at the ROOT CafĂ© in Providence, these wizards of invention competed to deliver the most original, engaging, family-friendly fib in just under five minutes. Lawyers, however, were strictly prohibited from competing, said RIBS Fibs emcee Mitch Capel citing their grossly unfair advantage.
“If you are a lawyer and win, we will Google your name and find out that you practice lying. You will be disqualified,” Capel admonished participants.
So no professional liars to worry about, but there were other unforeseen circumstances that stood between the contenders and their precious title.
            For “semi-professional liar” and veteran storyteller Laura Packer of Boston, there was the matter of the farmer with the disoriented donkey blocking 95 South and all hope of getting to the competition on time…that is, had it not been for her passenger “the miraculous preacher known as Ruth Hill” who apparently, had the power to turn cars blue and the wherewithal to get farmers and their donkeys moving.
            “‘Will you please move your ass!’” Packer quoted the esteemed reverend as saying.
            The farmer obliged. Packer arrived in time to tell the tale…and snag 3rd place.
            Then, there was Malawi-born storyteller and musician Mansanko Banda, who was interrupted mid-performance by a totally unexpected call from producers of the 64th Annual GRAMMY’s.
            “He says I have won for International New Music!” he announced to the audience moments before proceeding to run screaming off stage. (Funny, I never realized the GRAMMY’s announced winners three weeks before the actual ceremony.)
            Fellow Grammy award-winning performer Bill Harley of Seekonk inspired dozens as he overcame a few too many trips to the bar and wove together a relatively coherent tale on why he is no longer allowed to perform in New Hampshire. However, I suspect he ran over the 5-minute limit by about a minute, or six.
            Rhode Island’s own Valerie Tutson was the picture of resilience on stage given the tragic loss of her flute-playing Peruvian boyfriend just moments before the competition began. Apparently, he’d succumb to the rice and beans served earlier that evening.
“He took a bite and as soon as he did, he went into shock. You all didn’t see it over there, but he fell out dead right over there, and before everybody got here, we managed to carry out the body,” she said. The body was indeed gone, but the smell of fried foods lingered as a sad reminder.
In addition to the fatal dangers of food allergies, a few of the contestants took it upon themselves to point out some other rare but serious conditions.
RIBS Fibs runner-up Jim Roche of Boston took some time to spotlight a little known syndrome known as Species-Identity-Disorder (or SID), which sadly afflicts one in every ten million Irish goats.
And then there is the even lesser-known condition of GCCS—or Gutter-Cleaning-Cat Syndrome—to which the legendary Len Cabral lost his precious feline nearly five decades ago.
            Of course the night was not without its obvious, bold-faced lies—like a lady who gave birth to twins in ahospital (sure) and a white gentlemen who claimed to be African (right, and I’m the queen of England.)
But in the end, it was New York poetess Joann Sweetwine’s harrowing tale of being toppled by an odorous, New York subway derelict that won the hearts of judges and audience members alike.
“He falls on me, and my nice clean clothes start smelling like pee. So ever since then instead of calling me ‘Sweet,’ they’ve been calling me ‘Sweet Pee,’” she woefully recounted.
Speaking of pee, I’d be remiss not to mention the night’s stirring conclusion by national lying heavyweight Tejumola Ologboni in which he shared his first-hand account of overcoming the barriers of racial bigotry with an open exchange of dialogue, drinks and…bodily fluids.
The key to winning, Sweetwine later informed me, is simply self-delusion.
“You gotta believe your own lies,” she said.
Veteran tall tale teller Capel agrees. And he should know. The National Black Storytelling co-founder has been emceeing lying competitions like this around the country for nearly two decades.
“You lie so well that you begin to believe it yourself,” he said. But he says he gave up mastering the art, himself, a long time ago.
 “Anytime I open my mouth I tell the truth,” he assures me.
Tutson, apparently, shares those same convictions.
“My whole story was true. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Every bit of it was true.”
             Ah, Twain would be proud.