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It was weird: Things were “different” in town today.
I had parked my rig down by The Klondike and was stretching my legs a bit before headin’ back home. Quietly and without warning, I saw a man wearin’ a long brown trench coat approaching me. He wasn’t making any eye-contact, instead he was looking down at the sidewalk. He also wore one of those old fedoras that men used to wear 50+ years ago in big cities, so I couldn’t quite make out his face. When he passed by me, he suddenly pulled his gaze up from the ground and gave me a crooked-smile and “the message”: It seems I need to watch my back and be careful not to name names.
What year was this…1953? Was I in a film-noir movie from the 50's?
I felt an abrupt pang of fear and became angry as I watched the stranger’s back make a slow getaway. I began thinking to myself that I was now this close to givin’ these Joe McCarthy bastards who are runnin’ things here in town a real piece of my mind.
Instead, I decided to secretly follow the man as he headed down towards the river. I was cautious to stay far enough back so I wouldn’t be detected. Like a spy, I tracked his plodding, slow movement. He headed left, walking so slow that I had to stop and pretend that I was window shopping, all-the-while tracking him in the window’s reflection.
A few minutes later, I watched the man suddenly stop and stand silently in front of the new amphitheater with both hands in his coat-pockets. As I drew nearer I noticed that the amphi-project had definitely progressed - “They” have planted grass on the steps, mowed and trimmed it and I must confess that it looked stunning.
I warily inched closer to the man who was staring straight-ahead in silence at the new stairs. Slowly, I approached his back. I was so good at this spy-game that I knew I could have plunged a knife in his back. Before I knew it, I was standing right beside him, not carin’ anymore that I had blown my cover. He didn’t flinch at all to see who was now suddenly next to him and it became clear to me that he must have known I had been following behind him the whole time.
For almost a minute, neither of us spoke as we gazed at the new stairs in silence. I was struck how stark the concrete stairs looked: completely out of place amidst the artistically designed rock work of Larry Buzbee’s Amphitheater. An unexpected gust of wind blew up from the river and broke the silence.
“You know that they neglected to place any of the buried electrical-conduits that Buzbee designed to be run beneath the concrete,” the man said straight ahead with out blinking.
“That’s unfortunate,” I began quietly, “because Larry certainly knew it would be necessary for any lighting and power-outlets for sound-amplification.” The man suddenly turned and looked at me. His eyes seemed sad.
“Why do you think that these people just didn't bother with it? Do they care about anything,” he said with a cold, emotionless tone and stare. “What we have now, is certainly something usable and somewhat appealing to the eye, but it also has the look of something thrown-together. It’s a piece of slapdash junk art!”
“Too bad, the people couldn’t have had a real work of art,” I empathetically offered back.”
“I guess the only thing artistic the City would have really considered was a giant dog statue constructed out of rebar and plaster,” he said sadly as he suddenly turned away from me and slowly headed back toward old-towne. He had resumed staring down at his feet. “Or maybe a mural of dogs playing poker,” he suddenly said to no one in particular.
“How about velvet pictures of Elvis.” I yelled back to him in my own sadness.
Keep watch and take care of things in this town, ya hear?
-Tom
One of the great things about St Helens is that you just never know what you’re going to run into over a plate of eggs. Or, on a particular Wednesday mornin’ at the St Helens Café, just who you’ll be sittin’ next to and what they’ll tell you.
“G’mornin’ and how ya doin’ today?” the rather thin and plainly-dressed man began, smiling as he sat down at the table across from me.
“Real fine there my friend,” I knee-jerked rather innocuously, while being quick to add, “but lemme tell ya pal, there sure are some nuts out on the road this mornin’, it must have been a full moon or somethin’ last night.”
As innocent as that…it all began.
“Well ya know, Brigham Young revealed to us in 1870 that the Mormon moon-men were similar to earthlings, except that they are much taller and they dress like Quakers.”
“Come again?” I asked in disbelief, almost chokin’ on my slimy over-easy eggs. Now, I suppose before going on any further, I should point out that I’ve got nothing against some of the Mormons I’ve met over the years: basically, some nice family-oriented people who, as far as their religion goes, seem well-organized but usually, a little over-the-top. However, on this certain Wednesday morning, I learned that Mormonism is an outer-space-oriented religion.
“Oh sure, Mormons believe that human beings inhabit the Moon,” he said as the waitress dropped off his cup of decaf-coffee while secretly rollin’ her eyes at me. “Our great Mormon apostle, the late Bruce McConkie, said that in Mormon theology, God created worlds without number and that Mormons believe that aliens live on other planets unknown to us, and that these planets are inhabited by male and female humanoids who are redeemed with immortality and offered eternal life through the power of Heavenly Father.”
”You’re shittin’ me,” I said, not really knowing what to say and somewhat embarrassed after-the-fact that I had cursed. It didn’t seem to bother him a bit.
“Yessir, Mormon theologians agree that God lives on a distant planet, the planet Kolob.”
“Kolob, huh?” I intellectually offered, in my obvious stunned state.
“Yes, Kolob is located in the constellation Cancer, sector 2813.”
Now, I ask you dear readers, exactly what can one possibly say to that?
“Kolob translates as, the first creation,” he continued on passionately, “which is nearest to the celestial, or the residence of God. Our scriptures say that God told Moses only about our planet Earth, but we're not worshiping a one-planet God."
“Well, glad to hear it friend,” I told him while puttin’ on my jacket in making my unplanned retreat despite not finishing my breakfast.
“Really, it’s all right here,” he said as he opened a dull-blue book titled, Book of Abraham: Translation by Prophet Joseph Smith, from hieroglyphics on papyrus (Facsimile 1)
I threw a ten on the table while curteously glancing at the passage his thumb directed me to read:
"And thus there shall be the reckoning of the time of one planet above another, until thou come nigh unto Kolob, which Kolob is after the reckoning of the Lord's time; which Kolob is set nigh unto the throne of God, to govern all those planets which belong to the same order as that upon which thou standest."
“Wow,” I grunted. “That really is somethin’ pal.”
“It sure is!” he replied as I left. “Keep safe on those roads out there today.”
There’s some real interestin’ people in this quirky little town y’all got here.
-Tom
The loading dock foreman was pissed. Now, I can’t tell you that it actually makes me happy to say that, but I do get a kick out of watchin’ him steam and squirm.
“Watch your step around him today Tom,” my friend Mitch advised as he climbed into his rig to head north on an Everett, WA run.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t resist. “Now what seems to be your problem today?” I told him as soon as I entered his messy, small office.
“Fuck you T******n,” (he always calls me by my last name). “You’re my problem right now; you and this redhead up in accounting.”
I made a minimal gesture of reassurance, “I’m sure you’ll get all of the receipts together and it’ll all blow over.”
“Whatever,” he growled, and quickly threw some papers toward me to sign. “Now hit the road and call in after you’ve checked at Boise.”
Old Watson the janitor who was standing right behind him, was slyly smilin’ at me as he emptied the office waste-can and quickly followed me right out of the office as I left.
“Yeah, he’s got some trouble with that Emily up on the second floor,” he laughed as he lit a non filtered cigarette. “They’ve got some sort of amorous, extra marital thing goin’ on.” He laughed and spit out some tobacco from the end of his tongue.
“I don’t want to know about it Watson,” I told him throwin’ up my arms into the air as I turned around to walk away.
Watson laughed, “He-he...Yeah Tom, the poor bastard.”
“The poor woman,” I offered as I headed out.
Off across the bridge and into St Helens I went as quickly as I could.
As I grabbed some coffee at Bertucci's, I heard some locals talk of events at City Hall.
“I’m glad he’s in hot water. He’s always threatening and bullying people, you remember how he hassled those people protesting the Conference Center,” a tall fellow said. “Nice to see some karma roll his way.”
“Yep, that’s some torrid love-affair going on there; I’ll bet her husband is pissed,” said another man I've crossed paths with on occasion as he simultaneously turned and recognized me. “Hey Tom, how’s things?”
“I don’t want to know about it pal,” I told him throwin’ up my arms into the air.
Take care of things in this amourous little town here.
-Tom
Now I can see where I'm going! With Google Maps I can see my route and destination from crystal clear Satellite photos!!It's easy: you just type in any address and switch between Map and Satellite (towards the upper right-side.) Really fantastic. Lorraine sure loved lookin' at the place where she grew up.I'm so glad my computer works again...More soon,-Tom
