Texas Diamond

Heat, pressure and time: the three things that make a diamond also make a waffle.
Michael Argentini

The painting, all 7 feet of it, arrived at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn packed in a wooden crate. The return address was a PO Box in San Francisco. The note attached to the frame said, “Jackie, you were right. Living well is the best revenge. Living large is even sweeter. Letter to follow.”

Jackie’s is an old bar in a small town in the Texas plains. It’s surrounded by miles and miles of cotton fields, cattle, and a few oil wells on the flattest land on the continent. You don’t go to Jackie’s for the atmosphere which some say is toxic. You go there to have a quiet drink with your friends, gossip, tell and retell familiar stories. New customers are rare but welcome if they mind their own business and stay out of everybody else’s. 

“Gina” Jackie said, “haven’t heard from her in years and now this.”

“this” was a painting of Jackie, nude, lying on her side, age maybe early twenties. 

All the men around Jackie’s age said they’d seen the real thing back in the day and claimed that the painting wasn’t right in some way or another. They earnestly debated about a missing beauty mark on her hip and the tiny butterfly tattoo on her right breast was actually on the left one. 

Sheriff Tom earned Jackie’s approval and some free drinks by declaring he studied the portrait, looked in the woman’s eyes and saw a party.

Actually, no one in Panhandle ever saw Jackie between the ages of eighteen to forty-five, dressed or undressed. She’d been tending bars in a dozen different states before coming home to Panhandle.

“Yep, that’s me. It’s right in every detail. Anyone says different can get the hell out of my bar.” 

By the time my sales route took me to Panhandle the whole town had heard about or seen the painting now mounted over the bar displacing the aged Grand Prize, Pearl, and Lone Star beer clocks.

Always time for one more

I knew I could count on Tom to tell me about the painting and the artist so I waited until he came in for a drink when his shift was over. He and Les walked in together. I signaled them to sit with me. Wendy brought our drinks and we arranged our chairs so we could all see Jackie’s painting. About that time Doc Harris and his receptionist, Doris, came in and joined us. Mike from the gas station and Gary, his helper, moved from their table to ours.

Doris nodded toward the painting. “Is that really Jackie when she was young?”

“She says it is, so word to the wise, don’t say different,” Tom said. Les nodded, agreeing.

Tom’s been the sheriff here as long as anybody can remember. If there’s anything he doesn’t know about the town or its citizens it hasn’t happened or they haven’t been born yet. He’s a good story teller. Even when you know how a story ends, you stay for every word. I was the newcomer to this one so he let the others tell what they knew.

“The artist is a woman named Gina, usta live here ‘til she moved to California ‘bout 10 years ago. Made a big splash there. I read some of her paintings sell for $20,000 and up, depending on who’s buying. She’s big stuff now. Her mom, dad, and her sister still live here.

“If you didn’t know her folks, Millie and Dylan Wilson, and saw them waltzing at the Community Center last week you’d say my what a lovely couple, celebrating married 55 years. The way she looked at him he coulda been a young buck ready to take on the world. He saw a red haired girl aliiive with the promise of youth and love. No one could intrude in their world. Never mind that he stumbled around the floor, pulling at his collar where it pinched his neck. Never mind that her hair was thin and gray. They were once again young and in love, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, ‘til death do us part.

“But if you lived in the same town with them you’d think different. Seems like they disagreed about things most married folks settle early in their marriage. Easy things like who gets out of bed first, makes the coffee, and lights the fires, they didn’t square away for years. For a long time folks tried to predict when they would split up. But after 20 years of speculating they just got bored with it and found other stuff to gossip about.”

Mike cut in, “I know they settled on who makes breakfast. He said ‘Millie, how black do you like your eggs?’”

Jackie cuffed him. “You told me your wife said that to you after your wedding night.”

Tom lit a Cheroot and said, “I remember one day I stopped by the Wilson’s to see how they were getting along. I knew they’d been arguing about retiring, selling the ranch and moving to town. So I say where’s Dylan. She says he disappeared ‘bout three weeks ago. No idea where he went or why.

“Why didn’t you call my office, file a Missing Person report?”

“I’ll tell you, Tom, I thought about it. But after a week or so, I didn’t miss ‘im that much. Figured if he was fixin’ to leave me anyway, why go lookin’?”

“He came back when he ran out of money. They patched things up, sold the ranch and moved to town. Dylan set up a bait and tackle shop next to Mike’s Conoco. Millie joined up with the Lady’s Auxiliary at the church.”

Gary leaned in and said, “One day after thieves broke down a side door at the bait shack he decided to brick it up. He never used that door anyway. He called me up said could I help him out. He’s too old to be mixing mortar and hauling bricks so I said ok. So there I am on my only day off laying bricks in the middle of July, him sitting in a folding chair, big umbrella, beer in his hand, feet up on the cooler and he says, ‘Did I ever tell you the story about the Three Little Pigs?”’

Everybody but me had heard that one before but they laughed anyway. 

Doc Harris added, “They had twin girls, Angel and Gina but they didn’t look alike. Angel had red hair like her momma and Gina brown like her daddy. Growing up you couldn’t tell ‘em from any other kid. Early teens was another thing. 

“Angel discovered boys but none of ‘em stuck around long probably ‘cause she made ‘em feel like dopes, almost like she didn’t know what she wanted and kept samplin’ what was around. She made it 3 years past high school not married or even seein’ anybody too serious.”

Tom blew a smoke ring inside another smoke ring and said, “Then she met Jim, a roughneck, chain guy, muscles and scars all over. Wouldn’t you know they started arguing right away, made up and got married all in one weekend. I thought it was Millie and Dylan, next generation but I was wrong. Once they hitched up it was them against everybody else. 

“Now it’s not like they go looking for fights. No, no, the fights always came to them somehow. I told them they should make the payments on my squad car they rode in it so much. They quieted down eventually, picking their battles ‘stead of jumping into all of them. 

“Jim and Angel, still regulars but not like before.”

Doris said, “Gina was different from and the same as Angel in a lotta ways. Boys followed her around, too, but she just wasn’t the marryin’ kind. She loved two things: books and her art. Got into a mess of trouble for drawing on the margins of her schoolbooks. Never mind that the pictures were about what was happening on the pages. She kept at it drawing on everything flat until the principal threatened to expel her.”

Tom: “It was Milo at the craft shop that saved her skin. He hired her after school to help around his store.

"Now there’s a queer bird. It’s my job to know who’s who in town, also I'm nosy. Anyway, I paid him a visit when he opened his shop. All he had was boxes and boxes of books. Thought to myself, a bookstore but he said they were his personal collection. Now what’s a middle age man like him doing in a town like this? Figured he must be runnin’ from something. He said he was from California so I looked him up there. Came up clean but he quit his university job all of a sudden and left town. Nobody’s looking for him that I can tell. Maybe someday he’ll tell me why he’s here.”

Jackie: “Milo coached her about oils, pastels, pencils, and stuff, gave her art books to read, and she got pretty good at it. She even sold some of her paintings. Didn’t get much, maybe $10, $15 for something that reminded somebody of their horse or the ranch they grew up in. But then things got a little wild. Some switch flipped in her mind and she started painting stuff nobody could understand. Strange colors and shapes and names that didn’t match to what you saw.”

Doris: “She lined her pictures up in front of City Hall. Even took her stuff to Amarillo and Lubbock. Folks just walked by like there’s nothin’ and nobody there. That had to hurt, you know? I felt bad for her but her paintings didn’t make sense, leastwise to me. Nothing in the pictures matched the titles. One of ‘em she called Sunset. Gotta tell you, nobody’s ever mistaken a green triangle for the sun, flares shootin’ out.”

Les said, “I didn’t get her paintings either. I remember one time I was working on my car and she comes by in her purple Jeepster. We’re talking and the whole time she’s staring at the engine like she’s trying to memorize it. A couple weeks later I see one of her paintings hanging in the library. It’s all crazy colors like a tangle of garden hoses, circles and angles here and there. The title says “327 cu V8”. Well, I know a 327 is what I got in my car. I have a little time so I study the picture and, by god, more and more it starts to look like what she says, a 327 V8. Messed with my mind a bit, still does.

“It was pretty sad to see her and her paintings on the sidewalk every Saturday, nobody buying, hardly anybody even lookin’. I feel guilty about that.”

Everybody went quiet then Tom spoke.

“Gina’s luck broke when I stopped to help a German businessman stranded on FM 3221 up near the caprock ridge. I called Mike to haul the Mercedes to his shop. On the way to town, this guy, Schmidt, I think his name was, told me he was on his way back from Galveston to San Francisco for a business meeting. Made a crosscountry trip  twice a year but Texas was his favorite state, wide open highways, low traffic, sometimes not another human being for a hundred miles. 

“Well, the Mercedes had a busted hose with a special fitting that Mike had to get from the dealer in Amarillo, be at least another day before the car was fixed. 

“I took Schmidt to Jackie’s for a drink then gave him the nickel tour of Panhandle. Stopped at Milo’s for a spell. Gina had some of her pictures on the walls, usual stuff; you know, horses, windmills, bunkhouses. 

“One wall had her wild stuff, looked like a Sherwin-Williams store exploded on it. 

“Schmidt says, how much for this one?

“Gina says, “How ‘bout .... 20???”

“Schmidt says, ‘No! It’s worth much more! How much?’

“25?”

“So he buys two and takes Polaroids of the rest. 

“Next day his car’s ready and he’s back on the road.

“About a month later I get a letter from him. Inside is a check for $200 and two of the Polaroids he took at Milo’s. His note says, ship these two COD and tell the artist to come see me in San Francisco. She’s wasting her talent in Texas. 

“That was 10 years ago. Schmidt and his wife took her in ‘til she got settled. She never came back but once in a while she’d write her momma a letter saying she was doing ok, not to worry.” 

Jackie caught Wendy’s eye and nodded. Wendy went behind the bar and brought Jackie a letter from Gina.

Folded inside the envelope was a note and the front cover of TIME magazine. Below Gina’s smiling face it said, “Meet the art world’s newest star.”

Jackie unfolded the note and read aloud,

“Jackie, this is coming out next month. I’ll send you a copy as soon as it’s released. It looks like my work isn’t so awful after all. I did all kinds of scut work for years before my paintings got noticed but it was worth it. I almost gave up once or twice.

You have my permission to sell the paintings you bought from me before I left. I know you bought them so you could give me some money and not make it look like pity. Mr. Schmidt says you can make a bundle selling ‘original Ginas from her early period.’ 

I hope you liked your portrait. Miguel, your ex-boyfriend from Tucson, helped me with it. He swears it’s you!

Gina

Texas Poodle Shoot

I know I’ve had too much Jack when I start thinking like I was so I decided to go to my room at the Lazy Bones Motel, order some take out and watch TV but that plan went away when Sheriff Tom, Les, and Doc Harris walked into Jackie's Cold Day Inn talking and laughing. 

Sheriff Tom was saying, “So when I said, ‘Doc, are you ready for the Poodle Shoot next Saturday?’ she screamed, hit me with her purse and kicked me in the shin.” 

Jackie looked up from behind the bar and said, “Hold on, Tom. I wanna hear this one from the beginning, be there in a minute. You want your usual?” 

While she poured the drinks Sheriff Tom, Les, and Doc settled into the empty chairs at my table. Les was still chuckling over the Poodle Shoot story. 

Jackie came over, drink tray in one hand while she dragged a chair with the other hand. “I’d forgotten all about that one. What made you think of it?” 

“Man and a woman in car with Connecticut plates asked me for directions at the truck stop this morning. Nice people, seemed like. They had two poodles in the back seat, all done up, ribbons on the ears, fancy collars. Looked funny the way the fur was cut, like you see on TV sometimes, all poofy here and there, know what I mean?

“They said thanks and drove away. I don’t know why but I thought of old man Newman blowin’ those dogs away if he saw them on his ranch. The man shoots at everything he don’t understand.” 

“I’ll bet it was Bobbi Jean that kicked you,” Jackie said. 

“You win. You’d think after all these years she’d forgot, but Bobbi’s still mad. Doc and me, we’re standing in line behind her at the bank. She heard me say poodle shoot, she turns around and whops me. I’m laughing, Doc’s laughing, and everybody else is staring at poor Bobbi Jean, wondering what the hell. I told her I still had her $100 waitin' for her in my office and she whopped me again." 

Tom took a long sip, pulled out his pack of Cheroots and lit one. Jackie went to the bar and came back with a full bottle of bourbon and clean ashtrays. 

The Sheriff gestured towards me and said, “Everybody here knows the story except you so I’ll tell it from the beginning. The others can fill in what I forget or say how they remember it.” 

I topped off my drink, nodded at Tom, “Please proceed, Sheriff.” 

“You know how it is around here in springtime. We get migrants coming for the clean up and planting, cowboys from everywhere for the roundups and branding. Lotta people from outside and we’re ok with ‘em. They perk up the local businesses buying everything they need but forgot to bring. Les sells more jeans, hats and boots in the Spring than he does any other time of the year, ‘cept for Christmas. 

“Even the Lazy Bones Motel cashes in. Nobody stays there. The migrants and cowboys camp out wherever they are but when they come to town they want a place to shower, change clothes so they can walk around, maybe have a hot meal. Myra at the Lazy Bones rents the showers and the rooms for 30 minutes, shower, change, and out. Mamacita’s Diner does a good business taking in laundry around the back. Money movin’ from hand to hand and everybody’s happy. 

“Of course, the cowboys and roughnecks, they want showers and clean clothes, too, but mostly they come to town for the bars. My deputy and me spend a lot of time watching these boys, stop things before they get too serious.” 

“Tom’s right about those men,” Doc Harris said. “Most times it’s cuts and bruises, sometimes broken fingers, minor stuff but a lot of it.” 

The Sheriff said, “The poodle story started one night about 10 o’clock. I was on patrol out by the 7 Mile Cutoff south of the Coffman spread and I see a woman, middle age, waving me down. She points over the fence, hysterical, ‘Over there! My baby!’ 

“I jump outa my cruiser, drawing my gun and rush where she’s pointin’. Fifty yards away I see a cowboy and a man sittin’ on the ground, covered in dirt, breathin’ heavy, exhausted. They see me and start talkin’ at the same time. The woman’s ‘baby’ was a dang dog, a poodle. 

“Short version is the cowboy was sleeping in the open, supposed to be keeping an eye on a hundred head of steers. The couple in the car stopped by the road to let the dog out to pee. Dog got loose, snuck up on the cowboy, scared him awake. The cowboy whaled on the dog, knocked him out, nearly shot it, too. When the man and woman saw the dog they thought it was dead. The man and cowboy started fighting and the woman flagged me down. 

“I look the situation over and see nobody’s hurt and tell ‘em their options. I can arrest you for assault and battery, cruelty to animals, trespassing, and other stuff I’m still thinkin’ about. But seein’ as nobody’s hurt, ya’ll can shake hands and be on your way. They shook hands. 

“Later on, drivin’ around on patrol, thinkin’ back, it was pretty funny ‘less, of course, if the cowboy actually killed the poodle. I saw it all in my head, the courtroom, the mourning woman, the cowboy lookin’ scared, thinkin’ of his mama, thinkin' he’s goin’ away for life; the judge looking over the pictures of the dead dog, ribbons on its ears, funny fur, thinkin’ to himself, hell I woulda shot this thing in broad daylight just for drill, but sayin’ nothin’ just yet. Make one helluva funny story.

"Coupla days later me and Jorge, the Mexican fella lives outside a Shamrock, was tracking whitetail in the Red Rock canyon. We don’t shoot ‘em, no sense in killing when you can buy meat at a store, right? We just do it for the fun of knowin’ how to track like his folks and mine did a hundred years ago. Me, I do it ‘cause being Sheriff, it keeps my mind sharp to see clues everybody else might miss. 

“Anyway, we’re done for the day, ridin’ back to his ranch when I see stuffed toy, a poodle layin’ on the ground, middle of nowhere. A child’s toy out there didn’t make sense. How did it get there? Was there a crime committed hereabouts? My mind is turning this over every which way while I looked over the land for anything else out of place. Then Jorge says, ‘Tornado, last April.’ 

“Jorge’s conclusion was better than any of mine so I said, ‘yeah, you’re right’. 

“We’re ridin’ away then Jorge takes his rifle, aims at the poodle and says, right ear. He plugged it where he said. I know a challenge when I hear it so I call left ear. I plugged it. Pretty soon there’s nothing left but bits of stuffing all over. 

“Next day I was at the Post Office, Millie gives me my mail, wants to know how my hunting went. I say we didn’t see any whitetail, just some mule deer and a poodle me and Jorge shot for target practice. I said we might do it again just for fun. I told her the short version about the cowboy and couple near the Coffman ranch and she looked at me funny but in a nice way. 

“End of story until Bobbi Jean got hold of it. Maybe Millie mixed up the two stories but more likely it was Bobbi Jean got it wrong. 

“Bobbi Jean’s ok now but after Sam sold the ranch, retired and moved to town she kinda went nuts. Ranch life there’s always things to do you didn’t have time for the day before and more things pilin’ up for the next day. For the women it’s the washin’, dryin’ cookin’, cleanin’, mendin’, raisin’ kids. I tell you, there’s no end to it. After a life like that she had plenty of time but nothing to do, kinda like having your pockets full of money but nothing to buy.” 

Doc Harris leaned forward and said, “Bobbi Jean was what my momma used to call ‘special’, meaning almost normal. Some people said her name together with ‘bless her heart’. 

“She had a peculiar way of rememberin’ things clearly even if they didn’t happen, like the time she spread it around that Milo and Laurie were fixin’ to get married. Put Milo in a fix since they barely started dating and had to pull back while Laurie’s friends are pushin’ her to tell ‘em everything about the courtship that never was. It was a while before they were seein’ each other again but it could have turned sour just like that. 

“Sam had an easier time of it. He and other retired guys met under the trees in the town square or sat on the benches outside Les’s store, traded stories about the good ole days, told lies, or just sat there pretendin’ to listen to the others. Sometimes younger ranchers would come by asking for advice or tell their troubles. Late afternoon they’d stop in at Jackie’s for a cold one or two before headin’ home for the day.” 

I raised my hand and said, “Wait a minute. Are you talking about Bobbi Jean, the lady that runs the animal shelter? She’s a sweet lady. I took a fawn off of Newman. Broken leg, Newman was gonna shoot it. I took it to the shelter and Bobbi Jean fixed the leg and kept the it as a pet until it could be on its own. That Bobbi Jean?” 

Jackie said, “Hold on there. We’re talking about her right after she and Sam moved into town. Bobbi Jean was a lot different then. 

“One day I saw her sitting outside the library. I crossed the street and it looked like she was crying. I said what’s wrong. I remember she said, ‘I was so happy to be off the ranch, live in the city, go out and meet people anytime I wanted. Now at home I get most of my chores done in a couple of hours. No more chickens, milk cows or horses to tend to. It was just me and Sam. I still love him to death but sometimes it’s like I’m living with a big dog. I wake up, fix his breakfast, let him out the door. He come in for lunch and let ‘im out the door again. Sometimes he sits with his buddies under the trees or nap in his chair. 

‘“In the beginning I was happy about leaving the ranch and joined up with the church ladies but didn’t get much out of it. Being in the church with them was so quiet it was like being alone at the ranch. It was like I was buried alive.”’ 

Jackie refilled her drink and topped off the others. “I told her come to Women Only Night. She did, met up with Peggy Olson, the vet’s wife, who told her they needed help at the animal shelter. Bobbi Jean was reborn, doin’ all the scut work at the shelter just like she used to do on her ranch, runs the place now. Got her mind back, and you’re right. She’s a sweet woman, enough goodness in her for two women.” 

Tom rested his arms on the table, leaned forward and said, “Only person I told about me and Jorge and about the cowboy was Millie at the Post Office. Say what you want about Millie, she never lies. She repeats everything she hears without a dime’s worth of extra. By the end of the day, the story was a cowboy shot and killed a poodle belonging to a family that was just passin’ through mindin’ their own business.” 

Les stirred in his chair and said, “Everybody that came in my store wanted to talk about it. In the worst telling the cowboy chased the dog down like it was a steer in a rodeo, hog tied it, then shot it six times. I got ahold of Tom and told him do something or there’s gonna be big trouble with the locals and the cowboys.” 

Tom lit another Cheroot and said, “I asked around and found out it was Bobbi Jean who was telling about the cowboy running down the poodle and shooting it.” 

Doc Harris sat back in his chair, legs out, ankles crossed, squinted at me and said, “I can tell by the look on your face, you don’t think anybody would believe a wild story like that. Thing about those stories is that they start small, then a detail is added, then another one changed. A .22 becomes a shotgun, a dead sheep turns into a whole flock, gutted and skinned. After a while the story is so unbelievable that if you told it that way from the beginning, nobody would buy it. But let it grow bit by bit and pretty soon the unbelievable story becomes gospel truth. 

Tom said, “Don’t get me wrong. Bobbi Jean didn’t mean any harm. She’s got enough goodness for two women like Jackie said. She likes attention is all. But this time she could cause real problems so me, Les, Doc, Jackie, Milo and Laurie decided to set her up, teach her a lesson. And we even got that cranky ass Newman to help.” 

“I saw her going into Les’s store so I went in and talked to Les. When she was nearby, I said ‘poodle shoot, Saturday’ loud enough for her to hear. I gave Les the high sign so he went along with me and didn’t say anything.” 

Les said, “Bobbi Jean asked me what Tom was talking about. I told her there was rumors that we were gonna have a live poodle shoot at the Annual Founders’ Day Barbecue next Saturday. Use the little ones like clay pigeons, toss ‘em in the air, shoot ‘em outa the sky. Hundred dollar prize for the best shootin’. I also said it was just a crazy rumor Tom heard, don’t believe it.” 

Jackie leaned forward in her chair, rested her forearms on the table, gave me sly grin and said, “Actually, we shot eight poodles, fourteen bunnies, and a buncha Care Bears. Milo and Laurie had to go to a thrift store in Amarillo to get ‘em, spent maybe $10 for the lot.

“Those two really got into how to stage it. Once they got planning the rest of us got out of the way. It was Laurie’s idea to get the football team to help out. Milo’s got a damn good head for details. He said our original plan was too complicated, easy to go wrong. He made it simple, just a few moving parts. Milo and Laurie ever turn to a life of crime, ole Tom here’ll have his hands full. 

“I had the easiest part of the plan. All I had to do was keep Bobbi Jean away from the barbecue until everything was set up and running. 

“I called her and told her my truck wouldn’t start can she pick me up and we go together. I made a fuss about closing up the bar, taking my time about it. When we get to the Founders’ Day Barbecue at Newman’s place there’s smoke rising from the grills to the right, big tents for shade, a lotta people eating ribs at long tables lined up end to end, kids running everywhere like they just been let outa jail. Looked like half the town came out. 

“There was gunfire behind the barn about a hundred yards to the left. As we get closer to the barn, we hear more shooting, people whooping it up, cowboys hootin’ and hollerin’ each time they get a hit. 

“Bobbi Jean’s yellin’ at me, we gotta stop it, lemme out, lemme out, like she’s believin’ the wild story about shootin’ dogs was true. She gets outa the truck before I stop and runs behind the barn and there’s Tom, Les, and Doc watching the cowboys shoot their guns into the sky. 

“On the left side a hundred feet downfield the first string quarterback was standing behind a wall of cotton bales. Thirty yards to the right, the second string quarterback was doing the same. On a signal they’d toss a stuffed toy high in the air. The cowboys shoot at ‘em with .22 rifles. Three shots for two bits. Hard to hit a moving target at that distance with a .22 but every time there was a hit the stuffing would fly all over, people cheered, put down another two bits. 

“Bobbi Jean saw right away she’d been had. She gave Tom a hard stare then put her hand out to Les who was holding his .22 rabbit gun and said gimme. Les wasn’t sure about that but Bobbi grabbed it, put it up to her shoulder. 

“She took three shots, all hits, the first one hit the toy poodle going up, next one hit it at the top of the arc, and the third shot tore it up for good. She gave the rifle back, got in her truck and sped off. 

Les put his drink on the table and said, “I felt bad for Bobbi Jean, being made fun of in front of everybody. I guess everybody did for a while.” 

Jackie said "Yeah, she missed the next two Women Only Night meetings but showed up for the next one. All of us went quiet when she walked in. She tossed her purse on the table and said, 'I got a story to tell you about a Sheriff that’s got one comin’ to 'im someday.'"

Half, Texas, population 0

Who's your daddy?

Sheriff Tom was holding forth at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn when I arrived from sales calls one Friday afternoon. A smart storyteller, Tom could spin yarns so convincing that you could believe every word without realizing he’d slowly led you into absurdities at the end.

As usual, the Sheriff told his tales between sips of bourbon and drags on his Cheroots, letting the story out a bit at a time. Doc Harris, Les, Mike from the Conoco station were sitting with him. Doris, Wendy, Gary, and Rollie were at the next table listening carefully. Jackie busied herself behind the bar, pretending not to listen. She’d fallen for Tom’s stories too many times before.

“I bet nobody here’s ever heard of Half, Texas. I hadn’t either until my grandfather, rest his soul, told me about it when I was 10, 11 years old. At that age you’re not believin’ everything your mom and pop have told you anymore, like when your daddy told you about a monster catfish he caught before you were born. Thing so big, bigger than his boat. But when it comes to Grampa every word he says is God’s truth. Yes,sir. God’s truth.

“First he told me about a place called Texico. Now all of you know Texico's a real city right on the border between Texas and New Mexico. Some of you probly been there once or twice. It’s actually two cities but being right smack on the border, half the city goes by New Mexico rules and the other half follows Texas laws. I suppose that can get confusing for folks once in a while but their troubles are kinda trivial compared to a place once known as Half, Texas.

“Half, Texas doesn’t exist anymore and some folks even say it never existed but I’ll still take my Grampa’s words over anybody else’s. So there you have it.

“Back around 1890 a prospector claimed he found gold in the nearby hills. As you might ‘spect, there was a gold rush but not a very big one. Half, Texas was way the hell and gone from any civilization such as it was in Texas at the time and there were easier pickings in other places. For a while there was talk about the railroad adding a spur to connect the town to the rest of the world but that never came to be.

“The gold petered out sometime in 1920. Actually, there wasn’t much there to begin with but every prospector I’ve ever known wakes up every morning thinking today is the day I’ll hit the mother lode. So the town grew to about 2000 souls at the peak in 1922, 23. A few hardy families started farms or ranches. Some opened businesses, general store, blacksmith, saloons, even an undertaker/doctor/dentist/barber. Everything was fine for a few years but the truth is, there wasn’t much there to grow the town any more than it was already. There wasn’t much water from the wells and the land wasn’t suited for bumper crops of anything but lizards, mesquite and sagebrush.

“Then in 1931 government surveyors showed up to figure out exactly where the border between Texas and New Mexico was. Being so far from civilization the folks in Half, Texas didn’t give a damn where the border was. Where they were concerned it could well be either Texas or New Mexico.

“When the survey was done, the border between the two states was smack down the middle of Main Street. One side of the street was in Texas and the other in New Mexico. Still, that wasn’t a problem for the folks. Nothing changed. Nothing at all, until 1933 when Prohibition was repealed. There was so much celebratin’ everywhere you had to wonder how in the world the amendment was ever passed.

“The first signs of trouble came when a fella by the name Joe Jackson opened a saloon on the Texas side of the border. Now, you gotta remember that for a lotta folks, liquor is a sinful beverage and for years and years that sentiment was held by a large part of the population, ‘specially in the southern states. You talk to Becky and her church ladies today and you’ll hear pretty much the same things folks were saying about liquor back in the day.

“Alcohol was legal everywhere but not everybody thought that was a good thing. Some Texas lawmakers looked at alcohol and saw TAXE$ they could collect and some of it, maybe a lot of it, would stick to their hands on the way to the state treasury. Others in the lege, being God-fearing Christians, believed Demon Rum would spell the end of the world if anybody could have a beer anytime they got thirsty. The fight in Austin raged on and on. One side wanted to stay good with God and ban liquor altogether while the other side saw MONEY to be made by making liquor legal. The Senate was deadlocked Even Steven.

“The Texas legislature’s never been compared to a monastery. Fact is, those particular Texas lawmakers improved the reputation of houses of ill repute and from what I see in the capitol now, that’s still true. To be fair, there was one Senator who refused bribes of any kind. The other Senators stayed away from him, somethin’ grievous wrong with ‘im, they said.

“At last, State Senator Wilford Solomon, proposed a solution. Now I know what you’re gonna think when I tell you what the solution was, but I swear my Grampa told me Wilford Solomon was his real name. And I believed what Grampa told me and I won’t even try to look it up, see if it’s true. He said he wondered why any parent would burden a boy with such a name as Wilford.

“You probly figured out what his solution was already. If you haven’t you don’t have to say so and embarrass yourself. I’ll tell you.

“Senator Solomon stood at the podium of the Senate building and talked for two hours laying out all the arguments for and against banning liquor or legalizing it. The Senators passed notes back and forth, went in an out of the chamber. A small group started a poker game while Senator Solomon thundered on. At last, the presiding chairman of the Senate woke from his nap and told Solomon to finish up and say what his solution was.

“The Senator held up a large map of Texas and proceeded to cut it in half, north to south, with his Buck knife. He declared that one side would allow liquor and the other would not. And further, seein’ as the east part of Texas had a lot more rain than the west part of Texas, the eastern side would allow liquor and the western side would not. Half of Texas would be dry and the other wet, just as Nature intended.

“You all know what happened in the bible when Solomon proposed cuttin’ a baby in half to settle who was gonna raise the kid ‘til he was eighteen and outa the house. But that dog didn’t even pretend to hunt in the Texas Senate. No sir, nobody liked it. There were wets and dries in every county as you might expect but finally the brave lawmakers found a way to walk away from the problem with clean hands. They passed the problem down to the people. Each county held a vote to decide whether to be wet or dry.

“This great state has 250 counties and so there were 250 votes and 250 different ways to deal with when, where, and how you could have a drink – all dry, all wet, part dry/wet, wet in this business but not that one. Every county figured out how to make a little problem into a big one.

“Give you a little geography here. Texico is in New Mexico, least ways, half of it is. The other half is in Texas but they couldn’t name it the same --- too many exicos. The Texicocans claimed naming rights since the first jail was built on the New Mexico side and they got their way. The Texas side became Farwell after the richest man there who also owned a bank, general store, and a sizeable ranch. So folks in Farwell became Farwellians or Farwellicans, pick one.

“When it came time to voting to be wet or dry, Texico stayed wet while Farwell went dry. If a Farwellian wanted to have a beer or whiskey all he had to do was cross over to Texico. Credit both halves of the divided city for adopting the same motto: My business ain’t none of yours and vicey versy.

“It coulda worked out the same in Half, Texas, but the churchy people were pretty strong on the Texas side. The Texas side was dry and that was all there was to it. If a Texan was seen going to or coming from a saloon on the New Mexico side of Main Street, woe to him.

“So a lotta folks brewed their own beer and made their moonshine at home. Trouble was that drinking alone’s not the same as getting together with your friends, drinking, trading lies, play some poker. No, only thing drinking alone did was make some mean drunks. Some men you tell ‘em they can’t do something they think is their god-given right, they’re like a hand grenade with the pin pulled out, a little agitation and they lose their grip.

“I told you in the beginning that a fella, Joe Jackson, opened a saloon on the wet side of town. The minister rallied his followers to clamp down on Jackson’s customers and it got rough right away. It looked like the guns would be coming out next. But the saloon burned down and Jackson packed up and left town. The minister said it was a sign from God, praise be and all that but others thought different, wasn’t God’s hand that set the fire. After that things calmed down some but there was still bad feelings between the wets and the dries."

The Sheriff paused, lit another Cheroot and had Jackie bring him a fresh drink. He took a little sip and continued. 

“You all know that there’s smart people and not so smart people in the world. And there’s a third kind who’s smart in ways even the smartest people can’t ever be. My grampa had a word for them. He said they were crafty. You can look it up in the dictionary if you got one but the way he explained it he said it was like the guy who puts a dollar in the collection plate at church but his hand comes up with two dollars in it and nobody’s the wiser. Know what I mean?

“Bill Johnson was crafty. One day he stood in the middle of Main Street, one foot in Texas, the other in New Mexico. He looked down one way and up the other and saw an opportunity, fool proof, guaranteed to make him rich. Well, maybe not rich but better off than he was then, a stone-broke cowpoke. All he had to go was go courting.

“He spent the last of his money on new clothes, hat, and boots. Next he went to the undertaker/doctor/dentist/barber, got a haircut, and took a bath even though he wasn’t due for one for another month. He was ready to win the heart or hearts of Maggie or May Porter, didn’t matter which. They were identical twins.

“Growin’ up the twins’ folks did what most did in those times and dressed ‘em alike so you couldn’t tell one from the other unless you were payin’ attention. Maggie could do figures in her head and thought about next steps while May thought every minute was the start of a new day.

“The twins were ‘bout 22, 23 years old, spinsterhood creepin’ up on them when their folks died and left them a nice spread with two natural springs at the end of Main Street. They weren’t bad looking at all but there weren’t too many single men to choose from that weren’t too old or too crude. So when Bill Johnson sat next to them in church they were surprised that this cowboy didn’t smell like a hard rode horse. He said howdy to them and went his way. Maggie and May were smitten.

“Soon after Bill came calling. Both women were enchanted and fell in love with the not smelly cowboy. There were carriage rides in the country, church on Sundays, and picnics by the springs. Finally, Bill popped the question. He was with May at the time. She said let me think about it, trying not to sound desperate. He asked again the next week and Maggie said yes, she would marry him, but what was he bringing to the marriage besides not smelling bad? Maggie, remember, was the smart one.

“Bill was ready for that. He said, we get married and I’ll build a business on your property at the end of Main Street. One half will be on the Texas side, the other on the New Mexico side. May can run a café on the Texas side, and Maggie can run a saloon on the New Mexico side. I’ll take care of the supplies, keep the peace in the saloon if I need to. A customer can have some grub at the café then cross over to the saloon for a snort or two and there’s nothin’ the law or anybody can do about it.

“Maggie said let me think on it. That night the twins talked about which one of them would be Mrs. Johnson, they were both in love with Bill. It didn’t take long to decide. They’d been sharing everything since they were born. Why not share Bill?

“The wedding took place in June. Bill married May or maybe it was Maggie.

“Just like he said he would, Bill went to work on the café-saloon building right after the wedding. Maggie was thinking ahead. She said, Bill, you’re thinking too small. Make it big enough so families can come to the café after church, have a nice sit-down meal, relax, order big. On the saloon side, you need tables for six, comfy chairs, so the men stay awhile drinkin' and shootin’ the bull.

“Four months later, the café-saloon was ready for business. May was in charge of the kitchen and the café while Maggie kept the books and ran the saloon.

“On opening day the townsfolk gathered around, curious as hell, but nobody went inside. They stood in a crowd about a hundred feet away, gawking, trying to get a peek inside. It wasn’t a secret what Bill, Maggie and May were doing. Anybody asked, they told ‘em.

“The minister was there, of course, he’d spent the last four months doing what my granddaddy said was his job which was to scare people into heaven, preaching about the how godly men and women could lose their virtue to the demons liquor would unleash on them. He said just being near a saloon would displease the heavenly father and so on. The flock was so fearful they probly thought they’d see the flames of hell coming up through the floorboards in the café.

“The three of them, Bill, Maggie and May stood on the porch in front of the café. After an hour with nobody coming in, they walked over to the minister and said come on in, sir, and bring your bible, it’ll keep you safe. You come out alive, soul intact, you’ll see.

“The minister looked at them one at a time, give ‘em a face like he wanted them to burst into flames. But he was a man like any other, curiosity eatin’ at ‘im like battery acid. He turned to his flock, raised the bible over his head, and told them to pray for him. He was goin’ in.

“They showed him the café, big enough for five or six families, nice curtains, clean floors, kitchen, stoves, wood pile right outside, stacks of plates, cups and glasses. The next nicest looking place was hundreds of miles away in Dallas. The ladies’ room was fixed up with silk flowers and little bottles of cologne, mirrors, clean as a whistle. The men’s room was as plain as could be. It had doors at opposite ends. One door led to the café, the other to the saloon. A man could have a sit down with his family, go through the men’s room into the bar for a quick snort and come back. The bar was like any other except it was clean, lots of light from windows all around.

“Now, you might be wondering about the women. Like, maybe they might want a bit of whiskey now and then. At home they could have a sip or two of their husband’s moonshine but in secret, you know? You let ‘em drink in public, next thing you know they wanna be paid for housework, slippery slope and all. Maggie thought about that, too. She didn’t show the minister the mirror in the ladies’ room that opened on hidden hinges. The other side of that mirror opened to the bar. Maggie would oblige with a slug of bourbon, add it to the café bill as extra biscuits.

“Well, the minister refused to be impressed about the wholesomeness of it all and said so in plain language. Maggie looked him in the eye and said, Minister, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to come, just like me at your place .”

Jackie caught Sheriff Tom's attention and pointed to the six beer clocks above the bar. He said ok, drained his glass and got up to leave.

"Sorry, folks, but I gotta go, else my deputy'll be sore at me if I'm late."

I had to ask what happened to Half, Texas. Tom said he didn’t know. Towns just dry up and blow away. There’s probably hundreds here and gone in Texas and nobody remembers when or why.

Doris said, “Sheriff, before you go, did your grampa say if the Johnson twins had any kids?”

Tom put his hat on and said, “No, he didn’t say anything about kids but drivin' around the county I've thought about it now and again.

“It gets complicated pretty fast. Let’s say the women have boys, one each. Well, Bill is the daddy. Maggie’s boy is a half brother and cousin to May’s boy and vice versa. But then Maggie is stepmother and aunt to May’s boy and May is stepmother and aunt to Maggie’s boy. Change one of boys to a girl then you get half sisters, cousins. If you add more kids you’ll get lost in the weeds in a hurry. Probly the easiest way to think about it is all the kids are brother or sister and their mothers are both Aunt Mommy, or something. Maybe you all can puzzle that out and let me know. 'G night."

Texas Giants

I pulled into Panhandle after a long drive from Crosbyton where I closed a deal to sell a front loader to the owner of the dinosaur museum. I was all I could do to get the signature on the sales contract and get out of there. The museum housed real and fake dinosaur remains. It also featured two tour guides who talked endlessly about the exhibits, sprinkling in references to bible stories that in their minds proved that the earth and all the heavens were created on Monday, October 23, 4004BC. Carbon dating, I learned, was the Devil’s Work. I nodded at the right places, took their pamphlets, hopped in my car and pointed it towards Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, 130 miles north.

How Noah got dinosaurs on the ark

The first thing I noticed when I walked into Jackie’s was that the seven-foot long nude portrait of Jackie¹ that had been hanging over the bar for years was missing. Its pale outline against the smoke stained wall bore testament to how long it had hung there. I stared at the space.

Jackie sighed, put down the mug she was polishing and said, “You and everybody else done the same thing since I took it down. Beer or Jack?” I said both and took a seat at the table in the corner near the door. Over the years that table’s been informally reserved for Sheriff Tom, Doc Harris, Les, and for me whenever I’m in town. It has a view of the street outside and the whole bar inside. The only person who sits in the corner chair is the Sheriff.

Mind your manners and don't swear unless you have to

Jackie brought my drinks and said, “The Sheriff and Doc Harris’ll be coming in soon. Go ahead and ask – why did I take it down.”

Not waiting for an answer she put her hands on her hips and said, “Saturday a buncha gits from the oil rigs came in and made a fuss over the painting. One of ‘em jumped up on the bar and was runnin’ his paws over it while his buddies whistled and hooted. Wendy called the Sheriff but before he got here Milo knocked the kid off the bar and served him a plate of what he had comin’. I guess the other three were smarter, put their hands in the air, gathered up what was left of their bud and took off before the Sheriff arrived. We gave him the names. I think they went to Doc Harris’ clinic to patch ‘im up but I don’t know for sure.

“Anyhow, the painting got some damage where the kid touched it, big ole smudge on the thighs. I was gonna wash it off but Milo said that would make it worse, said he could fix it.”

She looked up as Sheriff Tom, Les, and Doc Harris came in. They paused and stared at the blank space. “Good lord, Tom. When are all ah you gonna grow up? Milo’s not done with it yet.”

Les spoke first. “You’re a hard woman, Jackie. Me, Tom and Doc, we appreciate fine art, ‘specially naked fine art. When are you gonna settle the argument about the tattoo? Right or left breast?

Doc Harris nodded but the Sheriff’s face reddened. Jackie smirked and turned away, headed for the bar to fix their drinks saying, “Les, I just might do that but only one man in Panhandle’s seen it and he ain’t talkin’ if he ever wants to see it again.” We followed her eyes to see if her look stopped at one of us. It didn’t.

The men sat down with me. Sheriff Tom settled into his chair, put his arms up and stretched like a cat going down for a nap. “Long day, pulling double shifts while my deputy’s sick.”

He caught my eye and gestured towards the blank space. “That painting is kind of a landmark. A local girl, Gina Wilson, painted it years ago after she went to San Francisco, made a name for herself. Now she’s so high up in the art world she don’t even need a last name. In those circles, you say ‘Gina’, everybody knows who you’re talking about.”

Can't show it on FaceBook

Jackie gave Les the stink eye as she set our drinks on the table. Tom noticed it and said, “Didn’t you and the Women Only Night² ladies ask Milo to make membership cards with a picture of the painting on the back? Like a symbol of their womanhood.”

Jackie wasn’t having any of that. “It was Becky, the church lady, made that suggestion, not me. All I do is give ‘em a place to meet. I’m no hero. Besides, there’s no members. First rule of Women Only Night is show up or don’t, your choice.”

I thought it might be a good idea to change the subject so I talked about my visit at the dinosaur museum and gave Doc one of the pamphlets.

Sheriff Tom glanced at the pictures and said, “You mean the one in Crosbyton? The one with the mastodons and rocks they say are dinosaur turds? I had a preacher come through town one day, said he was on his way there to hold a tent revival.

“His first stop here was at Jackie’s askin' for directions. Wrong move.”

Tom paused and motioned to Jackie, “You tell it.”

Jackie talked as she gathered the empty glasses and bottles from our table and went behind the bar.

“The preacher walks in and right away he starts in on me. He’s dressed head to toe in black, hair down to his shoulders, holding a bible under his arm, he points at me and says I’m dishonoring the Lord ‘cause I wear my hair short. He sees Wendy’s pony tail, doesn’t like it either. Quotes some bible passage, don’t remember which ones. Don’t care.

“He slammed the bible on the bar, leaned in on me and said some more about women and short hair. I said, ‘Mister, I killed the last man that complained about my hair. And I’ll tell you what, it felt good. I think he mighta been a preacher, too.’

“He waved his hand in the air like he didn’t care what I said, wants to talk to my boss. I said I’m the boss, this is my bar, you best get out while you can, and I pulled out my Louisville Slugger.

A homer with every swing

“He sees the bat, takes a step back, raises his arms and head to the heavens. That’s when he sees my portrait over the bar. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack right there. So then I’m thinkin’ if his ticker goes haywire, should I let him be or should I call EMS?

“But he don’t go down. He looks at the picture, he looks at me, and figures out it’s the same woman. He opens his word hole but nothin’ comes out, I’m holdin’ the Slugger over my shoulder, he picks up his bible, turns around and leaves. I call out, ‘Next time you see me I’ll be doin’ laps in the Lake of Fire, naked. Come watch if you want.’”

I looked around the table and saw everybody smiling and chuckling. Sometimes the stories I hear aren’t told exactly as they happened but when I locked eyes with Wendy who was wiping down the bar, her smile said, “Yeah, that’s how it was.”

Sheriff Tom cleared this throat and said, “After Jackie told me about the preacher I called Sheriff Ken in Crosbyton, old friend of mine, and asked him what about this preacher. Ole Ken wasn’t happy to hear that the preacher was heading his way. He always caused trouble scaring folks about the End Times being right around the corner, the Final Judgment, Eternal Punishment and all that, maybe even tonight! Get right with God now, and by the way, God needs your money so gimme some.

“Now I’ve known Ken a lotta years and he only goes to church when he can’t get out of it. But he doesn’t mind if preachers come to his town ‘cept for some that make the people miserable, tellin’ ‘em how evil they are and tellin’ how they’re all goin’ to hell if they don’t come to the Lord right then and there. If they got a positive message, preach the Sermon on the Mount, love one another or some such, they’re welcome to have their meetings. Otherwise, he runs ‘em out of town fast as he can.

“Said one time a bus full of semi-pro basketball players was passin’ through. It was right at dawn when the bus was just past the city limits, it broke down. The players got out to stretch their legs in a pasture. Like I said it’s early, heavy fog on the ground. So happens this preacher was up at that hour taking a walk. He sees these foggy giants with their 30 ft shadows moving around about a hundred yards away. So he gets his camera takes a picture. Later on he shows he picture around says it proves giants roam the earth like it says in the bible. That got some folks riled up, scared there were giants in the hills all around them. For Three days runnin’ the men formed search parties up and down the valley, guns racked and ready. Women and kids hole up in their houses, scared as hell. Hardly anybody in town shopping, schools half empty.

They walk among us and they play pretty good ball, too

“On the fourth day, near sundown, the same bus with the same ball players pass through, stop for gas at the edge of town. They get off the bus and go to the café next door for coffee. Sheriff Ken was there.

“The Sheriff knows that the giant talk is nonsense but there’s nothin’ he can do about it but he has an idea how to end it. 

“He drives up to the pasture where the preacher’s having his tent meeting and tells the crowd he’s got some new friends they should meet. A minute later a bus pulls up behind the sheriff’s cruiser and the ball players file out, giants, each and every one, come out of the bus, say hello to everybody, give the kids some basketballs, and go on their way.

“The preacher was mad as hell, tried to restart his meeting but he’d lost the audience. All they could talk about was the ball players. He was so p-o’d he cancelled the rest of the week’s meetings. But it didn’t end there. Ken had to lock him up the next day after he punched out the owner of the dinosaur museum who sponsored the revival. See, they were supposed to split the take from the collections but the museum guy kept it all.”

The phone behind the bar rang and Wendy answered. She said ok and hung up.

“Hey, guys”, she said. “That was Milo. The painting’s done. He’s bringing it over tomorrow afternoon.” We all cheered. I called my boss in Amarillo and told him I had to stay in Panhandle another day --- some hot prospects turned up, etc., etc.

The next night Jackie’s was full. Customers had been drifting in since early afternoon though the unveiling was scheduled for 7:00 PM. The ladies from Women Only Night² were there in force and so were all the men. The painting was up on the wall with a silk sheet over it. Drinks were half price so everyone was either happily soused or getting there. Even Becky and the church ladies were having fun, joking, and laughing with everybody.

At seven o’clock Jackie stood on a chair and announced that the unveiling would proceed. Someone yelled “Hallelujah” and the cry went up from the crowd, “Hallelujah! Preach it, brother!”

The preacher who happened to be in Panhandle overnight was walking off a big dinner he’d had at Mamacita's Diner an hour before. He heard the hallelujah chorus as he passed by Jackie’s and thought there was a revival going on and money for him even if it was in a bar. He stepped in just as Jackie said, “Ok, folks, listen up. The next person walks in gets to pull off the cover.”

Jackie's Cold Day Inn viewed through a window

Footnotes

1. This link goes to the story "Texas Diamond". It tells about the origin of the nude portrait.
https://tserved.blogspot.com/2016/05/texas-diamond.html

2. This link is about how Women Only Night was organized and the night the members decided to edit the Bible.
https://tserved.blogspot.com/2016/09/thirty-women-walk-into-bar.html