Sorry We Missed Your Call

      I was on the other side of the office when James got the call that Elinore had been injured in a car accident. James rushed away immediately to meet the ambulance on its way to the hospital where the extent of her injuries could be determined but Elinore did not make it there. She  died enroute shortly after James had received the call. Her last words to the ambulance personnel were that they find the number on her phone and call James to let him know.

    Before I continue I need to fill you in on the relationship between James and Elinore prior to the tragic occurrence on that day, First, a few thoughts on the subject of love though, because I feel it will help you understand the extent of the loss beyond the mere fact that a life was lost. I think in many ways one could say that actually two lives were lost that day, for as the saying goes  James and Elinore were "all in " for one another. Now, I knew James before he ever met Elinore and its safe to say he was never what most people would call "a romantic".  In fact I would say he seemed uninterested in fostering any intimate relationship other than friendship at work. Before Elinore I guess I would claim status at best friend and that is why I write this now,

    As I said James wasn't born a romantic but he became one at age 27 when he looked into the eyes of one Elinore Hart and ,from that moment on, they each became enamored with one another at a level I would call unhealthy in hindsight, Let me explain. When love comes to you all things are wonderful in spite of the mundane existence of others and all other things appear insignificant in comparison. The euphoria of being in love supercedes all else but under normal circumstances it eventually decreases to a level that allows for resumption of one's daily routine.

    If I may assert a minor personal observation, there is a down side to it all that we learn early on.  With love comes weakness, vulnerability to the possibility of pain. Love can save you or it can annihilate you sapping any strength you thought you ever had, crushing any joy you ever felt before.  And the funny thing is, love is never a choice. It is a command of the heart that can descend upon you like a gentle morning mist of dew quite unaware. A book written by another friend of mine compares love to a poison with no antidote in most cases. Perhaps a little overstated but I think it applies here. 

    James was a zombie now or he was until he disappeared not long after Elinore died. He was not a zombie in the literal sense but figuratively speaking since the love of his life was gone. He was suffering from something far worse than a bite from the undead. It was heartbreak that produced the rudderless, shuffling individual that I saw near the end. He had disconnected from virtually everything else in his life mourning for Elinore. As I said too heavily invested. I feared that he was becoming suicidal but something happened that slightly took the edge off his despair. It is the reason I am taking the time to relay this story to you now.

   James was given possession of Elinore's personal affects from the hospital. Basically just the things that were in her car at the time of the accident, her purse and her phone. He quickly realized that her phone contained the sound of her voice on the recorded message for voice mail. It was a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless that he initiated frequently to experience the closeness he felt with her in life.  It was a simple message but a powerful proxy in the  absence of its owner. Hi this Elinore , Sorry I missed your call. Please leave your name and number and I'll return your call as soon as possible. And that was it, the standard message. Nothing more, .nothing less. Unbeknownst to me at the time, James would call the number over and over and over again numerous times a day as a ritual that provided him the consolation that he so desperately needed... that made him believe that Elinore was still with him.  Eventually James opened up to me about the fact that he was "speaking to her" in this way and I made the casual comment that it was good to have that small recording to remember her by and James agreed at first, but then days later made an excited declaration in private to me that Elinore was responding to his calls. I made a point to diplomatically take him aside and as gently as possible remind him that we both had attended Elinore's funeral mere weeks  before and that as much as we missed her, she was never coming back. I encouraged him to try to move forward.

    The following week James arrived at work from the weekend happier than he had been since Elinore's passing and I silently congratulated myself for having given him sound advice but later in the day James again made his assertion  that Elinore was indeed communicating with him telling him that she missed him terribly and wanted them to be together once again. At that point I must confess that I lost my composure and felt that I owed him the harsh truth. "Give me the phone James!", I demanded. "Somebody needs to set you straight. Give me her phone and let me hear for myself." James looked at me with a wounded glance and produced the phone without any resistance. "It isn't her phone you need, it's mine." he explained. "Hers has a passcode that I don't know."   I took the phone and found the number and called and waited for the message to play. The words I heard were unexpected.  James, is that you? I'm so lonely without you. I miss you so. If only we could be together again. I closed my eyes for a moment as I processed what I had just heard. "You see? I'm not crazy. I told you." he insisted.  "This is not possible James." I replied, handing back his phone. "Somebody is playing some sick game with you. I don't know how but its the only thing that makes any sense." I said those words but even so I couldn't really believe them myself. How could it be done?

      James left the office that day vowing to everyone that he would find a way to be with her once again. It didn't surprise me really,  after all, when it came to matters between those two, they were always "all in."  None of us ever saw James  after that. We were fearful that he had taken his own life in some misguided attempt to reunite with his beloved Elinore. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that I passed by the desk where James had worked and I suddenly and intuitively felt the need to search his desk for any evidence or clue as to what James had planned. I opened the center drawer and immediately found the two phones belonging to James and Elinore. I again felt compelled to suspect the worst and that James had done the one thing that in his tortured mind would bring them together. As I pondered his fate holding his phone in my hand I decided to call Elinore's number to listen to what she now had to say to anyone who called. As the message began to play a chill came over me as I listened to the voices of James and Elinore together laughing in a playful tone as if the caller had interrupted a romantic intimate moment between the two as they traded off different portions of the message with one another. And the message played on...Hi this is Elinore...and this James. We can't come to the phone right now. Sorry we missed your call. We may never return your call so just be happy for us.

    Love is a funny thing and the older I get the less I think I know about it. I've thought about it ...about whether its possible to love someone too much. After all that happened, I'm uncertain what the answer is. One thing I do know is that iphones are remarkable devices but even they need a battery charge and a data plan to keep going. With that in mind I contacted the provider for Elinore's phone and assured them that I wanted to keep her phone in service. I told them that I didn't need the passcode for access and that I had no desire to change anything on it. I mean really...why would I?

Jack The Giant Killer Chapter 2

 

      Jack, Chitto and Maska arrived at the Paiutes Tribe compound after enduring a five hour road trip down Indian Route 13. As road trips go it was overwhelmingly preferable to a three day ride on horseback.  Chitto and Maska had never before enjoyed a ride in a backseat of a Cadillac with the top down and the radio blaring. With their bronzed skin and long flowing hair they resembled college coeds excitedly enjoying the wind through their hair as if their destination was Spring Break. The two Indian brothers  engaged in conversation with Jack as they sped down the highway.

    “Your machine is truly remarkable. Is this what transports you through time and space?”, Maska asked.

   “Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that...in the traditional sense." Jack answered warily." You’re looking at the top of the line caddy, Manuel and Fredo. This is the deuce ex machina ,otherwise known as the 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biaritz Convertible. It’s got a 6.4-liter. OHV, naturally aspirated V-8 engine that cranks out 345 horsepower at 4800 rpms and 435 pound-feet of torque. Plus some of my own modifications to improve performance. Jet fuel,  did I mention that I use jet fuel to power this baby ...no offense to Poncho and Cisco or my boy Banjo but this is my one sweet ride . The choice of kings, sheiks and other rich folk, not to mention gangsters. This particular vehicle was previously owned by the now deceased Lefty Zamboni not coincidentally of the Zamboni Crime Family. A word of advice boys, poker’s not a game for the weak of heart, Let’s just say it this way. Be careful what you bet and always be prepared to lose it. Good advice for anyone I say. I could have been sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of Lake Tahoe, but instead I’m cruising down Route 13 with my two new Indian brothers.”

  Chitto smiled at the comment. “ You should visit our casino sometime. Maybe you could show us your poker skills. I did not tell you this but our tribe owns several casinos and other successful enterprises. Our sister can tell you more when you meet her.”

  “Your sister? You never told me you guys had a sister.” Jack replied.

   Chitto explained, “Yes, she is our priestess. She is the head of our tribe and she is waiting for us to bring you to her."

    Jack's eyes widened, " Whoa, hold on hombres, this isn't some kind of matchmaking deal you're roping me into is it? I'm not really the blind date type."

"Not at all, Mr. Dangerfield." Chitto confessed. "Jack, she is the one who convinced us to seek you out. She is counting on your bravery to save us. This trouble weighs heavy on her heart. She has shared our dreams regarding this and most importantly ... she believes in you."

 "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose the least I can do is hear her out." Jack admitted.

    Maska had been silent for several miles while he listened to his brother Chitto discuss the details of what lay in store for them down the road. "Jack, you are the Enkoodabaoo the one who lives alone, am I right? But why...I mean really? What brought you to the desert? Was it really a search for your destiny, or was it something else?" 

   Jack turned down the radio as Bubble Puppy sang a song about hot smoke and sassafras and he paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Okay, so its truth time Manuelle...the real reason I came out here was because... frankly, I was chasing a skirt... you know, a woman. Its a time honored tradition among men to give up everything they have for a grand romantic gesture, and that's what I did."

  Maska listened and then politely asked, "so where is this woman now?"

Jack winced but  kept his eyes on the road as he answered. " I guess women are like desert mirages or better yet dust devils. They appear, they devastate and then disappear in the blink of an eye. The best you can do after that is pick up the pieces and carry on, or if you're like me you fall apart and retreat into the desert pretending to write stories about things that will never happen." Jack paused and sighed to himself, "so Miguel , do you have any more questions for the legendary Jack Dangerfield? Ask them now before we arrive ...it won't be long. Its just around the bend according to the map."

   Maska tried unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment and he hunched back in his seat visibly irritated. " Yeah, around the bend. I've just got one more question, is there anything real about you at all."

   Jack turned his head trying to address his newly established Indian brother and with that motion the wind caught his hat and sent it sailing into the wind and Jack cursed quietly to himself for losing his favorite hat. Disgusted at the loss he gave a terse response "Well, not that its for me to say, but I ask myself that question everyday." 

Maska ignored the comment but answered with a simple statement. "You could do worse."

Jack was puzzled by the remark, " what do you mean...worse than what?"

"Our sister." Maska replied.

                                                                  #

   Ayana awoke that morning as she did every day with enthusiasm and optimism.  Her mornings were filled with tribal responsibilities of the mundane kind but she took pleasure in such things. Tending the livestock and working the fields, these things were essential to the welfare of The Paiutes Tribe and even though she was the high priestess in title she was a mindful young Indian woman who feared for her own future as well as the tribe’s, in light of the growing threat of the Maccapitew.  Her beauty and grace were celebrated within her tribe, for no other maiden could compare to the loveliness of the flower Ayana. There was no doubt that the Great Spirit had endowed her with a sensual countenance, shimmering raven hair , pale bronze skin and symmetry of her every curve and feminine attribute. Such a young woman bravely assumed the role of tribal chieftain after the departure of her father a year before. Now her mother was in poor health for she was old and infirmed both physically and emotionally by things of the past. Her sorrow of the Maccapitew. Though young in experience Ayana was beloved by all in her tribe ,for she had shown by her own example the true character of a leader deserving respect.

    It had been four days since her brothers Chitto and Maska had set out to enlist the help of the one called Dangerfield the Enkoodabaoo and she was anxious as to their success in achieving that goal.  Ayana took to the task of dressing for the day donning her buckskin skirt and tied sandals then binding her long raven hair with a silver handmade ring  inlaid with turquoise. She busied herself with grooming the horses today and with her free time later perhaps creating some jewelry to sell at the gift shops in town. Ayana adhered to the skills and customs of her historical tribe and that included her love of artistry. She was about to walk across the reservation square from the stables when she heard the sound of a motor vehicle pulling into the village. Such noise was not common place within the square so it caused quite a stir with its presence and more so by its appearance, the long and sleek body with high tech fins jetting from the back of Jack's Cadillac. Ayana calmly walked closer toward the vehicle that was towing an unfamiliar trailer behind it. As she drew near she recognized the faces of her two brothers and one other behind the wheel just now opening the door and surveying his new surroundings.

   "Chitto, Maska...where are the horses? and what and who is this?," she exclaimed pointing at the motorcar and at the mysterious stranger now looking her over from head to toe inquisitively.

   "The horses are fine, fully rested and in good care." Maska said reassuringly.

   " Jack Dangerfield thought it would be quicker to take his time machine and truthfully it was very enjoyable." Chitto explained.

   "Hmm, I see." Ayana said softly, moving even closer to the stranger. " And this would be Mr. Dangerfield himself ?" she asked inspecting him up and down in a judgmental fashion.

  Suddenly Jack was aware that all eyes in the village square were upon him and the pressure to say the right thing made him hesitate to speak at all. "First things first...the name is Jack, without the Dangerfield, and I feel like I owe you an explanation." He continued while nervously clearing his throat. He pointed to his Cadillac to clarify any further confusion. "That is not my time machine and moreover I feel like you and I need to speak privately if we could."

  "Yes, as you wish. I think that would be good. I am very interested in hearing your plan to help us. I have told the tribe about your reputation and we want to give you a proper welcome." Ayana turned her attention to her brothers. "Chitto and Maska, bring the horses to the stables and get Mr. Dangerfield  something to eat. Show him to my work shed so he can get some rest after his journey here.  I will join him after he has had a  chance to settle in." Ayana faced Jack and embraced him briefly revealing her relief that their champion had finally arrived. "We have much to discuss Jack Dangerfield. I have waited for this day with great anticipation. This one thing I know from my dreams and visions...your journey...this task...is not just for my tribe. It is for you as well. Tonight we will ride to a quiet place nearby and discuss what lies ahead."

  Ayana turned to leave  but then paused and looked back at Jack who was himself trying to recall if he had ever met a more beautiful woman in his life. "I must confess, Jack Dangerfield, you are not as I pictured you in my mind." 

   Jack deflected the comment with a somewhat transparent plea," Uh, I'm guessing... more handsome?" Jack watched her as Ayana walked away smiling with a doubtful grin.

  Chitto  walked over to Jack to show him the way while Maska brought Cisco, Poncho and Banjo to the stables. "So, what do you think about our tribe Jack and my sister now that you have seen them?"

Jack followed Chitto and as he walked Jack gave  a sigh of relief when he answered.

  "I have to tell you Cabo, your sister is a stone cold fox... no doubt about it. I'm glad I came but as to the other stuff?...I'm scared as hell. Lets go get some grub." Jack said shrugging off the question.

  " Jack, its Chitto, not Cabo...you're not even trying." Chitto complained.

   " What's your sister's name again. I don't remember catching it." Jack asked, oblivious to his reply.

   Chitto shook his head in resignation. "I'll write it down for you. Lets go."

                                                                  #

     The Pauites reservation rested on an oasis tucked away from the curious eyes of others  on the southern edge of a large canyon gorge leading up into the mountain foothills and descending into a lush valley below. One might mistake it for a mirage given its beauty. The land was large and fertile and fed by the waters of the Warrior River and Virgin Falls within. Foliage of various sizes and hues filled the hills and valleys decorating it with colors normally only found in one's imagination. Jack had only seen the open fields and livestock as he and his companions approached from the highway. He had expected to find a modest settlement  in ruins but instead he silently marveled at what he perceived to be a thriving community. The wide open spaces of his own Ranchita certainly had its own allure but it did not compare to what he saw before him now.

Photographs on the walls of the shed he presently was sitting in gave Jack a clearer understanding of the tribe, the people and their crusade to save their way of life.

   The work shed he had been resting in while waiting for Ayana was less a shed and more a craftsman's shop filled with the tools and materials of an artist.  A work bench positioned by an open window gave evidence of where Ayana spent most of her time in the room. Articles of her artistry lay on the bench...sheets of silver, a jeweler's saw, a leather hammer, solder flux, sandpaper and pieces of turquoise and flint, deer sinew and resin. In another corner Jack saw a familiar instrument, an old acoustic guitar with a telling layer of light dust on its surface indicating its lack of use. "Hmm, she must have lost interest," he thought. "Too bad." Jack was just about to venture out of the work shed to inquire when his host might be arriving when the door swung open and he again was in awe of the beauty of Ayana. " I trust you are fully rested now. I thought you and I might take a ride outside the village to a little spot not too far from here." she announced.

   Jack nervously agreed. "Yeah, sure. You ever ridden in a Cadillac?" Ayana smiled and walked nearer to Jack and realized he was admiring her tools on the bench. " I can't say that I have, but I thought we'd go on horseback  instead. I had Maska saddle up Banjo for you and Vixen for me." she explained and paused.  "Are you interested in jewelry? I noticed your arrowhead and the  silver buckle on your belt. Is that your work  Mr. Dangerfield?"

Jack responded bashfully. " Oh no, those were gifts."

 "I see," she continued." my art  helps me to...oh, how should I put it... explore my primitive passions, so tell me Jack...what are your primitive passions?" 

    Jack had a thought in his head as he looked at Ayana and heard her question but he chose to be coy. "Well, in my younger days I was a musician but things change. I see you play guitar too but I got the impression that maybe you lost interest in that."  Jack speculated.

  "That guitar once belonged to someone else...someone I knew well but as you say things change. It would please me if you would play something for me...a favorite song perhaps."

  Jack thought a minute and tried to remember the last time he had picked up his own guitar and he couldn't, but nevertheless he shuffled slowly over to the corner and picked it up. He pulled up a nearby chair and strummed sheepishly and Ayana sat nearby on her bench as Jack tried his hand at an old song. " I don't know why this tune popped up in my head but its simple, so I think I can handle it. Its an old song that an old friend wrote years ago and I always kind of liked it. I warn you, its a sad song." Jack kidded. "Its called Woman of My Sorrow, so brace yourself."

   Ayana smiled and leaned back as she listened. The lyrics were quaint and nostalgic as Jack tried his best to recall them...woman of my sorrow. come let me hold you forever. woman of my sorrow, take all my heartache away...never before have I gazed in her eyes, but it stays in my mind oh so clear, if only the woman could see how I cry and know that I need her right here...

  Jack fumbled through the chords occasionally failing to remember it all but finally making it to the end. Ayana 's response was forgiving and good. "I too have known such sorrow. The words ring true in my own life. Thank you for that."

   Jack placed the guitar back in its position in the corner and humbly admitted. " I was a young man when I first sang that song, a lot of water under the bridge since then. I have to say I can't imagine you having such concerns."

   Ayana smiled at the flattery. "Really Jack? What is your impression of me so far? I'd really like to know."

   "Well, I'm going to avoid stating the obvious. You're very beautiful. I got that right out of the gate ,but I don't think you're the tribe's leader because of that. I'm guessing you earned it somehow so that tells me a lot. You care about the traditions of your tribe. I surmised that from your work bench and your summons to me.  Oh and something else ...upon seeing you today, I finally realize why the clothes you wear are called "buckskin." Its because they're made with about a dollar's worth of material!" Jack joked. "Don't get me wrong, you wear it well. No complaints here."

   " Very amusing." she blushed. "And what about you Jack? Let me assess your wardrobe and see if you agree. I first noticed your arrowhead bolo tie and the silver handmade Indian head belt buckle that adorns your belt. That tells me you are a spiritual being with ties to the earth around you , just as I am. The faded denim of your jeans and shirt reflect the wisdom of your years and the respect you carry for what has come before. The long flowing gray of your hair and beard are as a flag unfurled in the wind. So how am I doing?" Ayana said, folding her arms in conclusion.

   " Hmm, poetic , I'm sure, but I'm not so wise I think ... more weary than wise." Jack admitted

    "Before I met you today, I pictured you as arrogant because of your reputation," Ayana revealed. "I'm not sure if age brings wisdom. Perhaps it is as the saying goes,   'its not the years, its the miles.'"

   Jack asked with a puzzled look," Is that an old Indian saying?"

   "No, its Indiana Jones." she teased.

  Jack was relieved to have broken the ice between the two of them but he knew he had to ultimately address the reason why he was there and who she thought he was. "Look Ayana, I need to come clean on something so that you don't have the wrong idea about me."

    Ayana stopped him from elaborating. "Mr. Dangerfield...Jack, I have no doubt that you will succeed in your effort to kill the Maccapitew. I can only imagine how you do what you do but I know you have questions and I will answer them, but first it is I who must come clean about something." Ayana paused looking down as if searching for the right words.

   "All of this you see around you is not so simple to explain. You say I earned the right to be the leader of my tribe and maybe some of that is true, but this paradise you say we have comes from my father, handed down to me when he left."

   "Wait a minute, I thought he was dead." Jack explained.

   "On the contrary, he's very much alive and managing his many business enterprises in Nevada but he entrusted me with the survival of our tribe."

   " The casinos?  Chalmers and Mitch said something about that. So what you're telling me is that all of this ...the land, the compounds and livestock comes from casino money?" Jack asked.

   "Not just casinos, he owns the second largest marijuana dispensary in Arizona." she admitted. " And its Chitto and Maska, have you forgotten their names?"

  "Wait, slow down...you're growing marijuana out here too? Is that even legal?"

  "Yes of course but I just wanted you to understand that our livelihood won't be ruined by the Maccapitew. we are in danger but not because of financial ruin. My dreams... my visions told me that it had to be you that fixed this." she confessed. "So there it is. Now you know."

   Jack scratched the side of his beard as he listened to Ayana's confession.

   "Listen, Ayana, I have to be honest its no big deal, after all, you wouldn't be the first daughter living off of daddy's money. Lucky for you its not a crime to be rich."

   Jack reached out to Ayana and drew her close to him. " Ayana, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm glad you brought me here. How could I not help you? You've got to know that I think you're pretty wonderful." Jack confessed hesitantly.

Ayana looked down timidly and then up into Jack's eyes and Jack's heart melted. In that short period of time within a matter of hours  of meeting, Jack was smitten by the flower Ayana and she in turn felt connected to him. Jack released her from his embrace and it was then that he intended to reveal the truth about himself, but he couldn't. He didn't want to be less in her eyes than she wanted him to be and so tomorrow he would track down the giant and kill it and that would be the end of it. Jack Dangerfield would do no less.

  Late in the afternoon Jack and Ayana rode their horses to the outskirts of the village and down to a secret cove along side the banks of the Warrior River with the beautiful Virgin Falls in the distance. It was there they stayed into the early evening until the sky began to reveal the infinite stars above and  it was then that Jack knew it was time to tell the truth... an explanation of his predicament, Ayana deserved it and needed it now. And so he tried.

  " Ayana, you've been honest with me and now its my turn. Time is a powerful thing and yet oh so simple to describe.  That's all time is...progression through space filled with regrets and possibilities with no real means to potentially know which is which. Time is linear and unforgiving, yielding rewards and consequences after the fact, after the moments tick away and never clearly marked as right or wrong, good or bad."

  " Jack, I'm not sure what you're saying.." Ayana responded hastily.

  " Please let me finish...this is important." Jack pleaded.

  " You say you want me to kill this thing, but because of who you think I am, I think you want something else. You want me to go back to the beginning and change all this and prevent this curse from ever happening...don't you? Is that what you expect of me...to travel back in time and undo this whole mess?  Well, that's something I can't do even though I wish I could." Jack continued to confess his frustration. "I've never been able to do that. Don't you see?   I still can't figure out how my fiction made its way to you and into your dreams."

    The expression on Ayana's face revealed her disappointment.

    " In the beginning I guess I thought it was too good to be true...the fantastic things I imagined...you... commanding the hands of time with a mere thought... but barring that possibility I still do believe in this one thing I heard someone say...Character is Destiny."

Ayana paused thoughtfully. "You know my father has the power to end this himself...if he knew, he would send an army of men."

    Ayana led Jack over to a spot near the water overlooking the bottom of the Falls. Jack just stood still at first listening to the rushing of the water as it splashed down  all around them and it drowned out all other sounds like white noise providing its own kind of silence. They marveled at the view of the sky as the stars shined and sparkled above them. The moon hung low in the sky and appeared to just barely graze the tops of the hills around them.

    "Its funny how the moon looks, like someone used a hole puncher and made an aperture to another world bright and shiny and full of hope on the other side." Jack said.

    "Yes it does, I've often thought that myself. If ever I could , would I go through it?" Ayana revealed.

    "I would in an instant." Jack replied wistfully.

    " Oh Jack, of course you would ... a man like you who has seen what you've seen and been where you've been." she now remarked sarcastically.  "But for me I'm content to be where I am in this place with my people." 

     " I certainly understand why you would feel that." Jack replied casually looking around. " I have to say I never would have imagined something so beautiful out in the middle of the desert."

     "Yes, this is a lovely peaceful spot." Ayana agreed.

     " Actually, I wasn't referring to the setting." Jack admitted.

     " Oh I see Jack. Your flattery may work on me but the Maccapitew will not be so easily swayed. I hope you have planned your strategy for there is much at stake.

     "No worries, Ayana. Tomorrow the Giant will fall. Jack Dangerfield always has a plan," Jack said while his mind raced desperately for an answer.  "I think we should head back now. Tomorrow promises to be an interesting day."

    

  

Stroud

     I think it was pink...maybe a pale pink. I suppose one could have said it was a blushed red but no matter what it was, it wasn't an organ and that's what we needed. preferably a Hammond B3 with an accompanying leslie speaker. All the heavy bands were using them...Vanilla Fudge, Steppenwolf, Iron Butterfly etc. You get the idea. But Billy convinced us that he and his electric piano would be cool enough and because of his heightened powers of persuasion Billy Stroud became an Azurite and although The Azurites (named for a light blue chemical in David Miller's chemistry set) came and went after about a year (1967-1968), we enjoyed our short lived fame at Slidell Junior High as rock stars. It gave us all a taste of the power of music above and beyond the school marching band.

     To my best recollection Bill Stroud didn't exist for me until Junior High. Before that he was just a rumor instigated by the children of the many Texas transplants motivated by the great NASA migration in the early Sixties. Over time I and many others became familiar with his obsessions with ,among other things, Texas A&M, The Civil War, music and ,of course, the automotive oddity that was (is) the Corvair.  Throughout junior high and high school Bill was a major influence on the blossoming psyche of the group we called the Great Society. this was the name we dubbed ourselves and "borrowed" from a Texas politician LBJ. It reflected our desire to change the world around us. Ironically , I dare say that in today's world those same people would summarily reject those liberal leaning ideas but that's not really all that unusual. The idealism of youth often disappears with age and is replaced with an assimilation of what "has been" all along. But I digress.

    I don't remember what Bill Stroud's father did for a living but I suspect that he had previously graduated from Texas A&M with some sort of engineering degree and as a father passed those aspirations on to his son. I say this because it is no coincidence that Billy persuaded the school band to adopt the Texas Aggies cheer, "Gig 'Em, Tigers!" for our own use. "Gig 'Em"? Really?What does that even mean?  And while we're on the subject of nonsense, where did his fascination with the Corvair come from? I'm going to stop short of saying he was a Corvair but I think he identified with the uniqueness of the design. The Corvair featured an air cooled engine in the trunk and that was unique but with this design also came a bad reputation that centered around its instability when making sharp turns or corrections. The Corvair itself became a symbol of poor engineering until a research project at Texas A&M provided test data that disproved that notion. This project was initiated in 1972 I believe , shortly after Bill Stroud began his college career there. Coincidence? Probably, but not emphatically. I never got the chance to ask him. We lost touch after high school, but there is a joke I'm sure he stole from somewhere that helps me remember his sense of humor and the drive he felt to prove himself. On a certain occasion someone made a disparaging remark about the size of his shoes and his size in general and Billy countered with the clever quip, " You need a bigger foundation for a church than an outhouse."

There is no question that Billy influenced the group think within our social group and further in the school band. Bill participated in countless school band functions, Red McIntire's swing band, and early on the yearbook staff.  I suspect that teachers and band directors too spent many days rationalizing their admiration and frustration over Bill Stroud. I can still hear the echo of Mr. White screaming at the top of his lungs at the rebellious lower brass section  improvising parts led by Bill and still later seeing Mr. White glow with pride as Billy was named student conductor of the band.  He was smart and clever, deceptively charming and a major instigator of mischief. Ask Bruce Clement how his Fiat wound up in the interior hallway of the band room at SHS during lunch hour. I think it was a Fiat. It may have been some other wind up clown car contraption but it was a car nonetheless brought inside the building. That demonstrates knowledge, problem solving, planning ahead and resourcefulness all at once. Today we call those things leadership qualities. Back then I'm pretty sure we called it criminal mischief. 

    If I were to attempt to describe Billy Stroud at age 16-17, I would compare him to Andy Hardy, Mickey Rooney's movie persona from an era that precedes our teenage years mixed in with a little Ferris Bueller from our way post teenage years. Both showed ingenuity in a pinch and a penchant for recruiting help in the performance of the crime... I mean task.

   As I said my friendship with Bill ended after high school but I had a colorful history with him in those days. I'm not sure what Billy would say about our friendship during those years but I would call it something on the order of benevolent adversaries almost from the beginning. We shared many of the same interests and unfortunately wanted many of the same things... and people. I will leave it at that. Explain friendship and romance to a 14 year old. I'll give you a moment. The summer of '68  provided me with a lesson in love and friendship and that lesson was given to me at my own birthday party hosted by Billy Stroud on Apple Pie Ridge Road.         To be clear, it was a great party. All my friends were there including my love interest at the time. The music was perfect and  the gifts were generous. A very nice pool party. I am amazed that I still have two massive birthday cards signed by everyone in attendance on that day. But eventually with the party winding down my girlfriend at the time decided to break up with me as we stood alone outside by the pool. As an adult I suppose I can liken the feeling to going to Disneyland and then finding out your parents are getting a divorce when you get home. One negates the other. The last time I can remember being at Billy's house was months later at the beginning of our first year at Slidell High to work together on a Biology project for the BSCS Pond Study. On the very same electric piano of Azurite fame, Bill and I composed the haunting Biology ballad, "What's It All About, Algae?"  My question is, can you ever really know?

    Finally, I want to finish my walk down memory lane with a short account of what I think is one of Billy's finest moments as a teenager in training. I never pictured Billy Stroud as a particularly romantic guy. Funny, yes?  Intelligent, certainly? And I know just like the rest of us, he passed notes in class often to the dismay of our teachers. In those days note passing was how we kept up to date with all the school drama. In that first year at Slidell High Bill Stroud went that extra mile and wrote ,what I heard through the grapevine, was an honest- to- God love letter to the girl he loved. It wasn't a funny note, it wasn't a whimsical expression of interest. It was a mature, heartfelt confession of love. Now I can tell you as a musician and a romantic who sang many a love song about generic affection , it never occurred to me to try that myself. At the time I remember thinking how sappy it was to "write a letter" of that magnitude that would certainly end in humiliation for him. But that's not how it went down. By all accounts this literary masterpiece melted her heart like a candy bar on a hot summer sidewalk. I don't really want to know the actual contents of that letter from over fifty years ago. It was probably not as eloquent as I imagine. The outcome speaks for itself.

   My last conversation with Bill was at a class reunion a few year ago. He entered the room sporting what looked to be a colonel's hat or more accurately a riverboat gambler's hat and he was walking with the assistance of a cane but not relying on it too much. He brought me up to speed on his life telling me about his wife, his kids and his engineering firm. He told me he had seen the YouTube tribute to The Azurites and we had a good laugh at that. He said he was glad to be able to prove he was a junior high rock god to his grandkids. My eventual conversation with him was not very long but of course we touched upon old relationships from days gone by and he quietly confided to me that "she was a hard one to get over." I knew exactly what he meant because ,as I said earlier, we both often wanted the same things.