The Time Capsule | Roy Marshall

Dave Barry’s colonoscopy column was originally published in 2009. It has since been reprinted, circulated, emailed, clipped and posted so often in so many languages pretty much every literate person on the planet has had a chance to read it. 

Barry is a semi-retired, award-winning, syndicated professional who has grown famous and wealthy through books, articles and public appearances. Despite his considerable talent, many readers know him best for — in his words — having a tube put 17,000 feet up his “behindular zone.” 

Barry wrote the piece to encourage those over age 50 to have the procedure. He tells us he realized the importance when his younger brother had a routine colonoscopy, which detected cancer early enough for effective treatment. 

The column concludes with an offer: Any reader who follows his advice and has a colonoscopy will, after sending a self-addressed stamped envelope to his newspaper, receive a certificate signed by Barry along with a section of toilet paper embossed with the image of Paris Hilton. Both the certificate and picture were said to be suitable for appropriate purposes, including framing. 

A few months after Barry had his I had mine — doing so not because of his advice but because of a doctor’s. Thanks to Barry, though, I knew what to expect after drinking a pony keg of Go-LYTLEY (the person who chose that name is demented), of donning a hospital garment designed by what he described as “sadist-perverts,” and of rolling onto my left side with fists clenched and teeth gritted. 

Like Barry, my next awareness was awakening in a recovery room feeling mellow as a Polly peach on a summer evening. Before the day ended, I retrieved his column, acquired the address, prepared a SASE, included my hospital wristband and mailed the request. 

I wasn’t interested in the certificate, even one that included a facsimile of Dave Barry’s autograph. I was, however, intrigued by the thought of toilet paper squares bearing the image of Paris Hilton. This seemed to be something that, if taken care of, would one day be a collector’s item; an heirloom more meaningful to grandchildren than the money their grandmother is going through like water. 

There’s also the fact that bathroom décor puzzles me, and my wife isn’t good at it either. In ours she has pelican pictures taken while we were at a campground on the Texas gulf. She framed and hung them, then asked what I thought. She was not pleased with my reaction; told me if I didn’t like it to find something better. I wasn’t sure what that would be until Barry’s offer. I planned to handle the Paris Hilton toilet paper just as my wife did her pelican pictures, by putting a square behind glass in a stylish frame and hanging it and dealing with the reaction later. 

I still don’t know how that would have gone as I didn’t receive anything from Barry or his newspaper. The column said the offer was limited, so perhaps they ran out of Paris Hilton toilet paper. That’s understandable, but someone should at least have used my stamped envelope to send an explanation. 

I hold Barry at fault for causing me to want that special square of tissue and then failing to deliver — something I think of each time I step out of the shower to an audience of pelicans. 

A mean-spirited person might hope Barry’s eternal reward includes 17,000 feet of plastic tubing, perhaps with Paris Hilton as anesthesiologist. But the reality is he did something beneficial, a unusual achievement for a columnist, and we’ll never know how many had their lives prolonged because of it. 

Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.