1977
Never Happy Horton
June 1977


“Never Happy Horton,” Friend, June 1977, 46

Never Happy Horton

His parents named him Happy Horton Hoggle. But by the time he was six years old, everyone called him Never Happy Horton. When Never Happy Horton started school, everyone there soon knew the reason for his name.

That first morning Mr. Barnes, the principal, was at the front door to greet the students. He reached for Horton’s hand to shake it.

“I don’t like to shake hands!” Never Happy Horton said with a big frown.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m here to help you,” said Mr. Barnes with a smile. “I want to be your friend.”

“No you don’t and I don’t want to be anybody’s friend. Don’t you know who I am? I’m Never Happy Horton. And by the way,” Horton growled, “I don’t like school either!”

Mr. Barnes wiped his bald head with a handkerchief. “Oh, but everyone at Bunker Elementary School tries to be happy,” he said with a nervous smile.

“Not me! I’m Never Happy Horton, and don’t you forget it!”

“Oh, I won’t,” Mr. Barnes assured him.

Miss Kate, Horton’s teacher, couldn’t forget either after he had come to her class. Horton was sitting in the darkest back corner all alone. “Wouldn’t you like to join us for story time?” Miss Kate asked.

“I don’t happen to like stories,” Horton said as he folded his arms across his chest.

“But this is a very exciting story,” Miss Kate said coaxingly.

“No story is a good story.”

“But everyone likes some story!” Miss Kate insisted.

“Not me! I don’t even like television. I’m Never Happy Horton, and don’t you forget it!” Horton shouted.

“Oh, I won’t,” said Miss Kate, heaving a big sigh.

At recess the boys needed one more player to make the baseball teams even.

“Come play ball,” Timothy called to Never Happy Horton who was sitting in the middle of a hopscotch square so the girls couldn’t play.

“I don’t like ball games,” Horton replied in an ugly voice.

“C’mon anyway,” Timothy urged. “You might find you like it.”

“Not me! I’m Never Happy Horton. I don’t even like recess, and don’t you forget that either!” Horton insisted.

“Oh, we won’t,” said Timothy with a shake of his head as he went back to play baseball.

“You can’t fool me, Never Happy Horton! You aren’t always unhappy,” said Suzanna, one of the girls who wanted to play hopscotch.

“I’m Never Happy Horton! Just ask anyone! I’m never, never happy!” Horton shouted.

“But you’re happy right now. You’re happy making other people unhappy,” Suzanna argued.

“That doesn’t make sense!” cried Horton as loud as he could. “I’m Never Happy Horton, and don’t you forget it!”

“Well, if you’re never happy, why are you sitting in our hopscotch square?”

“Because … well … because,” Horton folded his arms over his chest and frowned. “Just because.”

“Because you’re happy there,” Suzanna said politely. “And so I hereby proclaim you to be Happy Horton.”

“Wait just one minute,” Horton said with a puzzled look. “That’s a terrible name for a boy! It sounds awful! Happy Horton! I hate it!” Horton squished his face together. “Ugh! Nobody is named Happy Horton Hoggle!”

“You are,” Suzanna said. “You and nobody but you.”

“Well, it’s still awful! At least Never Happy Horton sounds tough!”

“What’s so great about being tough? Anyone can be tough.”

“But Happy Horton Hoggle is an awful name,” Horton said quietly.

“Only if you make it awful. After all, being the one and only Happy Horton Hoggle in the world should make you important,” she pointed out.

“Hey, I never thought of that,” Happy Horton said, and the frown almost turned into a smile. “I’m the only Happy Horton I know of.”

“And you’re the only one I’ve ever heard of. That most certainly makes you very special!” Suzanna repeated.

“It does? I mean, yes, it does!” Happy Horton agreed. “I’m Happy Horton Hoggle, and don’t you forget it.”

“That’s great,” Suzanna said. “But next time could you say it just a little softer please?”

“I’m Happy Horton,” Horton said in an almost normal voice, “And I’m the only Happy Horton Hoggle I know.”

“Good,” Suzanna said. “With a little practice you’ll make it. Now will you go play ball?”

“Sure,” said Happy Horton, and he even smiled.

Illustrated by Len Epstein