I really missed the cards from engineers I never met, the wine and cheese from development companies I never heard of and the honey baked ham from, of all places, Forest Lawn Cemetery, even though the company was never an applicant before the commission when I was there.

My first Christmas as a commissioner—when I received the ham—I tried to return it, though for the record, I did not, since no one at Forest Lawn seemed authorized to accept the ham, apparently not even for burial. My guess is that not one of the many public servants who received the ham had ever tried to return it. When I received another ham the next Christmas, I gave it to a worthy charity.

The next year, some worthy friends were having a party so I gave it to them. The next year I had a party and we enjoyed the ham.

In the fifth year, about the tenth of December, I began wondering, where is my ham?