An alternate history of the First Thanksgiving Day

The Star on the Mountain in El Paso, Texas

The first Thanksgiving Day took place in El Paso, Texas, the city where I was born.  What  happened was that in the 1500’s, long before there was TV, radio was the only way to hear the news and most people never heard about the first Thanksgiving in El Paso because radio reception wasn’t as good as it is now. Nobody could figure out how to connect to the Internet and there weren’t enough geeks to go around fixing everybody’s routers. As a result, the real story didn’t get much circulation.

On the first Thanksgiving Day the main course was barbecue ribs, not turkey because there weren’t any turkeys in El Paso. Back in the day there was a party of Spaniards traveling from Mexico to New Mexico in search of ingredients for making salsa. They had looked all over Mexico for hot peppers but didn’t find any. Besides that, they had no idea what peppers looked like. All they had was tomatoes, onions, and some garlic. Their leader, whose name had an equal number of vowels and consonants, heard that somewhere to the north there was a tribe of Apache Indians who had a hoard of peppers called Jalapeños. Not only did the Spaniards lack peppers, they were out of meat because they’d eaten all their cattle.

At the same time there was a team of Cowboys driving a small herd of cattle from Lubbock to El Paso to trade with the Apaches who lived in New Mexico. The Cowboys exchanged beef for peppers. At that time the exchange rate was two pony loads of peppers for one steer. It’s probably different now.

Through a series of telegrams they agreed to meet on the third Thursday of November at a mountain that had a huge illuminated star on the southeast face. The far off Spaniards saw the Star, took it as an omen and decided to investigate. They had to travel at night because they couldn’t see the Star in the daytime.

And it happened that the three parties, the Spaniards, Cowboys and the Apaches wound up at the same place by banks of the Rio Grande. At first they stayed in their own camps but around mid-day the Cowboys roasted some of their beef and the Apaches roasted their peppers. Pretty soon the air was filled with the aromas of beef and peppers. The Spaniards looked at their tomatoes, onions, and some garlic.

The Spaniards, the Cowboys, and the Apaches were raised to be kind to others by their Four Bears. I know what you’re thinking. The Goldilocks story you heard since you were babies only had three bears. They always leave out the fourth one: Grandpa Bear. Anyway, to make a long story short, the leaders met and agreed to have dinner together.

The Spaniards brought baskets of tomatoes and onions and some garlic. The Indians came with their ponies loaded with peppers and cornmeal while the Cowboys had beef. They sat around, each party eating what they had and telling campfire stories.

Nobody knows exactly when it happened but a Spaniard and an Apache mixed the tomatoes, onions, and garlic with some of the Apache’s peppers. Salsa was born! And it was good. They offered some to the Cowboys who slathered it on their beef ribs. It tasted soooo good they immediately offered some to their new friends. They ate and ate until they couldn’t take another bite and fell asleep before the end of the first half of the Dallas Cowboys/Washington Redskins football game.

The next morning they skipped breakfast because they were still full so they just had coffee. But before they parted company they agreed to meet again next year at the same time for another dinner. They reminded each other to follow the Star.

Everything I told you is true. You can look it up on the Internet. I heard a rumor that there is a YouTube video of that dinner but it’s only in black and white with no sound.

Be a good girl and give me the knife, Catalina.

This is a re-post of a story I wrote three or four years ago. It’s mostly fictional story about a family Thanksgiving dinner. The characters depicted are not actual people though some readers may recognize themselves or have relatives like them.


Someone suggested that I should include this story in some future book of my short stories but a court order forbids me from profiting from this work.
It’s a four-minute read. 

(Holiday fiction for the survivors)

I spend a lot of time on the internet reading political news blogs. Blogs that are published in the fall tend to focus on holiday themes – Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukah, football, and shopping. Among the topics there are many bloggers who write nostalgically about going home for the holidays, meeting up with friends and family for get togethers full of cheer and bonhomie. There are also many, many other bloggers who are filled with dread at the thought of another bout of sibling rivalry replete with clashing social and political views. At the office we all hear about everyone’s dysfunctional families in which the teller of the tale is the only reasonable, sane person. Looking back at my own history I concur with that finding. I was the only sane and reasonable person at my family’s holiday parties. My brothers and sisters were all nuts.

How we remember it

How it probably was

Twenty years ago, there we were again at Mom & Dad’s house for the annual November family get together. We had arrived early as was our custom do some clean up, set up the adults table, the kids table, cool the wine and sneak in some early snacking – tamales, stuffed jalapenos, while avoiding the awful wine coolers my sister usually provided. She had a thing for wine coolers though they had passed out of fashion years before.

My Mom and Dad had gone into their bedroom with wineglasses and 2 bottles of good red. They would emerge in an hour or two, go to the den where the kids were watching MTV. This group had already learned to stay out of the way when the ‘adults’ start shooting.

Everything was ready. I was on my third Jack and Coke by the time Ed and Catalina showed up. My mind went back to the good weed I used to have a few years ago; the mellow stuff that let me take the bad with the good with equanimity. But there was no grass now so Jack would be my friend that night.

Intoxicants make me passive and accepting while they make Lorenzo more lecherous, Ed more voluble, and Catalina snarkier. Consuelo zones out on something but I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s Xanax. Dolores doesn’t change at all no how much what she drinks. She’s just pushy and nosy all the time. Her husband, Danny, is a man who can smile at everything from a cooing newborn to Freddy Krueger’s worst crimes with equal amusement. Mark and Kitty are the party poopers. Kitty takes these parties seriously and tries to be peace maker among the rest of us who are actively looking for a fight. Mark isn’t fun until he’s near passing out from too much alcohol

Catalina was the first to arrive bringing her famous Three Chocolate Enchilada Melt that everyone acclaimed but secretly tossed in the nearest trash receptacle every year. This time she brought twice as much. I had set out several trash cans in strategic locations around the house.

As always, Catalina was decked out in finery she got at Gilbert’s, a ladies fashion store where even the sales clerks believed they were better than anyone on the planet. Husband Ed’s hulk was ruggedly dressed in an outdoorsy sweater and slacks befitting the manly heavy construction guy he was. I kept his wine glass full in order to draw him out and start talking about his conservative politics. It’s easy to tie him in knots when he’s sober. A slightly drunk Ed can be turned into a human pretzel as easily as a balloon artist can make balloons into monkeys or poodles.

Lorenzo and Consuelo came next. She looked snockered already. I can’t really blame her. She’s married to a self-described world’s smartest man who has the desperate look of a man who hasn’t been laid in years. I have the strong suspicion that she cut him off years ago. To watch him socialize is a study in how sexual losers think they’re being clever by using transparent double entendres. Consuelo is dressed in the latest from J.C. Penney’s. Nice outfit but nothing like Catalina’s expensive ensemble from Gilbert's. Me? I don’t care what people wear or what it costs. It seems to matter to Catalina and the rest of the bunch.

Next, Dolores charges in with Danny not far behind. What a pair. Dolores is the organizer of sing alongs and party games. She is also a master pop psychologist who can tell you what’s wrong with you, your wife, and your kids after just a few seconds of observation. She doesn’t see that everyone there has been married far longer than she; that her own kids are sociopaths, and whose husband is so passive that a gunshot near his head would barely make him look up. Dolores as the arbiter of what’s right and wrong is matched only by Catalina’s repressed desire to murder everyone in the house. Catalina knows she can’t do that so she settles for trying to cut everyone down to size with her snide remarks.

It’s 8:30 now. In the last two hours I’ve been surreptitiously gathering up plates of uneaten Three Chocolate Enchiladas and dumping them in the trash.

Don't worry. There's plenty more

Lorenzo’s been chatting up my wife, looking down her dress every chance he gets. She’s looking good as usual. She walks away from him and Consuelo catches him leering and gives him a cross look that fades quickly as though she’s already forgotten why she was cross.

Ed and Danny are laughing about something over in the corner. Ed repeats whatever he said and Danny laughs again. To Danny a joke told twice is just as funny the second time it’s told. Danny hasn’t moved from the corner where he had been chatting with Ed. He’s staring and laughing at the space where Ed had been standing moments before.

I look around and now Catalina is talking to my wife and Consuelo. In top form as usual, she asks if my wife is wearing the same dress she wore last year. In fact, it is the same red silk, floor length dress with a slit from ankle to hip. I love that dress and wouldn’t mind if she wore it more often. Lorenzo’s been leering at her but I’m ignoring him for now. Now it’s Consuelo’s turn at being Catalina’s fashion target. “What a nice outfit”, she sniffs, “didn’t Sears have them on sale two years ago?” Consuelo demurs but Catalina’s not done. “I’m sure I saw racks and racks of that same dress, 60% off”. Consuelo is beyond caring. She must have dropped another Xanax.

Isn't that the same outfit you wore last year?

My wife edges away and goes over to where Danny is sitting on a stool sipping wine and watching out for Dolores. He’s not supposed to drink too much. Too much is whatever Dolores says is too much. It varies with her mood. He’s an agreeable guy with no opinions whatever. He’s got a tic that makes him appear as though he’s winking. The crazy thing is that the tic seems to be timed to the conversation he’s hearing so that when there’s a pause his eye twitches and makes the speaker believe that comprehension and approval are taking place inside Danny’s head. However, he does know football and is quite at home opining on which teams are winners and which are losers. Even though I’m an indifferent sports fan, I like to listen to him when he talks football. 

Yes, it is. Thank you for asking.

My wife takes the stool next to him and he compliments her on her dress. “You wore that dress last year”, he says. “It looks good on you.” My wife smiles at him gratefully. Sweet Danny. I could almost kiss him. A few feet away Consuelo is looking blankly at Catalina and Lorenzo is sneaking glances at my wife. I ignore him.

I looked in on Mom, Dad, and the kids in the den. Mom and a toddler were curled up together watching MTV along with the older kids. Dad was teaching some of the boys how to roll tight cigarettes that won’t shed or fall apart. The floor was littered with damp cigarette papers. My mind flashed back to the time he taught me and how years later I had amazed my stoner friends with that skill.

An hour or so later Catalina has been deeply into the cheap box wine which she publicly loathes but nonetheless craves and consumes with alacrity. I’ve long suspected that she’s a secret drinker. For me, her lust for cheap box wine is the clincher. She’s been doing pirouettes in front of me and Dolores. Her outfit seems to shed price tags as she twirls around it’s so expensive.

Suddenly she gets up on the table pulls her dress up and shouts, “See!! Even my panties are Gilbert's!”, which must come as a surprise to Gilbert to find himself without panties this evening. Ed hurries over to get her down but she dances away from him, now showing her panties from the rear. Everyone except Lorenzo looks away from the sight of her cottage cheese buttocks. She slips and nearly falls but Lorenzo catches her and cops a quick feel which earns him another cross look from Consuelo and a slap in the face from Catalina. Dolores puts her arm over Catalina's shoulder and guides her to the bathroom, probably for some instant psychoanalysis and therapy.

My wife is sitting in an easy chair over in the corner holding a cup of wine in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. She’s been drinking a lot but it hasn’t helped. This is the fifteenth Thanksgiving dinner she’s had with my family and wine no longer has power to anesthetize her. The force of this dysfunctional family is just too great. I go over to comfort her but thinking that I’m there to take away her wine she curls up into a ball, shielding her precious wine from me.

Of course, Lorenzo wouldn’t miss this up-skirt shot but I catch him looking and he does a fast about face which brings him face to face with the ever righteous Dolores. She saw his lecher's leer too, so being the judge of all things right and wrong she knees him in the crotch. Consuelo gives Dolores a cross look. Lorenzo doubles over and Danny ambles over to repeat Ed’s joke in his ear. But it’s not over. Catalina’s told Ed about Lorenzo copping a feel. Ed is not happy. He helps Lorenzo to his feet but seems to have forgotten why he was angry. He is slowly remembering when Catalina storms out of the bathroom. She’s looked into one of my trash bins and discovered several helpings of her Three Chocolate Enchiladas. She is furious and demands to know who tossed her dish. No one looks at her and she realizes the truth: Nobody likes her Three Chocolate Enchiladas. She bursts into tears goes into the bathroom then emerges moments later holding the trash can under her arm and scooping dollops of her enchiladas into her mouth with her free hand.

Everyone stared, speechless. Dolores and Consuelo suffused with sisterly concern rushed over and took her back into the bathroom to calm her down. I watched Lorenzo crabwalk away into the kitchen while I fixed my sixth Jack and Coke. My wife was still in the easy chair but seemed to be choking. I hurried over to help her. The front of her dress was soaked with wine; her glass was on the floor next to the wine bottle. She was choking from laughter and couldn’t catch her breath. When she was finally able to speak she said, “This is even better than last year!”

By this time Ed was fully liquored up and seemed to remember in short flashes why he was mad at Lorenzo. I went over to calm him down with another glass of wine. He put his arm around my shoulders and started talking about what I great guy I am and how much he loves me. I start to pull away and Ed spots Lorenzo coming back from the kitchen. By now, Ed’s is so intoxicated that the synapses in his brain are only firing at half speed but still firing. He walks up to Lorenzo, who is still hurting from Dolores’s assault and starts to say something but can’t remember what it was. While he struggles to remember he balls his calloused construction man’s fists making Lorenzo think he's is warming up to deliver a lethal blow. Besides being a lech, Lorenzo is also a physical coward. I remember how he screamed like a little girl one time when my wife put a lizard on his arm. He was staring down her dress when she leaned down to pick up the lizard and she decided to teach him a lesson. Tonight as he looked up at Ed he must have seen himself as a dead man or at the least as a disabled or disfigured one. He crouched with his hands and arms covering his head, his life and someone else’s life flashed in his mind. The expected blows never came.

Just then Mark, Kitty and their kids arrived. The children immediately fled to the den. They were late because Mark had had to go to the emergency room to bind up his dislocated shoulder. He had been on the losing end of a scuffle with a homeless guy who was cadging loose change by wiping down windshields with a dirty rag. One would think it odd that Mark who is an ardent environmental conservationist would have zero compassion for actual human beings. To Mark it’s not a contradiction to fight courageously against the felling of old growth forest and simultaneously approving of vigilante justice for the dirty, long haired, pot smoking hippies he believes still exist by the hundreds of thousands.

Ed and Mark sit together to rehash his recent battle for the "American Way" while Kitty joins the other women while still keeping an eye on Mark. She counts drinks, you see, and she’s expert in knowing when to make him stop drinking. When Mark drinks he goes from melancholy, to depressed, to belligerent though not violent. By the time he reaches depression she cuts him off. It’s too bad because I love to bait him with my liberal opinions when he’s at the last stages of stupor. Tonight he’s too sober to be fun. Ed on the other hand is taking me on but I know that given enough time, two or three minutes, I can turn him into a vote for my side. I’m the balloon master twisting this balloon dinosaur into a baby whale.

Two minutes ago this was a dinosaur

Dr. Dolores will see you now

Mission accomplished I take a tour around the party collecting empty glasses and plates. I see Dr. Dolores giving Catalina a mental physic. I’m pretty sure she’s taking correspondence courses on instant psychological insights from Dr. Phil and Oprah. She’s so glib with the jargon that one could easily mistake her gibberish for actual wisdom. Catalina is all cleaned up and sniffing softly into her Kleenex, nodding in agreement at whatever Dr. Dolores is force feeding into her ears.

Lorenzo and Consuelo are sitting on the couch in an earnest discussion about getting the brakes fixed on their station wagon. Denial is their strong suit. The Xanax is working as intended on her and his emasculation at Dr. Dolores’s knee has temporarily flushed his libido.

I see Kitty sitting on the arm of the chair that Mark is occupying. She’s stroking his brow, speaking softly; probably about the wisdom of not drinking any more, what with the pain killers they gave him at the hospital. He resists but there’s no fight in him tonight. Ed is sitting next to them but he’s somewhere else in the universe. His glazed look suggests that he’s just realizing that he agreed with my opinions and is wondering how the hell that happened.

It’s late. The kids in the den have mostly fallen asleep. Mom and Dad each have a toddler sleeping on their laps. They shush me when I open the door.

My wife is standing by the front door giving me a hipshot pose in her red silk, floor length dress, the one with the slit that goes from ankle to hip. One hand on her hip, the other extended over and behind her head, dangling the car keys, she flashes me some leg. It’s time to go home. Indeed it is.

One Day in Panhandle

By the time I got to Jackie’s Cold Day Inn the Sheriff’s birthday party was almost over. I squeezed into the empty chair between Les and Doc Harris. They scooted over so we wouldn’t be jammed together. Sheriff Tom signaled Wendy to bring another round. We said our hellos and waited for Wendy to bring our drinks.

Jackie’s is my favorite bar in the Texas panhandle because it’s messy, quiet, dark, and friendly. But today, all the lights were on, the place full with people milling around laughing and talking like at a church social but with beer, mixed drinks, and finger food on trays lined up on the bar.

Tom was sitting back on his chair, arms crossed over his belly, self-satisfied as hell.

“You know this day started off pretty crappy. I heard ‘How ya doing, Sheriff’ four times before eight o’clock this morning. I said ‘Same old, same old’ each time but I really wanted to say ‘Same Shit - Different Day.’

“Started off with bad coffee. Swear to God my Rice Crispies said ‘Snap, Crackle, Screw you, Tom’. But after I went on patrol on the north side, my stomach settled and I felt better.

“You’d think there wasn’t much to see after you’ve driven the same roads over and over for years but I never tire of looking at the land. By the time my shift was over I was feeling pretty good. Then I walk in here, half the town is singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. How could I feel anything but real good after that?”

Our drinks arrived. We saluted the Sheriff with our whisky tumblers.

I saw a lot of unfamiliar faces. Tom said look at a couple sitting at a table at the far end of the bar.

“That’s Jan and her husband. This morning I was at the crossroads near the interstate. Just a half mile ahead was the spot where Jan’s car rolled over, pinning her inside, couple three years ago. It was four hours before anybody found the wreck. She wasn’t hurt too bad, just a broken wrist and some bruising. Jackie said Jan compared the rollover to the first time she and her boyfriend tried to have sex in his truck.

“They were 17, knew what they wanted to do but didn’t know how. They couldn’t figure out what went where, wound up in a tangle of limbs and clothes, rolled out of the truck. He landed flat on his back, bumped his head on a rock, she landed on top of him and broke her fall with an elbow in his rib cage. They gave up and finally did the deed in a borrowed van by the river after his head and ribs healed. Kinda hard to believe that story but then I’ve had never been in a rollover.”

A van is roomier

The guy Jackie hired for the occasion began strumming his guitar, turning the tuning knobs this way and that ‘til one of the strings snapped. Some people clapped and shouted for more. The guy looked pissed as he searched for a replacement string in the guitar case. He didn’t have a spare so he gave up, put his guitar away.

The musician reminded Tom about the time he picked up a hitchhiker near Newman’s ranch.

“He was a kid, early 20’s, looked like he hadn’t slept in a real bed in a long time. The guitar case he carried had thousands of miles of wear on it. His shoulders slumped when he saw the cruiser like he was expecting another hassle from the man. But all I did was ask where he was headed. Austin, he said. Took him as far as Amarillo and gave him bus fare to Austin. Nice kid, on his way to country music stardom, maybe. Not likely, but you never know. I made a mental note to keep an ear out for the kid’s band, JoJo and the Barf Doggies. Shoulda got his autograph.

Switching gears, he said, “Remember Ed McCarthy?” Les and Doc Harris nodded. “I drove past his ranch today.”

Les looked at me and said, “Ed was before your time.

“You probly seen his place on FM1151, that big ole barn that collapsed years ago and the red brick ranch house isn’t much more than a shell anymore. The kids had grew up and left the ranch years ago; leased the land to a neighbor.”

Tom said, “I visited with Ed every chance I had. Wasn’t a man in the county who didn’t respect him. He was an ex-Marine from WW2, fought in the Pacific, came back, raised three sons and never talked about the war except once anybody remembers. When he died everybody was surprised that he’d been awarded a Purple Heart and two Silver Stars for gallantry in combat. Even his sons didn’t know about the medals.

“Come to think of it, the only thing he ever told me about himself and the war was about his voyage on a troop transport on the way to Iwo Jima. Five thousand men, he said, in a giant ship. One ship in a convoy of thirty or forty more; destroyers, cruisers circling in miles wide arcs all around, Navy planes scanning the ocean for enemies on the sea or in the air; an aircraft carrier off in the distance.

5,000 Marines, one ship

“Ten days into the trip the convoy was hit by a typhoon. The troops were ordered to lash themselves to their bunks. Below deck the tanks and jeeps, munitions crates broke the chains holding them in place and you could hear and feel the heavy thuds against the hull when the ship pitched and rolled. You would not believe that a ship as big as that with all those thousands of tons of steel would become airborne. But it did leave the water when the 60 foot waves crested. The hull slammed down in the troughs with mighty shakes and shudders. Yes, sir, that’s how high the waves were. Each time he thought that one more blow like that would split the ship in two. He saw men cry in terror. But ship held together and two days later the seas were calm again. Old Ed laughed at the memory, but not much.”

Destroyer hitting the trough of a 60ft wave. Most of the ship is underwater.

Les said, “Ed McCarthy, Semper Fi.” The three men stared somberly into their drinks for a moment.

Doc Harris nudged Tom with his elbow and nodded towards a table where two couples were sitting. Three of four people were having an animated conversation. The fourth one, sat there smiling and laughing along but not saying anything.

Doc told me, “The two on the right, that’s Chuck and Melissa Timmons.

Doc chuckled to himself and sang softly, “Mama’s don’t let your babies grow up to be Chuckie.

“Chuck’s the kind to make a fool of himself and be unaware of what he’d done. I’ve said it before, when his wife goes to meet her Maker, she’ll waltz right in, no entrance exam for her. St. Pete'll say, 'Come on in, darlin’, you’ve earned it.'”

Les picked up from there, saying, “To Chuck, every day is a brand new experience, meaning he didn’t seem to learn anything from what happened yesterday. Left on his own, french fries, onion rings, and hot sauce rolled up in a corn tortilla for breakfast, lunch and dinner is fine eatin.”

Tom said he remembered the time poor Melissa stood next to Chuck when he told the minister about a ballet he saw on TV.

“Chuck says, ‘the music was pretty good but it was the first time I seen women dance that didn’t take their clothes off.’ Melissa was smiling but her eyes were somewhere far, far away. Doc Harris swears if Chuck fell on his face he’d just lay there and graze.”

Seeing the frown on my face, Tom added, “But listen, the way we’re talking about him, we’re just having a little fun. He’s a good guy. Everybody likes him just fine. He’s a good provider, takes care of his own.”

“Who’s the other couple”, I asked?

“That’s Corrina and Stan,” Doc said.

“When they were in high school, Corrina had it all. Best looking girl, smart, Queen of the Prom, top kick of the cheerleader squad, the whole nine yards. Stan was the Invisible Man. Guys who’d been with him since elementary school couldn’t describe him to you. Even his picture in the yearbook was blurry. Two years after graduation they announced their engagement and everybody said, Who’s the guy?”

Stan's yearbook picture

I studied Stan and maybe it was a trick of my mind but he seemed transparent sitting next to his vivacious wife and their two friends. I wondered how had everyone had underestimated him.

Jackie brought a tray of fresh drinks to the table. She saw us staring at Corrina and Stan. “I know what you’re thinking but them two’s no mystery to me,” she said. “Maybe Stan isn’t exactly what the average woman might brag about, but he’s what Corrina needs. Just lookit the way she looks at him. I betcha she never looked that way at any of the showboats who courted her. You men think too much about looks. If only good looking people married, most of us... and none uh you four would be here at all.”

She was right. Again. We felt like 3^rd graders caught fibbing.

Les recovered first and changed the subject. He leaned back in his chair to show me his belt; finely hand-tooled carvings of Western scenes all around. “Stan makes ‘em in the tack shop he owns, the one next to the bank. He was bull rider with the rodeo for a while, quit that and got into leather work fixing gear for his cowboy friends on the circuit. Gets jobs from all over. Look under the buckle anywhere in the state, more n’ likely you’ll see his trademark.”

Tom saw Gary at the table next to Stan and Corrina and asked if he was still coming on to Wendy knowing she’s gay. Jackie said no, Wendy put those thoughts out of his squirrely brain weeks ago.

“Wish you coulda seen it! Wendy put her hand under his chin, nose to nose with 'im, looked him in the eye and real sweet like she said, ‘Gary, suppose it works in reverse and I make you gay?’ His buddy, Mike, about busted a gut and Gary gulped his beer and snuck out, didn’t come back for days.”

We sat for a while sipping our drinks, taking in the bar scene. Wendy and the extra waitresses Jackie hired for the party scurried around barely keeping up with the drink orders. Jackie was behind the bar waving a half-size baseball bat at the Fire Chief. It wasn’t likely that he was enforcing any fire ordinances. She was smiling and he was laughing.

Tom said, “You think he’s laughing about the emergency siren?” Les belly laughed and Doc snorted in his drink.

I didn’t have a clue.

“That siren’s gotta bit of history behind it,” Les said. “It was set up during WW2 as an air raid siren to warn residents in case Japanese aircraft were seen approaching. It looks like hysteria now, the Texas Panhandle being more ‘n a thousand miles from the Pacific coast, but back then the possibility seemed real as hell. Siren’s so loud you can hear it five miles away.

Not this big but plenty loud

“After the war it was left in place to warn folks about tornadoes and such. It’s tested twice a year. Everybody knew to expect the jarring whine on New Year’s Eve and the 4^th of July. So when a rookie fireman fired it up by mistake on a Friday afternoon in October two years ago, a few of the townsfolk panicked, thinking tornado, earthquake or something else, like a building on fire. Most of them just peeked out their doors and looked around.”

Doc Harris cut in, “The rig was on the roof at the fire station right above the Fire Chief’s window. When the siren started blasting the Fire Chief was scared half out of his file clerk. It was several minutes before he recovered his senses, dismounted, and shut the thing off. The girl was terrified. Nobody knows how that story got out.”

Tom said very seriously, “Me, Les, and Doc are still investigating that.”

By ten o’clock the bar was beginning to thin out, folks leaving by ones and two’s. The Fire Chief came to our table, said happy birthday to Tom, hello to the rest of us. He looked over his shoulder at Jackie and waved goodbye. Jackie waved back with her bat. No one had ever seen her use it but no telling when that day would come.

Tom got her attention and twirled his index finger in the air for another round, please. Jackie gave him a thumbs up and put the bat away.

While we waited, Tom said, “I ever tell you Jackie was palm reader? I didn’t know it ‘til 10, 12 years ago. Some randy cowboy from Lubbock was passing through, stopped in for a drink. Hat back on his head, leaning real casual, back against the bar, let everybody know his name was BUCK from LUBBOCK, like it was something everybody should know.

“He had a couple of beers and was chatting up the waitress. She played along just enough like she’s supposed to, get the customers to keep drinking, you know. Service with a smile, jerk. He’s watching her serving beer, doing her job, all the time talking to her loud enough to irritate everybody including me.

“I was about to go over and give him a little talk about disturbing the other patrons’ peace and quiet when Lilly, the waitress, went to put a tray of empties on the bar next to where Bucky was standing. He turned around facing the bar still chatting her up. He put his hand on her neck, leaning in to talk to her, low and quiet. What he didn’t know was that Lilly was Jackie’s niece and that Jackie had that half-size Louisville Slugger under the bar.

“Lilly was squirming, he was so busy pawing her neck and sweet talking, he didn’t see Jackie come over, the Slugger in her hand. She grabbed the thumb on his free hand and give it hard twist so his palm was up. Then she said, ‘Bucky Boy, I bet you didn’t know I can read palms and tell fortunes.’ 

“Man’s bent over the bar in a lotta pain already but she twisted his thumb a little more, traced the lines in his palm with the business end of the bat and said, ’Cordin’ to my powers reading life lines you have a long life ahead of you if you mind your manners and keep your hands off my girl.’

Jackie's equalizer makes her 6'2", 190 lbs.

“When she let go, Buck drew himself up like he was gonna get mean. That cowboy was at least a foot taller and 50 pounds heavier, but Jackie stood her ground tapping the bat on the edge of the bar. If I remember right she said, ‘Listen up, Bucky from Lubbock. I been married three times, outlived the first one, ran off the second one, shot the third one between the eyes. You got something you wanna say to me?’

“He ain’t been back.”

“Is that true?” I asked.

“Which part? Bucky or the three husbands? I’m sure about Bucky. I saw it with my own two eyes but somebody else’s gonna have to ask her about the other.”