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.

Jack The Giant Killer Chapter 1

   Jack Maxwell sat on the deck overlooking the Arizona desert sipping on a bottle of whiskey and smoking a joint intermittently in between.  His portable radio by his side was tuned to FM radio titan KJAX  repeating  song after song of his Sixties favorites. "Walk right in, sit right down, Daddy let your mind roll on" it rang out as he surveyed the scene in front of him and its echo filled the air while he mumbled the lyrics.  He pondered many things in the morning. It was a routine that he enjoyed in his solitude residing in Mesquite in the desert early mornings when temperatures were mild and pleasant, watching the dawn of a new day as the sun peeked out on the horizon. Jack had few visitors at his modest estate he wistfully named the Ranchita. In actuality most of his visitors were residents as well...scorpions and rattlesnakes and a host of other dangers out in the vast expanse of the desert field. Jack often marveled at the diversity of life surrounding him in his self imposed isolation. Surrounded by deadly hunters and predators of different sizes and shapes. For instance , despite its size the scorpion can easily defeat a rattlesnake on the arrid battlefield with its venom that liquifies the insides of its prey. Even the smallest creatures had survival strategies. Size wasn't always an advantage. Jack had learned that, living in the desert.

    Far off in the distance, on the edge of the horizon Jack noticed the movement of three small dots approaching from the North below the mosaic backdrop of red and grey foothills. 
He estimated that at their present rate his visitors on horseback would arrive at midday. Meanwhile he made preparations to greet his unexpected quests and offer them hospitality.       "Must be tourists horseback riding lost way out here. If nothing else they'll need water," he thought. "Must have taken a wrong turn in Vegas," he joked to himself.

  Jack got up from his comfortable seat positioned on the apex of his deck and began the task of collecting water for the horses. "I hope they're not expecting a three course meal. This ain't no bed and breakfast," he thought.

   Just as he predicted,  two men on horseback with a third mount in tow, who could have passed as young Hispanics but who were in fact Indian scouts, arrived at his doorstep at noonday. Remaining on their horses they waited for Jack to approach them. When Jack seemed satisfied that they were harmless he stepped out on to his porch taking off his wide brim hat in the process and laying it aside. " You fellas seem a little lost to me. Is there something I can do for you?,"he asked. " Where you're standing is private property. The main road is somewhere in that direction," he said pointing vaguely in the air.

" We seek the man Enkoodabaoo.  We have traveled three cycles from our village to ask for his help. His name is Jack, the Enkoodabaoo. I am called Chitto and this is my brother Maska. We seek audience with the one named  Jack... the man who lives alone...Jack Dangerfield. Only he can help us.

Jack expressed confusion at their declaration.

  "Jack?...that would be me alright but you've got some of it wrong. I'm afraid you've been misinformed. I am Jack,  some call me Cadillac Jack, but Jack Dangerfield... well, he’s somebody else altogether. You see Jack Dangerfield is a character I created. He's not real.”

  The scouts looked at one another with consternation and then Maska replied.

  "We don't understand. You are Jack, the one who lives alone and traverses the sky and time itself. Jack Dangerfield travels the stars and confers with the great wind spirit. He counsels with the sky people and angels. In our dreams we are told that only he can help us.  We have come to plead with you to save us from the Maccapitew.”

Jack’s confusion continued.

"Wait, hold on...the Macca whatchoo? Is that some kind of wild animal around these parts that I'm not aware of yet? That sounds like an animal control issue and their office is in town”

   Chitto seemed impatient with Jack’s response and his eyes expressed frustration. “Maccapitew is our Indian word for “monster .”

 “ Wait, monster you say?” Jack questioned. “You've got more explaining to do ,Cheetos."

"That's Chitto sir, not Cheetos."

"Yeah sorry about that. I don't hear so good these days. Look, why don't you and Maska here hop down and come inside. You must be tired from the ride and all."

Chitto and Maska dismounted their horses and both wiped the sweat from their brows.

   Jack sensed that he needed to be more hospitable.  "Maska, tie them off and give them water.  You’ve got some fine looking horses there. They look like they have a lot of spirit.”

  Chitto smiled , “yes Cisco and Poncho have been raised from colts and the other called Banjo , he is also a fine steed. All three have served us well. My brother Maska was responsible for training them and caring for them since they were young. Maska is also known as Felipe since he is a lover of horses. I too am known as Miguel. It is my non-Indian name. I hope that doesn’t confuse you Jack.”

“No , I get it.” Jack answered,” It’s Indian stuff. No need to explain. How long have you two been riding to get here? Your mounts must be exhausted. And why three horses? Did you bring a spare?”

“A spare? Why no Jack, you see Banjo... Banjo is for you.” Chitto said.

 Jack thought a moment as he eyed the horse Banjo up and down. “Oh fellas, I’ve got to tell you the last horse I ever rode was painted and going round and round on a carousel in New Orleans. I’m not sure I’m up for a three day ride on horseback if that’s what you have in mind. No offense I hope. Nothing against Banjo personally. I’m sure any Indian scout or brave would be proud to ride him.”  Jack reached over and stroked Banjo and examined the beautiful blanket and saddle on his back as if perhaps silently reconsidering the proposition but then suddenly snapping back to reality.

"No ... no...As I was saying I'm sorry you've got it all wrong. My name is Jack, but Jack Dangerfield is fictional...he's made up. You see, I’m a writer and all that stuff about space and time... it’s just fiction. Even after his explanation he saw that they did not understand.  “But I'm curious, why did you come all this way to ask for help? How did you hear about me?""

  Chitto stood silent for a moment and then turned to face Jack. “It is you Jack who does not understand. Our story is brief but we come to you because our tribe, The Paiutes, is in danger and soon many more people could die. You must think we are crazy but I tell you, our dreams do not lie.

You are the one Enkoodabaoo and you have been chosen by the Great Spirit to free us from the giant.”

“Wait a minute. Did you just say “giant?”

Like in The Beanstalk.” Chitto and Maska both looked at one another puzzled by Jack’s words. “I hate to tell you but giants aren’t any more real than Jack Dangerfield and even if they were , one thing you need to understand , this Jack, the one you’re looking at now?... doesn’t do giants. Just for the sake of argument, how big is this  so-called giant anyway? Maybe this thing is just really tall and would benefit from wearing loafers or something. Did you ever think of that , fellas?”

  Chitto answered impatiently, “This thing is a warrior from a long lost tribe  called the Si-Te-Cah. They were a tribe of red haired giants from centuries ago. But what you also don’t know is that, from those times, the giants took women from our tribe who then gave birth to strange offspring who themselves became giants.”

“That’s a great story, Tonto, but if that was centuries ago what does that have to do with us?”

 “My name is Chitto, Sir.”

“Whatever....what is your point?” Jack pleaded.

“Maska, hand me the bag.” Chitto demanded. His brother reached inside his saddlebag and produced a pouch containing what appeared to be an Indian relic. Chitto held it up and revealed its shine and sparkle to the puzzled Jack. Chitto continued,“This amulet is sacred to  our people. The stone is priceless, but this is only part of the story.”

  Chitto took a deep breath and continued as Maska listened intently to the story he already knew. Jack sat quietly rubbing the whiskers on his face as he considered the facts being revealed to him.

  “My family was cursed by the Si-Te-Cah bloodline. This giant is the last remnant of that curse. He is our brother. Years ago our mother brought him to a cave in the wilderness when he was just a newborn baby. She knew the curse had returned.  You see , it had two sets of teeth like the giants from before. Our mother could not bring herself to kill it so she abandoned it deep inside the cave to die on its own. She regrets profoundly what she has done, but it does not change the need to destroy it.“ 

  “Hmm, not exactly mother of the year.” Jack said somberly. “ So what you’re saying is this...this giant guy is actually your long lost estranged brother through some kind of freak of nature...”

 “A curse.” Maska said impatiently. “We tried to end it but it survived in the wild and now that years have passed, it has grown larger and more dangerous. Now it has ventured out from the cave and eats our crops and livestock. It will not stop with that though.

The Si-Te-Cah were cannibals and our brother, this giant, is too.”

  Jack rose up from his seat and paced the room while rubbing his scruffy cheeks in a discerning manner as if plotting a plan of action. “Frito...Mitchell...?”

“That’s Chitto and Maska, sir.... and I should say that our names are not that difficult to remember.”

  “Right, right, sorry about that. It’s late and it’s been a long day for sure.” Jack said.

  “Surely no longer than ours Jack. We’ve been riding close to three days.”

  “Good point , Chachi, lets get some grub.” Jack proposed.

  The day turned into evening and the three enjoyed a tasty meal of turtle soup and cabbage while sitting around an open fire before turning in.

   “Miguel, Felipe... I’ve just got to ask. You know, we live in peculiar times, strange days indeed, wouldn’t you say? Please don’t take this the wrong way but let’s say I accept the premise of your story. Why would you need me at all? I couldn’t help but notice. You’re not carrying any weapons! Why not? Why don’t you brave Indians ride out to this giant’s place and shoot him. Bam, end of story, man! Can you guys explain that to me?”

   “How can you not understand? You are the Enkoodabaoo. “ Chitto continued. “My tribe has lived many years in the desert and our ancestors hundreds of years before and  one thing we know is that the desert holds many mysteries. It is a magical place. Is this not why you are here? The Paiutes are a peaceful people and we seek to understand the ways of the Great Spirit that commands the earth and sky. In the desert the spirit calls to many to fulfill their greater purpose. Some would call it their destiny. We, my brother and I have been told in our dreams that you and you alone can defeat the monster that threatens us. You, Jack Dangerfield have been chosen by the Great Spirit. Surely you have sensed it in your own dreams and have expected it to come to pass.”
   Jack rose up from his chair and scratched his head. “I honestly can’t say that I have but for the reasons I have tried to explain to you already. You guys are freaking me out. You realize that this is a pretty tall tale. You’ve gotta give me a minute to think this thing through.”         Jack walked over to the window and looked out into the ever increasing darkness of the desert dusk and pondered the situation now put before him. Chitto and Maska observed him while he stood there silent. Doubt and discernment played back and forth in his head as Jack sought to decide what to do, and finally it came to him.

   “You know boys, you need a 50lb nutsack for this kind of mission.” Jack said sternly.

   “Yes, Jack. Both Maska and I realize it takes great courage and strength to win such a battle.” Chitto replied.

   “That’s not what I mean though, yes ...bravery and strength but mostly ingenuity. I buy 50lbs of walnuts on some occasions and they come in these burlap sacks. I’ve got a dozen of them in my shed. I have an idea how to use them." Jack continued. "We'll need provisions. You two can bed down here tonight and we'll leave at first light tomorrow.  Now, about the horses... I’m not too keen on riding for three days so here’s plan B. We take my Caddy with my trailer hitch for the horses and we make a side trip into town before heading out into the desert. There’s some things we need from Home Depot and Guns R Us  maybe even the zoo downtown, but we'll figure that out later. Sleep tight compadres, I hope you brought your big boy panties for tomorrow we ride." 
   Chitto and Maska glanced at one another and smiled.

In Search Of The Magic Christian

   My close personal friend has extended an olive branch to me as it concerns my views on the socio-political climate we all find ourselves in at the moment and so I offer this short treatise in response to him and to anyone else who will consider an opposing statement without shooting me down with ALL CAPS blazing.
   First of all , I love living in America although I hear that Venus is nice this time of year...tanning weather for sure. There are certainly some picturesque places that I dream about experiencing but the blueprint for The American Way of Life is by far the best. Freedom, opportunity and limitless avenues for finding love and happiness. It is my home. One of the reasons that this country is so great is because the people in it have the freedom to consider possibilities for improving aspects of living that are troublesome to us all. I've said it before, dreamers have been our salvation. Technological leaps have saved us from extinction through dealing with the wants and needs of humanity. I am thankful for air conditioning, heaters, refrigerators, cars, phones, television, radio, computers and a whole litany of other cool stuff that makes life tolerable and enjoyable. That's a global phenomenon and not limited to the citizens of the U.S however. What sets our country apart from most other countries is our form of government that provides liberty and justice for all  with a constitution and a set of laws that allows freedom within those laws. Liberty and Justice are broad concepts though and whether we want to admit it or not, they both come at a premium. More to the point, Money is freedom and money buys justice. I think everyone will agree with me so far. The controversial point though is why doesn't capitalism provide equal access to freedom and the answer is simple. Capitalism is based on the idea of a stratified population of citizens. In other words , the haves and the have nots.  The American/ Puritan work ethic in a nut shell is this: Work hard, be rewarded monetarily for your hard work and finally be free.  Unfortunately, every good idea that comes from well meaning people gets corrupted by other equally opportunistic people who spoil it for everybody else.

   Let's talk about Capitalism and Socialism for a moment as separate means to an end.
America is broke. It's been broke for decades. The United States Government is so far into debt it can't conceivably ever pay it down. Look it up. That's what I did. It's so humongous that the Federal Government struggles just to pay the interest annually.  Here's the part where I tell you that the hopelessly broke Government was created by design. Corporations have thrived with the assistance of public monies and politicians ingratiated by those corporations have willingly enriched themselves through corporate and political connections.  The Conservative and Liberal Rich both share the blame for the current state of affairs. Politicians have put the money and the power in the pockets of the Wealthy Elite and they in turn put a little something in the pot for the politicians.  Are there any truly sinless politicians in government? I don't know.  How could I? The Government is broke and a very small percentage of the U.S. Population owns 95% of the country's wealth. Again, look it up. Research it on your own. Be honest with yourself.
    Here's the Truth Bomb. Capitalism did this. Socialism had absolutely nothing to do with it. This ridiculously skewed distribution of wealth was created by a competitive system based on a perceived reward for hard work but only a fortunate few reap that reward. In part I blame the Stock Market and the slick idea of investing instead of working. I recently read an article on money laundering and found out a couple of things. The top legitimate businesses for laundering money are storage units, strip clubs, car washes, casinos and mattress stores. Who knew? Anyway , on a larger scale the top two methods for moving and hiding money among the ultra elite are real estate transactions and the stock market. Mouse clicks...the new Puritan Work Ethic. No sweat equity at all , save the possibility of a Justice Department investigation. Never forget this...Knowledge is Power, but really cool power comes from lots of money. Politicians know it. Corporations know it.
    Poverty has no power and lacks freedom. We may argue that some poverty is deserved and some is not. The same can be said about wealth. FU money is freedom in this world. It provides comfort, privilege and power. Who doesn't want that? But "working smart instead of working hard " is not an option for most. That's screwed up too, because worker production in the work force has been steadily increasing for decades but wages have not. Where is all that new money going? Where is the reward for that increase? Many employers have the nerve to answer that question by simply responding this way, "they get to keep their jobs."

   Now, what can Socialism offer to spread some of that wealth (aka freedom) to the masses? By the masses I mean me and you and everybody we know. Social programs proposed by the Socialist Democrats talk about free higher education, free healthcare and a higher but modest minimum living wage. The argument against such proposals is that they would bankrupt the country ,but as we know, that has already been done by Capitalism. Obscene Debt that can never be paid. I can only assume that the debt will never be called in and therefore can be ignored. The  debt ceiling is not so much a ceiling as it is a sunroof these days suggesting that the sky and the heavens are the new cap on spending. So even if Social programs designed to lift up the majority of our citizenry creates more debt, who cares?  The debt ceiling has obviously disappeared for good. They just keep kicking that can down the road. The "Socialist leaning" proposals that we hear everyone screaming about are not unreasonable, but Socialism is a scary loaded  word with many implications.
I suspect that the only ones who care are the privileged elite who see their power in jeopardy. Corporations and the very wealthy might actually be expected to cease hiding money and begin to pay taxes and share some of that sweet power with us. I recently watched a video that claimed that the  eight richest individuals on the planet would qualify as the eighth largest economy on the globe.
Wealth distribution... a global problem but certainly an American problem that deserves some problem solving.
    Socialism and Communism are both demonized by those who are comfortable just being comfortable. They have basic comforts and probably a mortgage and they are satisfied with that.
What most people fear about change is the possibility of winding up with less than what they started with, a reasonable fear because as we all know the Universe gravitates to chaos.
The Family of Man is a dysfunctional one for sure.  So many people to hate and so little time.  Charles Shultz once said " I love mankind, it's people I can't stand."  I agree , but I was raised to believe that all men are children of God and we all eventually share the same fate.  So according to religious circles we should care about one another. What has puzzled me most about the fear of Socialism among Christian groups is why they would reject a system that for all purposes portends to establish a kind of Heaven on earth that their God says He wants for all His children. I'm not sure how I personally feel about that myself. Sounds complicated.  But instead of embracing a system that would emulate a heavenly alternative the Christian Evangelicals reject it outright in favor of an exclusionary political ideology that encourages inequality and injustice.  I personally would love to see how Jesus plans to establish a heavenly kingdom on earth using Capitalism as his template. Evangelical Christians are officially a voting bloc courted to get votes. That's sad really because Christians have traditionally been easy prey for con men throughout their history. Many false messiahs came before Jesus and more recently mega church evangelists buy mansions and jets with parishioners tithes( the prosperity gospel at work.) Political dogma preaches that politics and war are the same and utilize the same method for victory... deception.
    Religion and Politics are a bad mix. That's why I am so perplexed by the Evangelical Right's fascination and support for Donald Trump. Make no mistake, I am not suggesting that politicians have to be or should be devout Christians, but Christians collectively have no business supporting someone like Donald Trump. Do your homework and run the numbers. I must confess I took offense at the numerous comparisons of Trump to biblical figures like Saul/Paul , Daniel and even Jesus himself. Internet memes circulated on Facebook by many people who I call friends. Really? Have you lost your mind? Donald Trump is the worst kind of con man, a self centered narcissist with a gangster swagger borrowed from a 1930s mobster movie and you fail to see through the facade.  I can only assume my friends and others are victims of a vast political conspiracy spread by subliminal mass hypnosis through digital media. Spoiler alert! There are two trigger phrases "Perfect Phone Call"and "Stable Genius".
  Socialist, Communist, Progressive, Liberal, Capitalist, Fascist. Easy labels for complex issues and very easy to throw around when an individual or a group want to discredit another. Peter Canellos of Politico.com writes about FDR and his disdain for the Socialist label his critics tried to hang on him. His New Deal policies were a solution separate from any single ideology as far as FDR was concerned and he shunned the label. Canellos suggests today that Democrats should do the same.
Give their platform legitimacy by emphasizing the problem and providing specific solutions without accepting the label. No one today can argue that where others failed, FDR succeeded.
Politics is forever a game with a gang mentality. Nobody snitches, nobody admits to the crime because their collective  survival is at stake. And we the voting public are drawn into their rumble pitting us against each other.
   So why is  the new generation embracing  ideas that have been previously rejected as a threat to our way of life? I think it's partially because they see the traditional work ethic as phony. The Rich have inherited the earth and the Meek have paid the bill. This is what we have handed down to our children. Maybe we owe it to them to give some scary ideas a new look and consider the possibilities without accepting a wholesale label. Maybe we need to let them find their own FDR. 

Karl's Shift

    Karl Tyler met a horrible death. His body was torn to shreds and his bloody limbs were strewn from one end to the other on aisle 6 of Dean's Family Grocery Store. There are things you need to know. Karl was 29 years old when he first walked into the store where he would work as stock clerk on the overnight shift for the next 6 years. Physically he was a tall burly fellow with longish, unkempt hair stuffed under a tattered black baseball cap most of the time. His face sported glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose cocked slightly down on the right. His spectacles left an impression of confusion more than intelligence. The acne on his cheeks and chin was hidden by remnants of a once healthy beard that was never completely shaved clean. He worked alone stocking grocery shelves and fronting and blocking displays in preparation for the store's opening the next business day. Karl worked the "zombie shift", a dismal 11:00pm till 7:00am schedule that never allowed for a normal life of the individual who worked it. The zombie shift was life turned upside down and backwards in contrast to most normal people. He slept while others worked and worked while others slept. The work that Karl did was satisfying for a while. He was content working unsupervised and unbothered by small talk and the mindless chatter of others. For a while the silence was soothing and satisfying for someone like himself. A loner who had no patience for the input of others, a solitary man who had no need for companionship and human interaction. The zombie shift was so named for this reason. The person who did this kind of work became a walking corpse of sorts. No friends, no contact with the others save the brief encounter at the punch clock. Living only to perform a repetitious, mindless and unrewarding task virtually every night of the week. Karl did this faithfully and dutifully for 6 years. It was Karl's shift.
    Some time after the anniversary of his first year Karl got into the habit of talking out loud to himself and eventually it developed into full blown conversations in nightly solitude referring to himself in the third person and often contradicting himself in a schizophrenic-like debate. Talking to one's self is not a crime and is actually more common than most people would care to admit. Some claim, in jest, that this habit is an indication... a red flag per say, for the onset of madness. In Karl's case however no one ever knew. It occurred unwitnessed, unnoticed by anyone other than Karl himself. Karl slipped into madness on the 3rd of October of his 6th year of employment at Dean's Grocery. His mind snapped without fanfare or acknowledgement. He retreated into a fantasy world. He sunk deeper into darkness.
    Oddly enough, Karl still delivered, still performed his work with amazing regularity. His insanity provided Karl with companions that mirrored his own broken life, his own dark cynicism and disgust for his hopeless existence. They were voices posing as individuals allowing Karl to discuss his frustrations about life, why things were the way they were and what he could do to set things better. Karl debating Karl. A sounding board in a mirror. Seeing both sides but accepting neither conclusion. It had become a nightly chat with himself while he coolly and calmly filled and blocked and faced with perfection.
    On the night in question Karl was performing this mundane routine when a noise on a nearby aisle broke the silence in the building causing Karl's senses to rise to alert status. He stopped what he was doing and paused to figure out where it had originated from. Maybe a box or package had been teetering on a shelf all day and finally reached the point of no return... finally dropping to the floor with a non-descript thud.  Maybe.
    Karl discerned that the disturbance emanated from aisle 6 where pet supplies and dog chow could be found on one side and laundry detergents, fabric softeners and household cleaning supplies on the other. Karl ambled slowly over to the area that he determined would reveal the source of the disturbance. He arrived at the end of the aisle and planted himself solidly in the middle of the midway and peered down the length of it. He waited and his eyes darted back and forth as he quietly scanned the shelves for movement of any kind. But nothing raised an alarm. All seemed normal on aisle 6. Karl cautiously moved down the aisle looking left and right  mumbling to himself in the process.
Keep it together Karl  Come out, come out wherever you are, he chanted. You better not stick around. I don't take kindly to pranksters or burglars!  The declarations weren't made expecting any answer. Past the cans of chicken purees and rice, boxes of kibble, smells of grains and canine and feline cereals on one side and fragrances of bleach, detergent and exotic granules from laundry fresheners and sheets of fabric softeners on the other. He was met with uncomfortable silence The faces of happy pets with canine and feline smiles lined the shelves. The image of a wholesome young woman with a modest red sundress and Spring bonnet adorning her head and curls that fell softly on her shoulders gazed back at Karl displaying her satisfaction with the fresh outdoor fragrance that her fabric sheets provided.
    Obviously he was alone and as he made that final determination he turned an about face around and stared back down the aisle he had just surveyed. To his surprise and dismay he was confronted by a large panting hound with saliva dripping from its mouth sitting squarely in the middle of the aisle in a crouched position. Karl reacted by stepping back suddenly to make sense of the hulking animal staring back at him with threatening red eyes. That alone was a shock but then the unwelcome visitor spoke emphatically to Karl, not with barks or growls or with bow wows,  but with words. "Evening Karl, running a little late aren't we or maybe I'm just hungry and you're just moving too damn slow."
It was important for Karl to keep a cool head under the circumstances. After all even in his current state he still questioned his senses and debated with himself whether there was indeed a talking dog chastising him for "moving too damn slow."  Karl collected his thoughts and timidly responded.
    "What...what did you say?  How did you get in here? The doors are all locked, and even if they weren't, dogs aren't allowed inside."  Karl asked reasonable questions but the large dog would have none of it. " That hurts Karl, after all, I live here. as a matter of fact I was here long before you ever arrived. Hell, I remember the guy before you. What was his name ?"
    Karl seemed puzzled, "what...you're asking me? Wait a minute. I know you. You...you're the dog on the Doggy Delights box." He paused and pointed, "right over there." The canine turned and acknowledged the row of Doggy Delights displayed a little farther down the aisle. "Not a good photo I must admit, but still I think you see my point. and the name is Max by the way"
    Karl was attempting to absorb what was going on around him while identities were being sorted out. "Max was the guy before me?" he asked. But before the dog could respond a voice from behind him spoke. "No, he's Max... you know, like Max is a good boy. No, the guy before you was Chuck." said a sweet feminine voice out of nowhere. Karl turned around to see who it was and he immediately recognized her but at the same time , he didn't believe it was happening. "Wait...hold on here," he said slowly. "You're the girl on the fabric softener bottle. I recognize that dress and the bonnet. But how?"
    "Lily is my name, Karl. We've known each other a long time. As a matter fact, you've known all of us for a long time."  The one named Lily moved closer and Karl noticed the smell of lavender and rain as she passed by. "And Karl, you asked how its possible and its really quite simple. You've done a fine job up until now. A really fine job but, lets face it, you're losing it." she said in a friendly clinical way.  Karl looked confused. "I'm...losing it?"
    "You're insane, Karl. Out of your mind dear boy. We've all noticed it. And how else could this conversation be taking place? We've taken a vote ...all of us ...me, Max, Tony, Lucky and the Cap'n."
Karl struggled to keep up with what she was saying. "You're not making sense. This can't be real!"
Karl stood there with his hands over his ears as if trying to block out the nonsense, but it was too late. Around the corner of aisle 6 emerged a group of characters all approaching in a menacing fashion and Karl knew them all. In front was a cartoon-ish naval officer with a respectable white moustache dressed in a puffy blue and white uniform and sporting a blue admiral's hat. There was no mistaking who it was....Cap'n Crunch. Behind him was a large brightly colored orange and white Tiger ...Tony the Tiger by name. Coming up from the rear was an outlandishly dressed leprechaun wearing a sparkly green coat and matching bowler hat riding atop a multi-colored pastel unicorn proudly advancing. "Thank you all for coming. The unicorn is a nice touch, Lucky!" said Lily.
Lucky hopped down from his unicorn and walked over to Karl looking him over carefully.
    "Too bad, Karl." he said," Up until now its been just magical... and delicious too. But we can't wait until you fall apart."  Tony, looking a little disappointed spoke up too. "Yeah Karl...you've been Greeaat! At least you're going out on a high note. Its best for everyone."

    "Could I say a word, Karl?" Cap'n Crunch cleared his throat and stepped up to Karl. " You know Karl, life is short, at least that's what everybody says. But what do I know? I'm an imaginary character at best, so technically I have no credibility here. Let me just say that, in my opinion you're not really living anyway so why delay the inevitable?"
   Karl listened intently and finally sat down in the middle of aisle 6 with a look of resignation on his face. The group of visitors drew closer and with every step they changed somewhat in appearance.
Max, Lily, Tony, Lucky and the Cap'n showed claws and fanged teeth and glowing red eyes.
   Karl cried out as he realized their intent. "But you're not real!" he screamed.
The last thing Karl heard was a somber phrase. "At least I'm a captain. What are you?"
   Karl fainted and never woke up.

    Dean's Family Grocery carried on without Karl. The mess of his death was cleaned and sanitized and the mystery of what had happened remained a mystery, but the gossip died down and a permanent replacement was found for the so-called zombie shift. Some guy named Larry. He learned the ropes, just as Karl had, without much thought of it being a permanent job. Maybe a stepping stone to something better. Meanwhile on those lonely solitary nights from 11:00 to 7:00 , Larry made his way down the aisles doing his duty...fronting, blocking and facing as Karl had done before him. The routine would be new for awhile but that would surely pass. Maybe Larry would someday take a closer look at his surroundings and eventually familiarize himself with the items on the shelves of every aisle in the store. If he by chance took the time to closely peruse the many varieties of breakfast cereals available for consumption, he may notice a new variety setting on the shelf. A recent addition.
A bright red box of corn flakes mixed with a medley of puffed rice, raisins, strawberries, blueberries and nuts ...and who knows what else. The front of the box features the face of a  sparsely bearded smiling man sporting a black baseball cap and wearing glasses that cocked slightly down on the right.











 

The Hole In Heaven

                                                   "Don't know where we come from

                                                    Don't know where we're going to

                                                    But if all of this should have a reason

                                                   We would be the last to know

                                                   So let's just hope there is a promised land

                                                   Hang on till then, as best as you can"

                                                                   Rock Me Baby

                                                                    Steppenwolf

                                                                         1969

"The event that humanity had long anticipated with equal consternation and joy occurred unannounced and unexpectedly on the 17th of  June in the year 2019. The arrival of countless disembodied spirits of long dead relatives, friends and historical figures great and small from the beginnings of recorded time occupied the ether of the globe  and its skies. Ancient and alien creatures long dead and beasts yet to be, drifted silently half transparent and barely carnate above the cities, mountains, plains, valleys and over the vastness of the oceans and the seas. This event...this overflow of spirit into creation, and more specifically upon our world, happened with little notification from the cosmos itself. We did not understand immediately. It began as an anomaly in space. A slight quiver in the gravitational pull of what our scientists used to call the monster black hole in galaxy NGC 1277 in the constellation Perseus. An observation...   It was a sign of what was to come, both beautiful and horrifying and monumentally staggering in its implications. Nothing malevolent in the beginning but something that quickly transformed into an event that most would expect from divine heavenly hosts of angels preparing the earthly masses for the arrival of their God. Amazing at first as an expanding spectacular celestial light show, it became a gut wrenching sickening experience that some interpreted as the end of time itself, a collective realization that all regrets and revelations had come to fruition at last.  But it wasn't... and as it happened in its finality it gave answers to questions that humanity had grappled with since its inception eons and eons before. The gushing forth of consciousness from this hole in heaven into the realm of the corporeal finally provided the answers to questions we had craved for thousands of years
    We came to understand that all of our mythology explaining the great mystery of what our Creator was and had been, was false and merely manipulation of men by other men throughout our history.
For the living , the apparitions described a version of the afterlife...the other side and the true nature of existence that no one had considered. Every possibility of consciousness all past, present and future released back onto the physical plane and allowed to partially reincarnate into all it had ever been, all at once. Every version of every individual who ever existed or would exist...their knowledge demolished, shattered  all perceptions of God and Heaven and Hell. The Heavenly Father was gone and with Him all concepts of a human savior or ancient enemy of mankind. They no longer made sense.The idea of God as a deity that demanded worship was a misconception constructed by unenlightened souls and opportunistic beings struck ignorant from their separation from their places in the eternal consciousness.This we understood now.
   The Black Hole , or the Hole in Heaven as it was eventually dubbed was merely and fantastically an aperture, an Einstein bridge of sorts separating the material from the thought...the discarnate from the  carnate. It was a holding pen for the entirety of what we now know as the original  consciousness. The intelligence that existed eternally and the originator of the physical universe itself. Out of this outpouring from the hole we  sensed an overwhelming regret from the consciousness itself conveyed to us all. We could call it God but it was cognizant of the flawed creation it had conceived itself. All of humanity had been and would be pieces of that consciousness and we were all responsible for its existence. What some had referred to as The Holy Spirit was this entity and it indeed was accesssible to us all through our eternal connection to our larger self. We could call it prayer if we wanted to because the connection could provide enlightened perspective. And if we wanted to believe in sin we had to acknowledge that our only sin was regret as accessories in the creation of the inferior material world that separated us from the eternal perfection that was the singularity itself. Pure love corrupted by flesh, intellect perverted by greed, mischief grown to cruelty, wisdom watered down by physical need...all opposite of what spirit had anticipated at the moment of inception of the material.
    What had prompted this release? It was a flaw in a flawed design, a weakness in the wondrous creation left to itself that inadvertently allowed the overflow to take place. And it was soon to be undone and resealed . In the days that followed the revelation, mankind pondered the truth of all existence and it made choices based on all that it now knew. Our fate...our collective destiny without fear, without pain, without judgement awaited us in the void.
    Globally, millions upon millions chose to end their lives and reunite with Spirit ending abruptly the struggles and unhappiness of the material world. They understood it for what it was for them... an inferior existence compared to what awaited us all. But what may have been more wondrous or more miraculous was that many chose to stay.... holding out for hope and reluctant to abandon the flawed creation. It was no surprise that the wealthy and the powerful chose not to leave. The privileged saw no reason to hurry given  how they had grown in stature outside of consciousness....outside of the collective one in favor of the  mine.
    There is beauty in the world... and goodness. We ,the remaining, realized the significance of very specific and small things that, although acknowledged in Spirit, would lack power separated from our physical senses. There is value in the material. To touch...to feel, to see and hear the beauty in this broken cosmic creation. But it was but a whisper ...a glimpse of the beauty from wherein it was derived.
     Spirit gave pause in its decision to close the aperture once again, for in its transcended state it
acknowledged the effect of time on memory and humanity's predilection for re defining the truth to suit its own immediate need in the carnate world. Humanity would comprehend and assimilate this accidental epiphany for now but over generations the truth would again become confused and revert to the state it had been previously before the outpouring in this Hole in Heaven.  Wars would again erupt. Hatred and violence would be reborn as new generations wrote their own eclectic versions of the origin and meaning of life.  In this way the unity and understanding given to us by this consciousness...this spirit, would be lost.  The Hole In Heaven would become an event half remembered and half translated into a fictional mythology as before. It will be a story full of supernatural creatures,  jealous gods, divine wars
and fearful obedient sheep praying to and worshiping their God.