The Digging Fool

Digger

Panhandle, TX

Doc Walters stood under the air conditioner vent that was blowing cool air on his head and back, putting Rollie downwind.

“Rollie, there’s no broken bones in your toes and that’s the good news. The bad news is that you have an advanced case of bromidrosis.”

“How bad is it, Doc? Can you cure it?”

“Well, it’s not contagious and it is curable by simple means. Take this list to Les’s General Store. Mix the ingredients with hot water like it says on this paper. Put your feet in the bucket of solution for one hour for the next three days. Come see me then, I’ll have another look.”

Tim was waiting for Rollie in the waiting room. They were best friends, occasional handymen or laborers whenever they needed money. Rollie, now in his 40’s never had a steady job and that’s how he liked it, his natural inclination being to do what he wanted when he wanted. Tim was a younger version of Rollie, an orphan who had settled in Panhandle after finding life in big cities like Lubbock and Amarillo too stressful. If you needed help with anything involving manual labor you could usually find one of them where they lived in the small outbuilding behind “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn”.

If you are a certain age, the first time you meet Doc Walters he’ll remind you of the doctor in the old TV series, “Gunsmoke”, 60ish, unkempt salt and pepper hair, rimless eyeglasses low on his nose, tired eyes. Thirty years ago he had come to Panhandle to fill in temporarily for Doc Jennings who’d retired. He found that he liked it and stayed.

Doc handed Penny Rollie’s medical notes. She looked at the appointment log on computer monitor and said, “Miss Abby, it’s your turn. Just follow the doctor.”

And a dollar for the nice doctor

“How are you today, Miss Abby?” He checked her blood pressure, looked in her mouth and eyes with a little flashlight and found, as usual, nothing amiss in the 80 year old woman. She came in once a week just to sit in the waiting room and trade gossip with the other patients. She was always Doc’s last patient of the day even if she came to the office before anyone else. Doc would talk to her for a few minutes, tell her she was fit as a fiddle. She would pry a single dollar out of her reticule and press it into his hand. He would thank her, take her by the elbow and escort her to the front door, let her out, and lock it.

Penny was checking her eyebrows in the mirror of her compact, getting ready to leave. It was Friday and that meant she probably had a date. Doc wondered who her date would be tonight. She played the field as well as any girl her age, showing just enough interest to keep a guy coming back but not so much to make him think he was in the lead.

Doc made a note on Miss Abby’s chart closed the file and followed Penny out the back door.

Les and Sheriff Tom were already at their corner table at Jackie’s place when Doc came in to join them. It was a Friday night ritual for the trio.

Wendy came over and said, “Hi, Doc. What are you having today?”

“How about some chicken soup."

“We don't have that but we have a fifth of Wild Turkey. Won’t cure anything but you won’t care if you have enough of it.”

“Wild Turkey then, a double.”

Les said, “One day she’ll get tired of that joke and lay some chicken soup upside your head.”

Tom disagreed. “Nah, Wendy’ll go along with it. She’s too smart to get mad at anybody. I thought when she came out gay there’d be trouble with the young guys who were figuring they could land her before, or maybe she’d act different now her secret was out. But, nope. Didn’t happen. Wendy’s still Wendy. She’s got half them boys thinking she’s lying ‘cause there's a jealous ex-husband somewhere and the other half thinking that if she just gave them a chance, just one chance, they could ‘turn her’ normal.”

Les pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and gave it to Doc. “Rollie and Tim came in this afternoon, said you told him to buy this stuff to cure his Ambidextrous? Epson salts, peppermint tea, baking soda, and talcum powder.”

“Rollie’s got bromidrosis” Doc said. “In fact everybody in Panhandle’s got it or will get it. Rollie’s got it worse than most.”

Tom scanned the bar, looking at everybody one at a time, looking for signs. “So it’s contagious?”

“No, Tom, bromidrosis is body odor. I saw Rollie in my office today. Got his toes jammed up under a boulder he and Tim were digging out at the graveyard. Played hell getting his boots off and when I did the smell was so powerful it made me forget about his normal BO, which is bad enough. I put on two pair of surgical gloves, one on top of the other, the stink was so bad. It’s like he’s been sleeping and working in his boots for years and never took ‘em off.

“Long story short, I told him to soak his feet with the stuff on the list, come back in a few days.”

Your feet and friends will thank you

Les rubbed his eyes like the thought of Rollie’s foot odor made them tear up. Tom downed his whiskey and called Wendy for another round.

He said, “Rollie and Tim, make a good pair. Only trouble ever had with ‘em been when they get too much money and drink it all at once. Give ‘em a job, they’ll do it and take what you give but one thing, you gotta be careful with Tim. I don’t remember who called him the “digging fool” first, but it’s stuck with ‘im."

Les leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Newman”, he said.

Doc had heard about the digging fool but hadn’t bothered with knowing more until now. He leaned forward on his elbows and shot Tom a questioning look.

Tom said, “I tell you, Doc, it’s a story that tested my investigating abilities. I overheard Newman telling his part to the postmaster and I got curious, or nosy, as my wife would say. So I talked to Rollie, Newman and Tim at different times. Each of ‘em had their impressions of what happened. Les and I pondered on it for a long time, turning it over in our minds, throwing out stuff that didn’t fit ‘til we figured out what most likely happened.

“You know old man Newman's got that thousand acres of grazing land with a bunkhouse at the far end for the cowhands. Well, the day comes when the pit under the outhouse there was full up, and Newman being cheap as always, thought it cost too much to hire a backhoe to dig a new one. So he finds Rollie and Tim to dig it for him. Rollie turns him down but Tim jumps at it. He don’t care what the pay is, he wants the job. Digging is something he likes, guess because he can see the progress of his work, I don’t know what else.

“Newman shows him where he wants the hole near the old outhouse, and says he figures it will take the rest of the day and half of the next to dig it, so Tim can sleep in the bunkhouse, there’s cold beer and sandwiches in the cooler, be back tomorrow he says and leaves.

 

The Sears catalog is hanging on a nail to your left

“Tim can’t wait to get started almost pushing Newman into the truck. He paces out the dimensions and puts his shovel in the ground. Three foot down he hits caliche, or as you and me call it, goddamn caliche. Makes no difference to Tim, takes a pick axe to it and goes on.”

Tom paused to sip his whiskey, cleared his throat and continued. Les was back on his chair, legs out in front, arms crossed, nodding and smiling at the familiar story.

“Now, Doc, you know a pit for an outhouse don’t have to be too deep, six foot usually, eight foot if you got a lot of people using it. Newman’s only got two men to use it so it could be a bit shallow.

“I said Tim was a digging fool and I meant it. Les can back me up on it. You give him a digging job, he’ll work at it sunup to sundown. Anyway, Tim’s really wound up now he’s past the caliche to the hardpan. But he doesn’t stop at six foot or eight, keeps going, digging and digging down to eleven foot by sundown. Next morning he looks at the pit, goes down the ladder and starts digging some more. It’s sand now so digging’s easier and faster. About 20 foot down he hits water, not much but if he goes much deeper it’s not a pit anymore. It’s a well.

That hole won't dig itself

“Around noon, Newman drives up, he’s got Rollie with him so the three of them can lay the timbers and drag the outhouse over the new pit. Tim’s standing there, holding his shovel, looking proud like he’s a new daddy.

“He says, Mr. Newman, I got you a well just 20 foot down. Newman looks down and sees the water.

“He looks at Tim like he’s gonna kill ‘im, looks in the pit again and says, you dumb sonofabitch! This pit’s only 15 foot from the old shithouse. That water ain’t drinkable. You drink it, you get the holy shits and die. I ain’t paying for this. Matter a fact you gotta fill it in. Can’t have a horse or a steer fall in.”

Wendy came over and told the Sheriff that his dispatcher called, needed him at the office. He finished his drink in one gulp and stood up.

Doc looked disappointed. Tom said, “Sorry, Doc, I gotta go. Les can tell you the rest of it.”

Les cleared his throat once and then again. “Doc, I think I’m coming down with something maybe you can get me some chicken soup or Wild Turkey for it?” Doc grimaced but called out for Wendy.

Fresh drink in hand, Les said, “Tim and Newman got into it pretty good. Tim said he wouldn’t fill in the hole, arguing hard like it was a violation of his digger ethics or something. Just refused, didn’t care if he didn’t get paid. Call the Sheriff if you want, ain’t doing it.

“Rollie, he’s leaning against the truck watching the whole thing, staying out of it. He knows Tim ain’t a fighter and Newman’s too frail to do any harm. When they run out of words, he says he’ll fill in the hole for free if Newman pays Tim to dig another one. He’ll keep an eye on Tim, make sure he does it right. Now, where do you want the pit? Newman didn’t like it but at least filling the 20 foot hole wouldn’t cost him anything.

“Rollie made sure the new pit just six foot deep and Tim was done before sundown. They dragged the outhouse over the new hole and filled in the old pit.

“When Newman came back to see the work, he pulled some bills out his pocket, paid Tim what he owed, then maybe thinking he might need more work done in the future, paid Rollie, too.

“That’s the story. If I left something out Tom can fill you in. Right now I gotta go close up the store. Thanks for the drink, Doc. See you later.”

Doc stayed on thinking about Rollie and Tim, mostly about Tim. What made him the “digging fool”?  It couldn’t be money or gold. By all accounts, he didn’t care about those things. Maybe he found something valuable once, lost it, and something in his head got stuck – keep digging, keep digging until you find it.

He finished his drink, left a tip for Wendy and went home.

It's not polite to point

Sometime around 6 o’clock two or three days a week Les would leave his clerk in charge of the General Store and walk to “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” for a few sips of Jack with his friend Tom. They never got stupid drunk, just got a little buzz, take the edge off the day’s work. While Les was handling customers in his store, hearing their gossip, Tom, being Sheriff, was dealing with folks outdoors doing the same. Mostly they’d trade news and retell stories they’d told before, maybe adding a detail or two to improve the telling. 

A little sip'l do ya

 Wendy, the new waitress, sashayed over bringing their drinks. As she walked away both men stared.

Len said, “She’s sure got a way about her. Flirts without being too open but still flirty. A few nights ago I was here with some friends and their wives talking over buying a new pulpit for the minister. Ben and his wife were here. Wendy does her usual ‘well, howdy boys’ routine like she does with all the men. I see Ben’s wife glaring at Wendy as she goes back to the bar. Swear to God Luann was studying her back for just the right place to drive a Buck knife between her shoulder blades. Luann’s probably not the only woman thinking that way about the girl but you can’t blame the kid for working for bigger tips can you?”

Still looking at Wendy standing at the bar, Tom said, “Lotta the young guys think she’s coming on to them specially. Coupla them are smitten but I hear she’s picky about her dates. Deputy Dudley made a play for her and failed, not her type, I guess. She says, ‘Why, Dudley, what would Flora say if she saw you and me together?’

“He and Flora been going back and forth for a while now and I don’t see her making up her mind between him and Bedford. It’s not like she’s any Helen of Troy or nothing and she’s gotta be over 25 by now. Like my grandma used ta say, it’s about time she holds her nose and picks one.

“Dudley wants to run for Sheriff when I retire. He’d make a good one. Kid’s thorough, keeps up with the new stuff in policing, once in while comes up with ideas I never thought of. Only thing is sometimes going by the book is the wrong way to solve a problem. Other night he coulda just let Rollie sleep it off in his truck and nobody’s the wiser. Instead, he arrests him and impounds the truck. I told him Rollie’s harmless. All you done is humiliate the man and cost him impound fees. He’s getting it but if he doesn’t loosen up more I might even vote for Bedford Tapscott when the time comes.”

Les looked around to see if anybody was eavesdropping. “You’d vote for Bedford Tapscott over Dudley? And what kinda name is Bedford, anyway?”

“The name comes from his great granddaddy, some kinda Civil War hero if you believe Bedford Sr. who isn’t known for giving ground to anybody. I guess that rebel blood gets passed father to son. He might make a good Sheriff. I think he’d be tough enough but I’ll have to study him some before I give up on Dudley. Can’t really tell how he would work around being a lawman sworn to uphold the laws he don’t like.”

The Sheriff finished his drink and got up to leave. “See you tomorrow, Les.” He tipped his hat at Jackie and Wendy.

Dudley sat in his car at the crossroads rubbing his knees with both hands. The small knot on his forehead hurt, too, but it wasn’t too bad. He was hoping the Sheriff wouldn’t see him ‘til he healed because he would have to explain why it hurt to walk and what about the bruise on his head? If he stayed out until the Sheriff’s shift was over he’d probably be okay by tomorrow. Just lay low, hope nobody sees him.

Flora. She was the woman he wanted at his side when he became Sheriff Dudley. Would she be Mrs. Sheriff Dudley or just Mrs. Dudley. Hell, what was he thinking? After last night it was probably be over between them, and Bedford Tapscott would have a clear field and who knows what he had in mind for Flora.

He and Flora had dated for a year and things were just warming up from chaste kissing on her doorstep to more serious stuff in his car. Not that Dudley was inexperienced with women. None of the ones he’d dated before were marriage material. They just filled his need for companionship and sex when his hormones overtook his brains.

No, Flora was exactly what his minister and his mother told him was proper wife. God fearing church goer. Innocent of mind, pure of body. So last night when she put her hand on his thigh very near his privates, he was seriously shocked. His knees jerked up and slammed into the steering wheel. A fraction of a second later as the pain fried his brain, his head came down on the steering wheel. It got worse. He couldn’t drive. Flora drove him home, helped him into his bed and left without saying a word. How do you recover from a disaster like that? He pictured Bedford hearing about it. Laughing. Making his move on Flora. It’s over. For real.

Then he thought, what if she touched Bedford the same way? Would he be as stupid as me? No, not Bedford. He’d go for a score. Flora ruined. Gone from his future.

He didn’t know Bedford wasn’t having much luck with Flora. She was 25 years old and she’d been to community college in Amarillo. There were plenty of ways to learn about the ins and outs of the world there. She’d dated guys like Bedford and knew how to keep them from getting too familiar. She liked Dudley, too. He was smart and steady if a bit uptight; the kind of uptight who stopped kids on the street, order them to pull their pants up and turn their ball caps around.

By the following day Dudley’s knees healed up enough that he could move around without wincing except when he tried to turn left or right. The Sheriff didn’t seem to notice and didn’t even ask about the bruise on his forehead. He was parking his cruiser in front of the Sheriff’s office when Wendy, out shopping, saw him and went over to say hello.

A little dab'l do ya

“Hi, Dudley. How’d you get that bruise? It’s okay, not my business, cop stuff I’m guessing. You shouldn’t go around looking like that. You’ll be all day explaining. How about I cover it up some? A bit of foundation and powder and nobody’ll see it.” She dug the stuff from her purse, a couple of dabs she was done. Then she brushed his hair down to cover that. Dudley smiled and thanked her. She said, “Nothing to it” and left. Bedford was stepping out of his iron works shop across the street for a smoke. All he saw was Wendy leaning into the cruiser and running her fingers through Dudley’s hair, grinning, saying something, walking away.

Well now, he thought, that’s something Flora might want to hear about tonight when I take her dancing.

 

EMS, a fire engine, and Deputy Dudley’s cruiser were already there by the time Sheriff Tom arrived at “Billy’s Last Stand”.  People were standing outside gawking and talking about what they saw or heard. Tom scanned the crowd quickly, nobody bleeding or hurt. Inside was a different story. He arrested Bedford, Jim and Angel, and closed the bar.

Les was already at Jackie’s the next afternoon when Sheriff came in for his afternoon break. Wendy waved hello and brought his drink. They watched her walk away.

“Funny thing. Wendy did a perfectly innocent thing yesterday morning and caused a fight 12 hours later and 15 miles away.”

“I heard about the fight at “Billy’s”. What’s Wendy got to do with it?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. You already know about the EMS and fire truck business so I’ll start there.

“First thing I saw when I walked in was Dudley getting a splint on his knee and Bedford sitting on the floor, both eyes swollen shut, holding his right hand tight. Looking around I see Jim and Angel side hugging. Right away I think, the usual suspects, and I was right. Billy saw the whole thing, gave me a quick rundown. So I arrested Jim, Angel, and Bedford. Flora was there, too, and I noticed the only thing she was seeing was Dudley. I told her to look after him, let me know how he’s doing.

“After I got everybody in their cells I went home figuring I’d get their stories in the morning when they’ve had some coffee for their hangovers.

“Checked on Dudley this morning. He’s hurting still but he’ll be all right. Flora took him to the Emergency Room, x-rays and stuff. Nothing broken, pain killers, he’ll see Doc later.

“So this morning Bedford’s in his cell, hand and middle finger in a cast, eyes swollen and black, reminded me of a raccoon. Jim and Angel together in the other cell, sitting on the bunk leaning into each other. Hungover but nothing more than that.

“They started talking to me all at once. I shut ‘em up. I picked Angel to tell her side first.

“She said, this guy Bedford Hopscotch, or whatever his name is, gave me the finger for no reason. Jim and me were sitting in our booth talking to friends having a good time when this guy in the booth behind me says what am I laughing at. I say, a bad joke but now I’m seeing a better one. Joking, you know?

“He turned full around and flipped me off. Naturally, I grabbed his finger and pulled it back. He yelled something and was gonna hit me with his other hand but Jim got there first, hit right left, and down he went.

“I hear this crack, like snapping a twig and then a godawful scream like I never heard before. Dudley was on his back, his legs folded up tight against his chest, and his hands covering his knees. I didn’t see what happened to him but Jim saw. Ask him.”

“Jim? What’d you see? He squinted at me like the light hurt his eyes, asked me for more coffee.

“He says, yeah, I popped him good. I say, I know that, Jim. Tell me about Dudley. Why’s he laid up this morning?

“He says, oh yeah, Dudley. He was doing his rounds, standing at the bar talking to the bartender, checking if everything was all right, I guess. When the ruckus with that guy, Bedford, startled one of the waitresses dropped a tray full of mugs and pitchers. The noise got Dudley’s attention and he whipped around to see. That’s when his knee snapped. Angel’s right about the scream. I seen a lot guys hurt bad that didn’t scream like that. Spooky.

“Some woman knelt down next to Dudley, trying to help him.”

“That would be Flora, I said”

“Ok, whatever, anyway, I figured somebody had already called 911 and that you’d be along by and by so we stayed put. EMS got there first, took care of Dudley and doofus. That’s all I know.”

“Ok, Bedford, your turn.”

“Sheriff, I’m the victim. That bitch broke my finger and her boyfriend clocked me.”

Angel sprang from the bunk and tried to grab Bedford’s hair but Jim pulled her back.

“See what I mean? She’s nuts.”

“Bedford, why did you flip her off? Simple question.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was wrong but I was really pissed. Flora and I were on a date having fun, dancing. I had a couple of shots and figured it was time to tell her I saw Dudley and Wendy making nice that morning.

“I look at Flora for her reaction but she’s smiling, not what I expected.

“So I say, why are you smiling? You know who I’m talking about, that slutty barmaid, Wendy.

“Flora just sits there smiling some more and I say again, why are you smiling?

“Bedford, she says, Wendy’s gay.

“What the hell, no way. Ever see how she acts around men? Gives ‘em all the I’m available look.

“Bedford, she’s gay. Her wife told me. Sure she gives all kinds of signals to you guys but she hasn’t gone out with you or Dudley or any other guy. Maybe she looks easy, but you guys are the easy ones. She’s not interested in you that way but she sure gets big tips. Jackie says she makes more in tips than her salary.

“Then Bedford points at Angel and says, I’m really steamed up then I hear her laugh and bump the backrest where I’m sitting. Well, I thought she was laughing at me ‘cause she heard me and Flora talking. I turn around, next thing I know she’s breaking my finger and her boyfriend’s putting my lights out.”

“Hands on her hips Angel points her chin at Bedford, she says, you ever lie to get something you want? Bet you have. Even Jim, light of my life, lied to me first time he come on to me. Said he was a boxer. He looked it, muscles, scars and all. Later on I asked him where he boxed. He says, at Target. I put boxes in the delivery trucks. Way I see it, Wendy’s no better or worse than anybody.

“That took care of Bedford so I say, anything else? No? Okay. I haven’t decided how to charge you. I’m gonna think on it. The dispatcher will take your written statements. Don’t go anywhere.”

Les signaled Wendy for another round. He watched her walk away. “If I was 30 years younger I’d make a run at her, too.”

“I know what you mean. She is special.

"I checked on Dudley again today. Doc says his knee’s gonna heal, something about ligaments stretched. Anyway, I’m still testing him, see if he’s got what it takes to take my job, see if he knows the difference between the law and justice. We’re sitting there, me, Dudley, and Flora. I tell them what I heard at the jail. Flora’s got this little smile. So I say to Dudley I’m not sure how to handle that bunch in my jail, what do you think?

“Mind you, he’s taking pain killers so I listen close. He says, let ‘em go, Tom. Looks to me like there’s a lot of hurt feelings, but no real crime. Jim was protecting his wife. Angel was right to take Bedford on and Bedford’s an asshole, got what he deserved.

“Right then I decided when it comes time I’m gonna tell everybody to vote him Sheriff. Bottoms up, Les”

In Vino Vertigo, or something

The party was over by midnight and nobody complained. They’d been drinking and dancing since sunset and tomorrow was church day anyway. The occasion was “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” 20 year anniversary. Nobody was exactly sure how the idea of the celebration came about but it was early September when at last, the temperatures were cool after sunset. A little drinking, dancing, socializing sounded like a good thing before the heavy work of harvesting or rounding up the herds for market began.

Kill me now

It only took 20 years for “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” to become an institution in Panhandle. There were other bars where you could drink and dance; cleaner places with ferns, salad bars, and live bands playing loud enough to make the deaf complain. Jackie’s was dark and sweaty. Nobody went there to preen.

The mayor and the sheriff agreed to block off part of Main St. in front of Jackie’s so that barbeque grills, tables, and tents could be set up outdoors. The Sheriff, who’s job it was to keep track of such things, estimated that 300 ~ 400 people showed up. There were two bands. Inside the bar a country band played old favorites. Outside, a fiddle band played even older bluegrass. The younger folk danced indoors, the older ones tapped their feet to the music outdoors.

By 1:00 AM, the fire in the grills had been tamped down, tents and tables folded up. It was a unanimous decision to sweep up the trash in the street the next day.

Sheriff Tom, Les, Jackie, and I sat around a corner table having a nightcap or two, winding down from the party and the frantic lead up to it.

Jackie said, “I’m so tired I can hardly raise my drink to my lips, and if I lower my head to it, I might fall in.”

Les picked her glass up and brought to her lips. “Darlin’”, he said, “Just take a sip. If there’s any left over, I’ll take care of it.”

He owns the general store and the feed store across the street. Les and Sheriff Tom are lifelong friends going back nearly 60 years. When Jackie asked him to help plan and fund the party he did both. The Mayor kicked in a few bucks. Even the new pastor, not sure if his congregation would approve or disapprove, put $10 of his own money in the pot.

Sheriff Tom leaned back in his chair, tucked his thumbs in his belt and declared that the party was an easy time. “Only had to break up a couple of disagreements. Old man Newman got het up when his handyman, Ray, said the Oakridge Boys were better than Flatt & Scruggs. I sent Ray indoors and sat with the old man ‘til he calmed down. Even Jim and Angel behaved themselves. I guess Jim remembers spending a weekend in jail while I was off fishing with the Judge.

“You got a good little bar here, Jackie. I remember when you came here in, what was it, ’94, ’96?”

“94, Tom. Just me and my pickup. Drove up to the Panther Bar and bought it. The rest is history, or something.”

The sheriff rubbed his shoulder and winced. Les said, “Still hurts some, huh?” Then looking at me he said the sheriff had been shot breaking up a robbery at the Credit Union a long time ago. He was famous; one sheriff, two robbers, a hero for the ages.

“Well”, Tom said, “you know how it is in the law enforcement business. You’re nobody ‘til somebody shoots you.

“One of the robbers said the dynamite on his chest would blow up if he let go of a switch. City slicker all the way, shiny shoes. Around these parts anybody over eight years old knows the difference between a road flare and a stick of dynamite. Anyway, the other one shot me and passed out after I coldcocked Mr. Dynamite.

“My granddaddy and my daddy were sheriffs here before me and they never even drew their guns. I’m just lucky, I guess.”

Studying Jackie now, he said, “I was thinking back to when you bought this place. Orville told me you paid him in cash, took the money out of your backpack. Nothing unusual considering, but then Les here told me everything you bought at his store you paid in cash. Most out of towners have credit cards for everything except for you. It set me to wondering so I looked for your name in public records all over the country and didn’t find anything after you ran away from home. Now here we are 20 years later and you still pay cash, no credit.  If it’s none of my business say so but I gotta ask, you got strong feelings for cash?”

She looked each of us in the eye and said, “You guys are my best friends. You’re more family than I ever had. My father was a hard man with large appetites and few graces; my mother was like a ghost. A day didn’t go by we weren’t ripping strips off each other.

“But there’s more to it than that. You remember how it was in 60’s, Tom. Girls spent their high school years figuring out which boy was gonna be her husband. If you hadn’t picked one by Senior year you took the best you could of whatever was left. By Junior year I’d blossomed a bit and a few guys sniffed around but I’d already seen the future by looking at the girls that graduated a year or two ahead of me.

“For a while gettin’ married was like extra high school. They hung around with the same people and did the same things. A couple more years on, there’s kids, layoffs at the plant, money gets tight, and the fighting and discontent begin. Six, seven more years and by then some of them start to hate each other but they stay married anyway. It wasn’t what I wanted for me. I was just turned 18 when I ran away from that and my family. Wound up in California.

“I got lucky in Seal Beach and found a job as a barback. The owner, Cap’n Jack taught me how to mix drinks and bartending. He fired me on my 21^st birthday but got me job in Las Vegas. That lasted ‘til the liquor board pulled the license. From Vegas I went east, spent a few years in Arizona, first Flagstaff, then Tucson where I learned Spanish. Those Mexican boys thought it was a hoot to hear a redheaded white woman speak their language. Sometimes they would order extra pitchers just to hear me say their names again, real sweet and slow. The Alacrán was the happiest bar I ever worked. I left after a while, going east again.

“You wanted to know about me and cash. Maybe you’ve forgotten or maybe you never saw it close up, Tom. Back in the 60’s and 70’s women couldn’t have credit cards or a checking account without their husband’s co-sign and permission.

“When I was working at Cap’n Joe’s I tried to get a credit card and a bank account so I could manage my money better. No husband? No card. I had no choice but to pay cash for everything. The unfairness of it gave me such a royal rash I made up my mind I was going to do things my way as much as I could. I rode buses, hitchhiked or walked, rented places near where I worked. Cash, cash, cash, and a money order to the IRS once a year.

“Never bought a car or truck until ’94 when I came back to Panhandle. Bought it off a guy and ripped up the title. DMV doesn’t know I own it. Have look at the license plate. It’s been expired for 22 years.”

She poured herself another shot of whiskey and smiled at me. “I don’t get tickets for it ‘cause once in while I forget to charge the Sheriff here for his drinks. Hell, one time he caught some tourist trying to steal it for his antique collection. Made that sucker put it back then ran him out of town. Other than my expired plates, I’m a model citizen.

“Been all over, Baton Rouge, Galveston, Mobile. By 1992 I was bartending in Denton when some drugstore cowboys came in; four of ‘em, new boots, creased pants, big hats, and soft hands. I heard one of them say he was originally from ‘Pampa, shitkicker capital of Texas.’

“Pampa, only 30 miles from my hometown. That’s when it came to me that ever since I left California I’d been working my way back home to Panhandle; that crappy little town I ran away from more than 20 years before.

“So two years later, there I was sitting in my pickup at the Panhandle city limits sign, 41 years old with nothing but my life savings under the seat. I drove around town looking for familiar things. The house I grew up in was still there but strangers living in it. The high school was the same except the football field had fake grass now. 

 “Going down Main St. I saw that the shops and stores had new tenants, new names, and new purposes. The Panther Bar & Grill was still there near the train station. Goooooooo, Panthers, yada, yada. So the town still lived and breathed Friday Night Football.

“I parked in front and went inside. The bartender looked me over, then past me like he was waiting for my man to come in behind me. When my man didn’t show, he said, ‘You lost, Ma’am?’ I said, no but I’m looking for a bartending job. He looked me over again and said he didn’t have any jobs but the way things were going he’d sell the place for cheap. He wasn’t kidding. I bought the place for cash, cheap.

“News about the Panther being sold didn’t take long to get around. I scrubbed off as much grime as I could and opened up. No more‘n 10 minutes later, a classmate recognized me. My Grand Opening turned into a class reunion; everybody was older and fatter but still recognizable. An old coot didn’t like me at all, said it’d be a cold day in hell before he set foot in here again. That’s how this place became “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn”.

“At first I tried to keep the place neat and tidy but a bit rough seemed to suit my regulars better. I wasn’t long before I was dropping my “g’s” like I’d never been gone. I’d just moved here so technically I was an outsider. On the other hand, I was raised here so one cancelled the other. You know, weird small town math.

“You didn’t ask for my life story but there it is. In vino, vertigo or something, I think, I forget. I’m ready for another drink, anybody else?”

She went to the bar for another bottle of Jack. Tom looked at me and Les, down at his drink, shifted around in his chair, then looked up like he'd made up his mind about something.

Jackie freshened our drinks and put the bottle down.

None of us said anything for a while then the Sheriff put his hand over Jackie’s and said, “I told you once that I didn’t know anything about your folks but the fact is, I do.

"My daddy was Sheriff around the time you left home. Your daddy said you eloped, moved to Alaska, and broke with the family.

"I didn't know your daddy that well but I got a pretty good idea about him from my daddy. No doubt the man had a hard bark on him. Everything in his world was black or white with nothing in between. It was like he enjoyed scraping on your nerves, always on the other side of anything you said or were. According to my daddy, he was the only man who could make Jehovah Witnesses say, 'Whoa, look at the time. We'd better go'

Jackie nodded, "That's him."

“What I’m gonna tell you now may not be complete or accurate in every detail but it’s all I got. He told me he ran your folks out the county back in ’82, ’83 or thereabouts following a snakebite incident that nearly killed Beau Jackson. He was just a kid at the time. Anyway, tent revivalists come around every Spring and Summer, set up their tents, take money from the locals and move on. I try to move ‘em along before they do any harm.

“Near as I can piece together, your mom and dad got the Holy Fire in their souls from this one preacher, a serpent handler he called himself. So after my daddy run him off, your daddy goes out and catches some rattlers. My daddy heard he was fixin’ to start his own revival operation here, permanent like, so he tried to warn him off. Apparently not soon enough for poor Beau who was praising and praying along with others in your daddy’s back yard one night. All the congregants were up in lather, speaking tongues, writhing on the ground just like you’d ‘spect at such a ceremony. Your daddy brought out the basket with the rattlers, reached in and pulled one of ‘em out. He’s holding it up, the thing’s twisting and turning in his hands, Beau rushes up to the snake and gets bit on the nose just like that.

“Hurts like hell, he’s screaming, the venom’s working fast. Lucky for him law requires Sheriffs have anti-venom serum in our cars. My daddy got to him just in time.

“Well, there’s no law against handling snakes or getting bit by one so legally there was nothing my daddy could do ‘cept try to run your daddy off. Turns out that wasn’t necessary. His followers abandoned him after Beau’s misfortune. His only option was to move away and try his luck someplace else.

“My daddy watched him load his truck but before he left daddy told him he’d better figure out how to milk the venom outta them snakes before turning ‘em loose on his followers again.

“Real loud he says, ‘That’s the first thing you learn at Snake Handling University, you ninny. Keeps you from dyin’ if a rattler takes a shine to your arm.’ Your daddy’s eyes went wide like he was hearing something very, very important, something he shoulda known before but didn’t. He was shaking, got real pale, ghost-like, jumped in his truck and drove off. That was the last anybody saw of him or your mom.”

I travel all over south and west Texas on my sales route and I hear the same stories repeated dozens of time. This one was new. None of us had heard it before. Once we began laughing we couldn't stop. Jackie spilled her drink, gasped for breath. Les, holding his sides, gave Tom a look, is it true? Tom nodding yes and we laughed harder at what was a brand new bar story. I could tell Les was already practicing how he was gonna tell it next.

It was about 2:30 when Rollie walked in carrying a shotgun, saw us giggling and said, "Can I have some, too? 

"You guys gettin’ ready to wrap things up? I gotta clean the bathrooms, sweep, and take out the trash before Olson comes by for it.”

“You don’t need a gun for that, Rollie. Gimme that thing. Come by my office tomorrow, you get it back.”

“But Sheriff, me and Tim are supposed to stand guard on the stuff outside. Jackie said so. There’s kegs, a reefer full of frozen pork ribs, the grills, and other stuff.”

Rollie and Tim are handymen of sorts. There isn't much they can't do, trouble is they don't want to do very much. They work when they need money and refuse steady jobs. Jackie hired them to clean up the bar after closing in exchange for some money and a beer or two while they worked. They're indifferently reliable but honest.

“Gimme the gun, Rollie. Deputy Dudley has the night shift and he’ll be close by if you need him. I’m going home.”

Shotgun in hand, he left Jackie’s and the rest of us followed, still laughing.

Jackie's Cold Day Inn

“We’re all going to hell!” was what I heard as I walked into “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn”. Opening the door to the place meant letting light in, and that never failed to temporarily blind the patrons.

“Hey, I been to hell already. Lucky me she remarried. I don’t recommend it.”

It didn’t get a laugh maybe because I’ve said it a hundred times before.

"Cold Day Inn", low maintenance, high quality

Jackie’s was near the end of Main St. in Panhandle, TX. There were a couple of other bars but it was the oldest and the favorite one, the others being less than 20 years old, operated by outsiders. It was a bit more than half full which was unusual for that time of day except today. Most of us had been to the pastor’s funeral an hour before. For this part of the world 100+ temperatures are standard from May to October and Jackie’s had the best A/C in town. The only light came from the tiny dingy windows in front. It was so dark it made everybody look acceptable.

Nearly everyone in the congregation was at the funeral except the kids. Dressed in their church clothes, the men pulled at their collars, the women dabbed their sweat with lacy handkerchiefs and the Bishop under layers of vestments suffered, too, but not enough to hurry things along. The moment of silence after the wooden casket was lowered lasted about 10 seconds after which we practically ran for shade.The men headed for Jackie’s place where it was cool and dark. The women went home to get more covered dishes for the widow.

The official word from the ME’s office was that the pastor died in his sleep at a motel two towns away. No other details were given so naturally we took to inventing possible reasons why he wasn’t at home dying on a Wednesday night and just how worn out he must have been to die while sleeping; “dead to the world” while asleep and now dead to everybody else alive. But it was too soon to joke or gossip about it now. Maybe in few days.

Things brightened up some when Jackie brought two more pitchers of beer and shots for everybody, on the house just this once.

“If you guys don’t lighten up I’m closing the bar and you can be gloomy at home”, she said.

Nobody wanted to go home. A funeral is like a day off, not quite a 4^th of July day off, but a work-free day nonetheless.

Ray looked up from his beer and said, “I remember when he arrived here in ‘96. He was all filled up with the Fire of the Gospel in ‘im trying to save everybody all day, every day. Me, I wondered what he was saving me from. I had a nice spread, a good herd of whiteface, royalties from the three little oil wells in the back forty, satellite TV, and a good wife. So far as I could figure, I sure didn’t want to leave this place for some other place I never seen.”

Jackie looked about to smack him with an empty pitcher. “Of all the good stuff you got, your wife is last, Ray? After satellite TV? Tell me when you plan to show her your list. I really wanna be there, help her clean up after she’s done with you.”

Ed downed his shot, took a gulp of beer and said, “You’all remember Bobby Jean, I mean the way she passed while playing Charades? Five other people there, including Will the EMS guy. She died before they figured out she was having a heart attack right in front of them. She’s flailing around and they kept trying to guess what she was pantomiming. A breakdancer! A dolphin leaping out of the water! Oh, shit! A heart attack! Will tried to bring her back but it didn’t work.”

Raging Bull! No!      Horny guy! No!

Looking around he said, “I don’t see Ben here so I guess I can say “pneumothorax” and get a laugh instead of a dirty look. We were working on the hay baler, me on top working the gearbox and him underneath taking bolts off the tranny. Anyways, I hear him grunting and huffing then he says god help me, I can’t breathe; hurts like hell. I’m gonna die. Got him in the truck fast as I could, ran him to the clinic. Doc has a look and tells him you’re not dying you have a pneumothorax. Ben says, what’s that. That’s a collapsed lung but for billing purposes a pneumothorax costs a lot more. Considering all the names you called me the last half hour I’m still making up my mind which way I'm going to write it up.

“Ben says, ok, ok, but what’s the cure? Doc says, nothing but bed rest coupla days; and hands him a bag of balloons and a bottle of aspirin. Tomorrow morning, he says, start blowing these up, aspirin whenever you need it. Call me if the pain gets worse.

“Well, Ben wasn’t having none of that. He’s seen doctor shows on TV. There’s pills and operations for everything. He can barely talk it hurts so bad but has just enough breath to swear at the doc some more. Doc doesn’t pay any attention, just writes something on Ben’s chart. Then he says, ‘Ok, Ben, pneumothorax it is.’”

We laughed out loud even though we’d heard the story before. It happened years ago but Ben still gets steamed about it even after a doctor from Lubbock told him that doc’s treatment was right.

The door opened, let the light in and blinded everybody. Sheriff Tom stood in the doorway like a gunslinger looking the place over. Seeing no malefactors he took a seat at our table, nodded at Jackie to bring him a mug.

“Missed the pastor’s funeral. Had to check out the Williams’ place. Somebody said there were strangers digging near the hay barn. Wish the heirs would settle things and sell the place. It’s not worth much but it’s more than all the money they found after Pop Williams died. It was some kids from Canyon State looking for Pop’s buried treasure. I told ‘em it had all been found already, $500,000 in Republic of Texas dollars from 1846. Betcha good money Pop Williams is laughing in his grave over his joke and he’s been gone now 20 years or more.”

That was a story I hadn’t heard before. It must have shown on my face.

The Sheriff lit up a Cheroot, leaned on his elbows and said, “Ain’t much to tell. When Pop died his will left everything to his three ingrate sons. That and a map showing where he’d buried half a million dollars he swore he found while digging wells on the south 40 back in the day.

“Trouble was there was no sign about which way was North on the map or any landmarks so these fools turned the map this way and that, dug up the land this way and that for months before they hit paydirt. The field looked like home for a colony of giant Prairie Dogs big as tractors. Those boys looked pretty foolish after bragging all over the county how they were going to spend the old coot’s money soon’s they found it. Twenty years on they can’t agree to sell it and I think the county’s about to seize it for taxes.”

A couple of hours after sunset we were back to normal, taking turns ganging up on whoever was a good target at the moment. Sheriff Tom put some bills on the table and left to finish his shift. For some reason the empty chair made Ray think about the pastor.

He said, “I mean what does a pastor do with his time? Give a sermon on Sunday, well that’s a couple of hours plus the time to write it out during the week. Organizing fundraisers for folks in need, getting stuff for the food bank, but what else?

“You know ranch life can be lonesome for the wives. Think on it, the men are out in the fields plowing, planting, harvesting but not by themselves or in town at the feed store, socializing. With the kids in school it gets awful quiet around the home day after day. A visiting pastor can be safe, welcome company once in while. It might explain why some kids around here have dimpled chins just like the pastor.”

Nobody wanted to think too deep on that so the talk went back to the pastor dying in Bixley.

Ed spoke up first.

“Maybe he was in Bixley banging something besides his bible. I heard Alice cut him off after that thing with the organist what’s-her-name. She moved away. Maybe to Bixley?

“If not what’s-her-name what was he doing in Bixley on a Wednesday night? Nothing there. All I can figure is a place called “Betty’s Boop”, almost naked “girls” that make a sheep look good. I was there one time saw guys putting dollar bills in the women’s bikini bottoms and getting 50 cents change. 

 

“I think Wednesday nights are two-for-one drinks at “Betty’s”, Wednesday being the slowest night. I heard they tried holding mud-wrestling contests but nobody showed up for the next one after the first one. Guess they forgot most of the guys ‘ev seen plenty of hog wallows and don’t care to see another one even if the drinks are cheap.”

True or not, everybody  laughed real hard except Jackie*.

                                                 RIP, Pastor Johnson

*Author’s note: Jackie doubled the bar tab that night. If anybody noticed they aren't saying.

The Last Time

Beer & Whine at Billy's Last Stand

“It’s my old lady, man. Billy says she’s too drunk to drive and he’s holdin’ her keys. He says come down right quick, she’s raisin’ hell. If he has to call the Sheriff she’ll go to lockup for sure. You gotta go with me to get her and you drive her truck back, ok?”

Jim and his wife, Angel, are my neighbors in Carson County nearer to Hereford than Amarillo. We’re kinda like family. They don’t have kids and I don’t have a wife. I’m the timekeeper for M & G Drilling. Jim’s a roughneck, same outfit.

Wednesdays are Girls Night Out for Angel and two of her friends.

“Goddamit, Jim, it’s 2 o’clock in the morning! Just leave the truck there. We'll get it tomorrow.”

“No, man, Billy’s sure to have it towed. Last time cost me $150 and they scratched the paint.”

Oh, yes. I remember.

The last time…

It was about a month ago...

Friday being payday Jim and Angel plus some other couples decided to party at “Billy’s Last Stand”. Fair size place near the county line, neon beer signs, pool tables, all smoke and sweat, small bandstand and dance floor that almost goes all the way around the bar at the center. Cozy for maybe 100 people. I tagged along for the company but I couldn’t drink because I had a broken ankle and the painkillers that made everything look pink and gauzy don’t mix with beer. Also, sometimes you see scary things nobody else does. Damn roughnecks get nothing but scratches, bruises, and hard brown skin working all day on the rigs. Me, an office drone, skin so pale people think one of my parents was a polar bear, gets a broken ankle tripping on a printer cable.

Texas Pool Boy

After a few beers the men and women separated. The guys went to the pool tables for some high stakes gaming, twenty-five cents a pocket playing 9 Ball. The girls joined up at one table to continue drinking, gabbing, and sizing up the boys in the band; young, rangy guys, big hats, looking like they thought they could have their pick of the women. I couldn’t play pool or dance with the cast on my foot so I took my diet Coke to the bar to shoot the breeze with the bartender. Maybe he had something I could use to scratch the itch under my cast. 

Sometime around midnight everybody in the bar was friendly drunk, the band was playing loud. At the pool tables things got sloppy but nobody was getting mad. Even the bartender relaxed. Another two hours and he could shut down, count the take, and go home. Some cowboys at the far

At closing time everybody looks good

end of the bar called out wanting shots. He left so I turned around to look over the scene.

I saw Angel and her friends get up to dance. They knew they couldn’t get their husbands off the pool tables so they joined the line dancers. Even drunk, they danced pretty well; at least they didn’t fall down.

Then two things happened at once. Jim was doing ok at pool. He still had some bills in his pocket so he figured he was winning some. Suddenly, his opponent said something about Jim scratching. Jim said, no I didn’t, and you owe me $3. Over at the dance floor, Angel was smacking some yahoo in the face with a full can of beer. In some bars if a woman refuses an invitation to dance, she is definitely a Lizbin. Now, Angel can take care of herself just about anywhere she goes even if sometimes her payback exceeds the crime. Calling Angel a Lizbin is a high crime. After she bashed the guy with her beer, she kneed him hard. He hit the floor face down. Angel was on him fast, punching and scratching at his head.

At the pool tables Jim and his pool partner were staring each other down. Oh, yeah? Yeah. Oh Yeah? Yeah. Who’s gonna make me? You and what army? And so on. Jim had been in this spot before and he was all the time planning how to take the guy down and come away clean; a fast jab, center chest, right cross to the temple. Done.

Jim and Angel been married for 15 years or more and like most married folks can hear each other’s voices among a hundred others. So when he heard, “Motherfucking asshole!” ringing out, he knew it was Angel. Okay, time to go. Fast jab, center chest, right cross to the temple. Done. Go see what’s going on with Angel.

Angel and the guy were standing, squaring off when Jim came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She whipped around and landed a gut punch with her elbow before he could stop her but he was ready, knowing all about her hair-trigger temper.

Righty tighty, lefty loosey? You sure?

The guy sized up Jim as Angel’s man right off but just couldn’t let a woman beat him up. Lose a lotta points that way. So he gave Jim a ‘come on’ sign with his hands waist high palms up. Jim works the chains on the oil rigs. His nose has been broken a few times. The scars on his face are evidence that he’s likely dealt a lot of punishment in the past. He’s also 6 foot a hundred, 210 pounds, 1½ oz of body fat. Instead of squaring off with the guy, he took one step forward, hands at his side, inviting the guy to throw a punch. The crowd was yelling, “Fight, fight, fight!” Then the guy made a mistake. He glanced away from Jim for an instant. Fast jab, center chest. Right cross to the temple. Done.

Unfortunately, the Sheriff witnessed the knockout as he walked in and had no choice but to arrest Jim. (Nobody owned up to calling the Sheriff). When the guy came to, he refused to press charges, insisting the he and Jim were good buddies, just fooling around and things got a little bit rough, so the handcuffs came off.

Nobody makes Sheriff Tom come out of his office, into his car, make him drive half way across the county just to make him out a fool after eye witnessing an obvious crime. Somebody had to pay.

He doesn't need you and he expects the same

“Now, Jim, I see you’re dead drunk. If you get in your truck I’ll arrest you on a DUI. Same goes for your friends if you get in with one of them.”

“Shit! Then I’ll walk home, Sheriff.”

Hearing that, the Sheriff drew himself up, put his hands on his hips and grew a lot bigger and wider.

“You do that, sonny boy, and I’ll get you for drunk and disorderly in the commons, maybe something worse if I put my mind to it. You’re better off spending some time in the tank. Come on, now. I’ll have you a hot breakfast when you wake up. On me.

“The rest of you, I’m taking Jim to the tank, then I’m coming back the same way or maybe I come back another way. I don’t want to see you and you don’t want to see me. Go home. Billy, time to lock up.” 

Jim didn’t get out of the tank Saturday morning like he expected, or Sunday either. Sheriff Tom and the County Judge went weekend fishing somewhere out of cell phone range. And there was another small detail. The Sheriff hadn’t logged Jim as a prisoner in the inmate register. In effect, he wasn’t there so there was no way the Deputy could release him because logic: If the books don’t show a prisoner arriving, then they can’t show one leaving either.  

Angel must have made at least 15 calls to Deputy Dudley Saturday but Dudley always did everything by the books. Nothing was going to happen until the Sheriff returned Sunday night. Sunday morning Angel and I went to the jail hoping that taking the Deputy some hot coffee and fresh donuts would help ease Jim out of his cell. 

Deputy Dudley was at his desk studying the Carson County Jail Regulations Manual when we arrived. He got up to set the coffee and donuts on a table next to the coffee pot. My ankle was hurting so I asked if I could sit at Dudley’s desk. He was busy slurping coffee and scarfing donuts and said ok. Angel was on him about letting Jim out but he wasn’t moved. "Rules are rules", he said. 

I’d heard Angel’s arguments too many times already so I amused myself by paging through the Rules Manual just for something to do. So many rules! Shape and size of cells, bedding accommodations, lighting, approved paint for the walls, calorie counts in every meal, use of handcuffs, weapons storage, and BINGO: Regulation 367.20 Cell Locks and Doors. 

“Deputy Dudley, it says right here in your book that if a cell in unoccupied it must be left unlocked and open. So if my friend Jim isn’t here as you say by your rules, then the cell he’s in should be unlocked and open. And if he happens to walk out and away, there’s nothing you can do because he isn’t here.”

“No! I can’t let him out. It’s against the…. rules. Anyhow, Sheriff Tom will have my hide when he comes back.”

“Dudley”, I said, “I think the Sheriff didn’t log Jim in because meant to let him out the next morning but he forgot; probably looking ahead to the whiterock bass waiting for him and the Judge at Red Bluff Reservoir. And it sure would look bad if you kept a law abiding citizen in jail for no legal reason. I’m smelling something. Angel, do you smell a lawsuit, too?

“Sheriff Tom’s gonna retire sometime. Best to have a clean record in your jacket if you want to take his place. Think about it, Dudley. The rules are all on your side now. You can save Sheriff Tom and yourself a lot of embarrassment. You don’t want to be the deputy to the next Sheriff do you?”

Near as I can tell Sheriff Tom returned to his jail Monday morning, saw everything in order and sent his Deputy home.

Now here I am, 2 o’clock in the morning, riding with Jim over to Billy’s hoping to get Angel out of whatever scrape she’s in this time, bless her heart. Stay tuned.