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Brady
Chapter
Sixteen of a novel by Claude Hall
B.M. EARLE & BOX BOK
Dan folded up his umbrella. Somewhat more carelessly than was his
wont. For inspite of everything, he usually meticulous. All ends
tied up neatly. This, he thought, was one of his major attributes as
a television producer. But at the moment, he felt it necessary to
hurry. He collapsed the chairs and placed them, too, haphazardly in
the trunk of the Mercedes with the ice chest, grabbed the empty beer
bottles although he could feel raindrops already pounding onto his
face, then ran toward the drugstore on the corner just as a flash of
lightning raced across the sky. The enormous burst of light was
followed almost immediately by an explosion of thunder that crashed
overhead and then rumbled over the square and off to the north. Rain
suddenly began to come down hard, pounding the street, splat-splat
like a machine gun in an old World War One movie. Like "All Quiet on
the Western Front" from the Erich Maria Remarque book. Great book.
Great movie.
Lew Ayres? Something like that. Funny, but he should know all of the
actors by heart. One of his favorite films. Instead, all Dan could
think of was that thunder. Quite impressive! Someday, a movie with
something like that. Shake everyone in their seats!
Someone moved aside at the door to let him pass. Three people were
there. They looked out the doorway at the sky. Questions were etched
in their faces. They paid little attention to him. A casual glance.
Kept their distance in order to avoid him dripping water on them.
More interested in the weather than him.
Dan ran his hand through his hair to knock some of the rain away.
They flinched away. He wasn't really wet. Just slightly damp. Out
the doorway, however, rain was now falling like a curtain across the
square. He could barely see the courthouse a hundred yards away. The
wind had come up. Trees around the courthouse were dancing in a
frenzy. Ghosts in a grey world.
"Just in time," someone said. "You were very close to getting
drenched. That Mexican fellow you were talking with got soaked
before he ducked inside the courthouse."
"Friend of mine," Dan said, looking at the man with what he hoped
was a defiant stare.
He glanced at Dan, then looked quickly out the doorway.
"Suit yourself," he said.
He took the empty beer bottles out of Dan's hand and placed them in
a trash can near the end of the counter. He was careful not to
actually look at Dan or even at the empty beer bottles. He seemed
focused on avoiding confrontation.
But Dan had no intention of letting him escape. He had decided that
the Brady gossip mill needed fuel.
"Offered him a good job in Los Angeles," Dan said, then he lied just
a little. "He said he would think about it."
"You have a job for me?" the guy asked.
"Sorry," Dan said. His tone was perhaps a little too sharp for the
occasion. They both stood looking out the doorway. Some rain had
fallen inside the doorway on the floor.
"Hey, your fight is not with me," the man said, now trying to stare
Dan down. He failed at this and then glanced down at the wet floor
in the doorway. "I've got my own problems and they keep me pretty
busy."
"Okay," Dan said. He nodded.
The man was absolutely bald except for tufts of white hair just
above each ear. Strangely enough, the effect looked good on him, but
like little white wings. But he was much too young, Dan thought, for
white hair, even though he was aware that it happened in some
people. Otherwise, the man looked something like a Robert Redford.
The bald head changed his appearance. Caused him to look much older
than he actually was. Robert Redford, of course, didn't look too
much like Robert Redford anymore now that he was older.
Dan thought for a moment and decided that the man was absolutely
right. He had become antagonistic and the attitude was uncalled for.
"I apologize," Dan said. "And I'm very grateful for your
hospitality. Especially at the moment. I don't know why I said that
about Rudy. But, yes, he's an old friend. From my childhood. We
played together as kids."
Just then a roll of thunder swept down behind the buildings to the
west and went northeast. It sounded like a freight train rushing
past and up close. Although dark outside, lightning caused the trees
around the courthouse to look like waving hands on a screen. An old
magic lantern effect. Then the world was dark again.
"Looks as if you've been sharing my hospitality all morning. Don't
worry about it. Hasn't hurt the bus business any and I think sales
at the soda counter have even picked up. A couple of people came in
and ordered coffee and sat there looking out the window at you. I
got nervous and called the police earlier, but it appears as if you
cleared muster so it's okay for me if you want to hang around."
"So you're the one that called old Lester on me. Thanks. Thanks a
lot."
"Mayor," he said by way of explanation. "Hope you don't plan to do
this sort of thing all week, though."
"Leaving tonight," Dan told him.
"Why have you been creating so much noise?" the man asked. "Just
curious. Hope you don't mind too much. You somebody special? There's
been an unusal flow of gossip this morning. More than ordinary."
"Not me," Dan said. "It's the storm."
"Sure," the man said.
"My name is Jones. Dan Jones. I used to live here. That's all. I
thought I only knew a few people. Maybe more people knew me, though,
than I realized."
"B.M. Earle," the man said and offered his hand. "I'm manager here.
As well as head bottlewasher, I should add. Hell, I also sweep the
place out. And I also do the mopping up when necessary."
He gestured at the water in the doorway.
"Mayor, too, someone told me," Dan said. "And evidently pretty good
at it. I don't know how good yet you are at mopping up."
"Yeah. The mayor. How about that? I don't know the difference,
though, between a good mayor and a bad mayor," Earle said. "In this
town, I don't think anyone really cares. As for the mopping, I'll
wait until the rain stops."
"That's okay about being mayor," Dan said. "I wouldn't know a bad
mayor anyway even if I saw one. Unless, of course, he or she was in
a movie and the character written that way."
"You in the movies?"
"Nope. I do a little television now and then."
"Anything I might watch?"
"Probably not."
They shook hands. Dan glanced at the two women staring out the
window.
"Passengers waiting over for the bus to Abilene," Earle said. "Came
in from San Saba. It wasn't them talking about you. The gossip
mongers ran for shelter when they seen that cloud."
Dan laughed
"Can't blame them for running," Dan said. "But you might as well
know that I don't care who talks about me. Nor what they say or
might have said."
"That's good," Earle said. "Because someone even called to make sure
you were camped outside. I was beginning to think you were some kind
of famous football player."
"Whew!" Dan said.
"Right," Earle said.
"I was referring to the rain," Dan said.
"Me, too," Earle said.
"Hope we don't get a tornado."
"I listened to the weather report on the radio this morning. Nothing
like that expected. Just boom and water. Lots of it, evidently."
"Sort of funny," Dan said. "I come back to Brady for just one single
day and it rains."
"Maybe I should phone you next drought we have around here. You
might come in handy."
"No guarantee," Dan said. "Don't know how good I'd be. Might rain,
might not."
One of the ladies asked him if the storm would prevent the bus from
coming. The manager told her that he didn't think so. "Bus drivers
are used to this sort of thing," he told her.
She wanted another cup of coffee.
He went with her to the counter and poured her a fresh cup, then
held the pot on high as if asking a question. Dan nodded. Earle
fetched a clean cup from the rack and poured coffee into it. He
handed the cup to Dan and then poured one for himself.
"Compliments of the storm," he said.
"Nice storm, Mr. Earle," Dan said.
Just then, however, the storm grew savage. Almost as if someone had
turned it up a notch. In the dark, you saw pictures thrown on a gray
screen by weird flashes of lightning. Flickering. A car, obviously
someone passing through town, came into the square from the west.
The driver was driving slow, his windshield wiper beating furiously
against the rain, but his vision limited. Whether it was a small
tornado or just a hard gust of wind, Dan couldn't tell, but a tree
on the courthouse lawn suddenly was pulled up by its roots and flung
against the rear of the car. All this was almost in silence; you
heard the hard roar of the storm, but all other noise was
obliterated by the wind and the rain.
The car slowly crashed against the curb and a light pole on the far
side of the square.
Both the mayor of Brady and Dan ran out into the storm and started
across the street. Instantly soaked, shirt and trousers plastered
against his body. He was thrown off balance by the wind. Struggled
forward as best he could. Almost fell. Then fell in the wind-blown
street that had been turned into a small river. As he climbed to his
feet, he saw Rudy Ramierez running between flashes of lightning.
Evidently, Rudy had been looking out of the courthouse, because he
joined them as they stumbled across the lawn. Rudy said something to
Dan. Dan didn't hear a word.
He reached the wreck first and yanked open the passenger door. An
elderly man sprawled out, but Rudy was able to catch him before he
hit the pavement. By then, Earle was there, checking the inside of
the car for other passengers. Instead of trying to shout against the
noise of the storm, he shook his head. Rudy tossed the driver of the
car over his shoulder and stumbled through the pounding of the rain
and the wind toward the courthouse. Earle was at his side, head down
against the lashing rain. Once, a gust of wind knocked Earle down to
his knees. Dan helped him to his feet and they continued, shoved
now, toward the courthouse and up the steps. But Earle couldn't get
the door opened.
In desperation, Rudy took off toward the cafe and the mayor of Brady
and Dan followed as best they could. Rudy seemed sure on his feet
even though he wasn't any bigger than the man he was carrrying. A
gust of wind hit Dan and flung him sprawling on the grass. Rudy
stopped. Dan waved him on. With the help of the mayor, he scrambled
to his feet and they staggered across the street to the drugstore on
the corner.
Once out of the rain, Rudy leaned the driver of the car against the
wall by a table and Earle quickly brought him a cup of black coffee.
The elderly man coughed as Rudy tried to pour some of it down his
throat.
"I use...cream," he said.
Earle laughed and rose to his feet.
"He's all right," he said.
The two women who were waiting for a bus stood near the rear
entrance. They were like reeds. They watched up without saying
anything. Without offering to help. Now and then one of them would
glance out the back door to see if the bus had come yet.
"I think I could use some more of the coffee," Dan said, trying to
sweep some of the rain from his hair with the flat of his palms.
"Me, too," said Rudy.
"First, let me see if I can find a clean towel."
Earle went to a closet and came back with a couple of towels. He
handed one to Dan and one to Rudy.
"What about me?" asked the elderly man, still sitting on the floor
sipping at his coffee.
"Out of towels, I'm afraid. Sorry."
Rudy handed his towel to the man. Instead of wiping his face,
however, the man dropped the towel on the table. Rudy, shrugged,
casually picked up the towel and continued wiping drying his head.
Dan finished wiping off somewhat with the towel, which was just a
small cup towel. He and Rudy helped the elderly man up and sat him
in a chair at the table with his cup of coffee.
"I think you're all wet," Dan told the man. Then he wished he hadn't
said it. Too sarcastic. Yes, he'd taken an almost instant dislike to
this wizened little creature they had rescued from the storm. But
increasingly Dan thought of the man as the fish they should have
tossed back.
Earle brought him and Rudy some cups of coffee and sat them down at
the table. Then he went back to his closet and came forth with a
mop.
"I also do the mopping around here," he said. "But I think I
mentioned that earlier."
"I can help," Rudy said.
"No. Let me do it," the mayor said.
He tried to mop the floor but the elderly man was still dripping
water everywhere. Finally, Earle just stepped back, leaned on his
mop handle, and stared at the pool of water on the floor.
"At least you make good coffee," Rudy said. He took Dan's cup towel
and his own and Dan's canvas hat and went around the counter to a
sink and squeezed them out and come back and handed one of the
towels to the elderly man. With the other, he attempted to clear up
some of the water on the surface of the table.
"My hat," Dan said loudly.
Rudy laughed, then just nodded and handed Dan the wadded hat from
where he'd tucked it in his belt.
The hat was wet still. But, after an inspection, Dan sort of thought
the rain had been good for it. Same with Rudy's shirt and trousers.
He went over to the sink and squeezed out most of the water, then
put the hat on and grinned at Rudy.
"How's my car?" the elderly man said. He glanced at Dan instead of
looking out the front windows of the cafe. "I've got to get down to
San Antone."
Rudy went to the window and looked out.
"Hard to tell," Rudy said. "Because of the rain, it's difficult to
even see your car. But I think it'll be okay to drive if we can
straighten out that front fender some. You have a serious dent in
the rear where that tree fell, but that shouldn't stop you from
driving."
"Thank you," the man said to Dan as if he was the one telling him
about his car.
"I'm Dan Jones," Dan said, "and this Is Rudy Ramierez who rescued
you. That gentleman with the mop is Mr. Earle, the mayor."
He looked at Dan first, then the mayor.
"I'm grateful," he said. "What happened? Did anyone see it?"
"We all did," said Earle. "The wind pulled up a tree and flung it
your direction. The tree hit your car on the rear end. That caused
you to run into the curb and a light pole."
The hard lightning had moved on to the northeast, leaving only the
sound of distant, fading thunder. The rain was not heavy anymore,
but steady. Wind flung rain against the large windows of the
drugstore. It was an odd sound.
"Just what I needed, a wreck," the man said. "My name is Bok.
Everyone calls me Box, but my name is spelled with a k on the end,
not an x."
"If you needed a wreck, you got a pretty good one," said Rudy.
"Fortunately, no one was hurt. And you'll be able to spin a good
story for years about wrecking a car in a Brady storm."
A bus pulled in under the back overhang. The two women were excited
about the bus. Mr. Earle went to help them board and help the driver
get their luggage tucked away. He came back a moment later and told
Dan and Rudy that a tornado had come through Brady. The driver had
seen it in a flash of lightning and stopped for a few minutes.
"I didn't see anything like that," Rudy said.
"One big one will sometimes create a smaller tornado nearby," Earle
told him. "You might not even realize it unless it has picked up
some debris or dust. Or maybe a big twister reached down, picked up
the tree and tossed it, then moved on. That can happen sometimes.
They bounce around a lot."
"It was dark anyway," Rudy said. "And that rain! We haven't had that
kind of rain around here in years."
"Might put a lot of water in the lake," Earle said. "Fishing could
be good in a couple of weeks. You like to fish?"
Rudy looked at Dan, a grin on his face, before responding. "I used
to fish a lot with some old friends, but not in a long, long time.
They left town on me. Don't even have fishing gear. But you're
probably right about that lake. I think it was getting low."
By now the rain had slacked off. The hard rain stopped suddenly,
just as if a movie in a theater had ended. But it was still
drizzling. Small drops. Slow. Steady.
"Just about over," Dan said after glancing out the window. "Texas
thunderheads do that. Hit and git."
"Helps cool off the day, though," said Earle. "Guess there's a
little good in just about everything."
"Not everything," Rudy said.
Rudy stood up from the table. He'd just finished his cup of coffee.
"If I may borrow your keys, Box, I'll see what I can do to get you
operational."
"Guess they're still in the car," Box said.
"I may have to get it over to the shop to straighten out that fender
some."
"Okay," Box said. But he actually seemed to be talking with Dan
instead of Rudy.
"I'll go with you," Dan said.
"I don't need any help."
"You definitely need help," Dan insisted.
It was still drizzling as Rudy and Dan walked across the square to
Box's car. Since they were still wet from earlier, Dan didn't mind
the rain. It was gentle. Comfortable. Like Rudy had surmised, the
tree had landed mostly on the trunk of the car, bashing it in good.
Take a body shop to get that dent out. When Box drove into the
lightpole, it had shoved his fender in near the front right tire.
"Guess I need a crowbar," Rudy said. "You go on back to the bus
station. I'll fetch a crowbar from the shop. Shouldn't take too long
to pry that fender away from his tire. About all we can do. But
he'll be able to drive his car."
By the time Dan got back to the bus station, Earle had another pot
of coffee ready. Dan told Box about his car. He said thanks.
The rain kicked up again. Across the square, Dan could see Rudy
working patiently in the rain. He seemed determined to get the car
functional. Box would have to take it in for repairs when he got
home, but Rudy seemed determined at least help him to get out of
Brady.
"How's the bus business doing?" Dan asked Earle. Then he wondered
why he'd asked. That was purely a casual conversation question. He
couldn't remember when he'd purposely sought casual conversation
like that.
"Okay, I guess," Earle said. "When gasoline prices went up, a lot of
people had to resort to the bus. But the bus line also had to
increase fares. Vicious circle, in a way."
"Someone's making a lot of money out of this so-called shortage of
crude oil," Dan said. "That war in Iraq didn't help any. We should
have gone to ethanol instead of war."
"Big mistake alright," Earle said. "The president should have been
impeached. Better yet, tarred and feathered and run out of town on a
rail. Like in the old days."
"I don't think they've ever done anything like that around Brady,"
Dan said. "I can't even remember seeing anything like that in a
movie. Heard about it. Never saw it. But I think you're right. We've
got a talk-talk president who's a do-nothing of the worse order."
"I resent that!" said Box. His voice was just a little too loud, too
shrill.
"Resent what?" asked Earle.
"You defaming the president of the United States. That's what."
"Listen, stranger. That's what presidents are far. And this one has
done a lousy job," Earle said. He said it in a casual manner.
"Killing all those people over there. They were just trying to
defend themselves. It's a hell of a note when you've got to shoot a
man to steal his oil."
"If they'd used those weapons on us, you'd be talking a different
tune," Box said.
"What weapons?"
"Those weapons of mass destruction, of course."
"There were no weapons of mass destruction. Just some old guns and
leftover shells. Mere pop guns against tanks, fighter planes and
helicopter gunships, rockets, 500-pound bombs. The White House--your
president--lied to the American public, I'm afraid."
Box seemed suddenly to be fuming as if from a fevor. His eyes darted
here, darted there. He evidently thought he was among enemies.
"The president said that we had to get rid of the evil ones. I
believe him. You've got to depend on your president, you know. This
is America!"
"America? The America I know doesn't invade other countries without
reason. That whore monger we had before was better in the job,"
Earle said. "At least he wasn't a murder and babykiller so far as we
know. Or a dopehead, for that matter."
"Our president acted correctly and wisely," Box insisted. "What
about those mass graves with hundred of thousands of bodies they
found?"
"They didn't find any mass graves," Earle said calmly almost as if
he wasn't talking to Box, but to the rain out the window. "Do you
know how large a grave like that would be? To hold even a hundred
thousand bodies? Bigger than Brady, Texas. Even if you just piled
the bodies up. Anyone could tell that it was an outrageous lie from
the beginning."
Box stood up. He literally dropped his coffee cup on the table.
Coffee splattered everywhere. Some of it splattered on the shirt Box
was wearing. His shirt was still soaked. He would have a rather
interesting coffee stain on that shirt even after he washed it.
"You're a liberal, aren't you?" Box said.
He said it in a cold and very accusing tone of voice.
"I don't even know what you're talking about," Earle said. "What's a
liberal these days?"
"A person who speaks treason against the United States," Box said
defiantly.
"Oh. Glad you explained it to me," Earle said. "Would you like
another cup of coffee?"
Box literally ran to the window. Across the square Dan could see
Rudy still patiently working on the car in the rain. The rain, once
was driven at an angle by the wind, now fell straight down. He was
sprawled on his back, his face hidden under the car.
"Horrible position," Dan said, "...trying to explain what treason
is. I guess treason is doing what you really believe as opposed to
what they tell you to believe. If so, I suppose I'm guilty. Come to
think of it, everyone I know is probably a liberal. I don't know
anyone who wanted this god-awful war."
"Treason?" said Earle. "How about idiocracy? A while back the
president Mr. Box speaks of so fondly said that freedom is the
almighty's gift to every man and woman in the world and as the
greatest power on the face of the earth we had an obligation to help
the spread of freedom. So we bombed the hell out of Iraq and then
went in there with tanks and helicopter gunships and soldiers and
shot upwards of ten thousand people, a lot of them wives and kids. A
lot of our boys were killed as this president tried to spread his
form of democracy. And several thousand wounded. Hell of a price to
pay for freedom."
"They were evil!" Box literally shouted. "Saddam Hussein deserves to
be hung!"
"For defending his country against the United States? Hardly. He'll
more than likely be murdered for crimes against humanity. That's
what happens to all losers. Doesn't mean he deserves it, though."
"What about that vicious attack on the World Trade Center? That's a
good reason to attack those Iraqi heathens."
"Don't think the Iraqis were there," Earle said. "I heard we were
attacked by Al Qaeda. Of course, we don't really know precisely who
the Al Qaeda is either. That's never been properly explained. To to
me, anyway."
Rudy finished at the car and came quickly back across the square,
crowbar tucked under his arm.
Box saw Rudy coming.
"Damned liberals!" Box said and scooted out the door in the
drizzling rain. Just as if he were fleeing.
"Wonder what was really bothering him," Dan said.
"Probably still shookup because of the accident," Earle said.
"Shock. Nerves. An accident like that will do that sort of thing to
you sometimes."
Earle and Dan stood at the door as Box dodged a car, stopped long
enough to shake his fist at the driver, then hurried under the trees
and across the street again to his car. As he passed Rudy, he held
out his hand. Rudy handed him the keys to his car and Box blundered
on through the steady rain.
Rudy came into the drugstore. Earle handed him one of the small
towels. Rudy nodded his appreciation and began to dry his face and
hands.
"Didn't even say thanks," Rudy said.
"He was afraid you might suggest a tip," Dan told him.
"A tip? I don't even know what a tip is. Not in this town. But a
thanks would have been nice. I would have taken a mere thanks."
"The real reason is that he thought you were a liberal," Earle told
Rudy. He looked at Dan. "Exactly what kind of liberal are you?"
"I don't know," Dan said. "Are there different kinds now?"
"Everyone in California is a liberal and I heard you were from
California. Are you one of the practicing liberals or just a closet
liberal? Or, perhaps California liberals are entirely different."
"Probably a mildly participating liberal," Dan said. "Perhaps I
don't participate enough. Regardless, I don't just participate for
show...for the publicity. Maybe I'm a quiet liberal. Is there such a
thing?"
"Liberal is a dirty word around here in central Texas sometimes,"
Earle said.
"I wonder why. Used to be a nice word."
"I don't know. Guess definitions change. People change. Guess words
can, too."
Across the square, Box literally leaped inside his car and slammed
the door. You'd have thought someone was chasing him. The car
lurched into motion and soon whipped around the corner and headed
south.
"I think you just lost a customer going about as fast as he can get
toward San Antonio," Dan said.
"Good," Earle said.
The rain stopped. It was still grey out. Very dark.
"More coffee?"
"I think I've had enough coffee," Dan said. "Almost on a jag.
Sloshing. You don't want to get a mildly participating liberal on a
caffeine jag. I think what I need is a beer. Would you gentlemen
join me?"
"Might as well," Rudy said.
"Me, too," said the manager of the bus station.
Dan went out to the car and took three beers out of the ice chest
and carried them back before he popped off the tops.
"You're still dripping water," Dan told Rudy as he handed him a
bottle.
"Forget it," Earle said. "He has a right to drip if he wants to
drip. I'll mop later."
At least, Dan thought, the rain had washed Rudy's clothes. He looked
more presentable now.
They toasted each other just as the sun broke through. The clouds
were peeling away. Blue sky now off to the west.
"Hell of a rain," Dan said.
"Damned right," said Earle.
"I didn't appreciate it all that much," Rudy said.
"I wonder why," Earle said. "Hey, you mentioned something about
fishing earlier. My wife doesn't fish much anymore because of the
kid and I've been sort of scouting around for a fishing buddy since
we moved here. How about coming out to the lake one day with me?"
"I don't even have any fishing gear," Rudy said.
"My wife's. You can use her stuff."
"Well...."
"Good," said Earle.
"You may not want me along," Rudy said. "I'm not much at talking
politics. And probably only fish barely well enough to give a bass a
good laugh."
"We'll be fishing. Not talking," said Earle.
"When we aren't fishing?" Rudy asked.
"I don't talk politics," said Earle. "I scream politics. I'll scream
and you just nod your head now and then and we'll be okay. As for
your fishing abilities, that'll mean more for me."
"Hope you don't scare the fish away with all that screaming."
"I won't," said Earle.
"Just what is a liberal?" Rudy asked Dan.
"Someone who fixes a guy's car and doesn't even get a thanks for
doing so," Dan said.
"So, here we are," Earle said, "a bunch of cottonpicking liberals
looking out the window at a pretty day."
"Guess I'll get back to my command post so everyone can see me," Dan
said. His hat was a long way from being dry, but he sort of liked it
damp. Cooler that way. Sun would probably dry it out soon enough.
He left Rudy and Earle making arrangements for Sunday's fishing trip
and went out to the Mercedes and took out his chairs and umbrella
and sat and finished his beer while the sun began to shine again and
the square became bathed with a damp sheen left from the rain. It
was like a fantasy setting to some extent. Didn't look real.
Difficult to create that kind of scene, Dan thought, in a movie or a
television show.
(continued next week)
e-mail
claude@claudehallonline.com
|
November 17, 2008
Commentary
By Claude Hall
You put a computer in the shop, it’s not the same
computer anymore. This guy at the Mac Clinic here in Las Vegas is a
nice guy and he certainly understands what he’s doing, but my
computer has changed on me and I don’t understand what he did. All
of the pictures in iPhoto are missing. All of the songs in iTunes
have fled. A new icon is top right on my desktop called Spotlight.
It appears that the songs are somewhere in there when I open it up.
And when I click on one it pops over into iTunes and begins to play.
So, my great, great songs by Willie Nelson and Tom Russell are there
and I have "saved" 10 or so and will no doubt be able to "save" the
other 2,000 tunes in about a year and a half. As for the pictures, I
took the old hard drive back to Mac Clinic and he’s going to try to
"find" them and put them on a CD or DVD for me. I did notice that my
picture of Paul Ackerman with Sam Phillips is still on my laptop, so
all of those photos, more than a thousand, are dancing around,
perhaps, on this laptop with its new hard drive that is twice as big
as the old one…i.e., it will hold even more songs, even more
pictures, more novels (if I live long enough to write them).
One thing I know lost: An email from Red Jones
intended for my novel. But somehow, miracle of miracles, the Jimmy
Rabbitt stuff was there. Just arrived.
You talk about a headache! Weaving comments from
more than 45 of the world’s greatest radio people into a novel. But
if I can do it…masterpiece!
Thus, the novel "I Love Radio" is proceeding.
Yesterday, I had to write something negative about a couple of old
friends. And I’m toying with the question: Why bring up that crap
now? And in a novel, of all places, that will more than likely never
see the light of day except on my website? I decided to go ahead and
write it like it was; they will understand. But will their kids?
Still, there’s the obligation to tell it like it was (with apologies
to Howard Cosell).
OTHER MATTERS
Ernie Hopseker: "Hola. That's the greeting Tom
Russell puts on his signed copy of the new anthology album addressed
to you. I got it aboard the Cowboy Train, as it careened across
Canada. It will be in the mail as soon as I can get it out. In
addition to the signed copies, I caught a nasty cold on the train,
and have been pretty worthless at getting anything done ever since.
Anyway, Tom says hello, and says he reads the columns when he can.
The train was described as ‘the most fun you can have with your
clothes on’, by a fellow from London who we met at the Vancouver
hotel. He was pretty much right. Two shows a day with Tom Russell,
Ian Tyson and Eliza Gilkyson. All are top notch, and know how to put
on a great show. Opening and closing concerts on both ends, too.
Some new stuff from Russell, hopefully of which he will get out on a
new album soon. Gilkyson still flogging the ‘Beautiful World’ CD,
which is pretty political, but good stuff, and 75-year-old Ian
Tyson, gutting it out, despite the loss of his voice to a virus this
past year, forcing him to re-tune to other keys which he can handle.
Great fun. Sixty people packed into an old dance car, set up with
chairs and benches for the shows, which creaked and groaned like a
ship in a storm. Open microphones with amateur and working
musicians. Good food, lots of music and fans from all over the
world. Great scenery, too, from our own dome car. Elk along the
tracks at Jasper, BC, as well as mountain goats and sheep. It was
all over much too soon, and yes, it really was that much fun. Hope
you and Barbara are well."
My "bonus" from Ernie’s train trip was the double CD
package "The Anthology of Tom Russell." Ah, but I’ve just listened
to Tom Russell’s "Touch of Evil" once again. What a masterpiece!
POETRY MATTERS
"I Love Radio, the Poem II)
From the first of days
They helped me
For I was new and needed to understand
Radio
And they loved radio intensely
And wanted me to love radio
Cary Stevens, Frank Ward, William B. Williams,
Harvey Glascock And, albeit slowly, this came to be More than this,
however, I came to love those who loved radio Not mere mortals,
these Instead, gods And the greatest of these I came to believe Was
Bill Stewart All of the wonders of radio Began here Everything Some
say he took The oft outrageous ideas Of Todd Storz and Gordon
McLendon And made their ideas of genius Practical and real Thus, in
effect, Bill Stewart, too, was A genius This former school teacher
This former classical music deejay This man who believed in the
Enormous possibilities About radio With radio In the way things were
done on radio Not exactly dead because of TV
His story of study is renown
He mentioned listening to Bill Randle in Cleveland
Then the best in the land Bill studied Bill Days on end But others,
too Thus, with Todd Storz in Omaha Bill Stewart and Todd Storz Began
the journey The closed playlist The rotation patterns God bless Bill
Stewart He saved radio from the death grip of TV And the death grip
of boredom And because of him, others followed Ruth Meyers, Kent
Burkhart, George Wilson, L. David Moorhead, Pat O’Day, Rick Sklar,
Ted Atkins, Dean Tyler, Bill Young, Jay Blackburn, Paul Drew, Ron
Jacobs, Bill Drake, Buzz Bennett, Jack McCoy, and others And you who
reads this, too!
Sad Bill, poor Bill
The fame, perhaps
At least a little
The money, no
And all of the great things
That should have fallen
On his shoulders and in his pockets
Sadly never came to be
His final days, selling real estate
Wondering what might have been
Until that last hour in his study in Dallas Gone, no
honors left But I knew him well The man who loved radio And I honor
him yet in memory.
- c. hall.11.14.08
e-mail
claude@claudehallonline.com
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