Dudley DoRight

I still don’t have my hat, and that’s not even the worst part.

I’m 71 years old and I’ve spent roughly half a century outside, in an astonishing assortment of weather conditions.

Given my pallid Northern European complexion, one of the consequences is that once a year I need to pay a visit to my dermatologist. She valiantly tries not to yell at me as she freezes an assortment of per-cancerous lesions off my noggin.

I rarely went without a hat, but it was always a ball cap given to me by a seed company, which did nothing for my ears and neck. There’s a saying that goes, “Too soon old, too late smart.” That’s me in a nutshell, but I’ve started wearing summer hats with wide brims. That’s a problem, too, since most of the summer hats for sale near me are cowboy hats. I’m not a cowboy, nor do I want to pretend to be one. So, if I’m in a warm part of the world and see a suitable hat, I buy it and keep it long past the point of respectability.

This year I decided to be proactive. About six weeks ago, with my visit to the dermatologist and Number Five’s baseball season both on the horizon, I decided to order a hat online. I found a company that sourced its hats from a small village in Uruguay. The website included a charming story, photos of the company founders and of the villagers who produced the hats, and the price was reasonable. Coming from a small, obscure place myself, I’m a sucker for such stories, so I placed my order and then forgot about it.

A couple weeks ago I realized I still didn’t have my hat, so I searched my email and found the tracking number for the order. I traced the number and discovered that my hat was just leaving Dongguan City, Guangdong Province, People’s Republic of China.

What the hey?

I did some more research and learned that the company is headquartered in Hong Kong, and rather than the hats being made by plucky villagers in Uruguay, they are made in a factory in China.

Among my many shortcomings, one of my handicaps is a strong strain of Dudley DoRight, Eddie Atta-Boy. I do understand how advertising works, and I get it that there’s nothing wrong with stretching the truth in order to advance your prospects. Let’s face it. If there were a strict code of truth in advertising, odds are I’d still be a bachelor. Having said that, I just don’t think you should be able to flat out lie in order to get ahead.

I’m more or less used to the people I love having their faces buried in their phones more often than not. When I’m stuck in a hotel room watching network tv, I just shake my head at the number of advertisements and the stupidity of much of the programming. The shocking level of unfairness and inequality in the world is like a migraine that never goes away; I’m no longer surprised by that.

But I never get over being shocked at hearing someone lie. Not stretch the truth, not spin a story for entertainment purposes or a favorable outcome, but flat out lie, telling an untruth that anyone can check out. In addition, it’s apparent that not many people care about what’s true and what isn’t.

And our society rewards that.

And that I will never understand.

Copyright 2026 Brent Olson