Gone Fishin'

Celebrating a Deathday™: Universally beloved petrol station attendant Denver “Goober” Pyle died on this day, May 6, 2012. A happy-go-lucky man-child, Goober was born and raised in Mayberry RFDUSA, a veritable Hollywood backlot of a quintessential small town. Schooled as a mechanic in Raleigh, Goober served a stint in the National Guard, before hitchin’ up his high-waisted trousers and headin’ home for good. Deemed dimwitted by virginal local educator Helen Crump, Goober was nevertheless capable around a motor car and could break down an engine and reassemble it in the time it took Otis to empty a case of moonshine. “Goob” was loyal to a fault, bravely serving as an Emergency Deputy, alongside official Deputy Barnard Fife on stakeouts, one bullet between the two of them. He never had an unkind word for anyone, not even the chef at the Diner when he ran out of open-faced roast beef sandwiches. Like his esteemed cousin, USMC Gomer Pyle, Goober never married, yet he never wanted for female companionship — which isn't something the curiously, vocally-gifted Gomer could say — squiring Flora Mahlerbe and, later, Lydia Crosswaithe from Greensboro. Unbeknownst to many, Goober had an older brother named Braden, a bloody rocket-scientist for NASA. The brothers’ intellectual disparity was theorized by know-it-all Howard Sprague to be the result of some recessive gene, but others just figured Goober’s daddy was different from Braden’s on account of Goober’s Mum's reputation for sinful ways back in the day. Who knows, maybe bloody Wally at the fillin’ station was Goober’s pa, wouldn’t that have been something? In addition to his motorin’ prowess, Goober was a comic book aficionado, a spirited hoofer and a fledgling impersonator whose Jimmy Cagney — “you dirty rat, you killed my brother” — bested Frank Gorshin's any damn day of the week. He could slug as many as 12 orange sodies in a sitting and, if challenged, his belch could be heard as far as Mt. Pilot. When he finally hung up his back-pocket oil rag, Goober headed out west to a dude ranch trading his scalloped beanie for the Urban Cowboy chic (pictured) popularied by jet piloting Science-ologists™ in the 1980s. Goober died peacefully at the age of 83, whilst eating a box of his beloved Ritz® crackers, the "good cracker" of choice of one Andrew “Ange” Taylor. Goober joins Sheriff Taylor, County Clerk Sprague, Floyd the Barber, Emmet the repairman, Aunt Bea and Deputy Fife in that great fishin’ hole in the sky. Yo, Goober: Happy Anni-hearse-ary™, Chumley!