Hi folks. I teach. Betwixt and between that, I write. Like most of you, my days are spent doing serious work. I instruct weapons and 'splosives at an undisclosed government facility north of you. That sounds pretty cloak and dagger, right? Don't let the short description fool you! These activities are positively stodgy, except for when we have to launch covert strikes against people or countries we don't like. Mercifully, that only happens about once a month. Anyway, I write silly stuff to offset that seriousity.
I'm getting long winded. For those of you that don't mind a bit of reading, here's a short story. It's not my best, but hopefully, it tickles your fancy. After all, despite the sober nature of the board, a little dumbnosity should shine through. Do you believe in karma?
---
Guns at Liskerville Crossing
copyright 2006 - Stephen Redgwell (By the way, this is me, okay?)
When I was a kid, you could always tell when huntin' season was gettin' close. Mr. Mackay, the owner of the general store in Liskerville Crossing, would sit an old, beat up mannequin in the front window - wearin' a Mackinaw and Elmer Fudd hat. Us kids called the mannequin 'Sidney'. He propped a shotgun in Sidney's arms and put a sign by his feet - "Ammunition - Hunting Supplies".
Mr. Mackay was quite the businessman. He would move the pickle barrel away from the wood stove that was just inside and to the right of the front door. In its place he put an old, warped pine table – piled high with 12 gauge ammunition and other stuff. Since it was cool in the fall, he made sure to keep the stove stoked with wood. Some days, he had it glowin' red. It was always good to get warm standin' near the ammunition. I cherish those old memories.
Now of course, everybody from around there knew where Mr. Mackay kept the hunting stuff. Heck, it was the only store for twenty six miles. You had to go to the next county - to a place called Nerly Corners - before you'd find another shop. So he knew that he had the retail trade sewn up around here.
Sidney went into the store window to grab everyone’s attention. The routine went something like this. On Fridays, the men would go into town and stop at the Dominion Bank to withdraw money or cash their paychecks. Corn, oats and chickens were the local mainstays and some of the men worked as hands on the area farms.
From there, they'd stroll across the street to the general store. It was normal to see dozen or so local men, gathered together on the wooden sidewalk, in front of the picture window. Many of them would cough up a nickel and buy one of Mr. Mackay's fancy, imported cigars. They were silently guarded outside by Chief Smokin' Eagle, the store’s wooden Indian. Rain or shine he stood out front, quietly waitin' for someone to come by. He even had an umbrella, courtesy of old lady Daly. She felt sorry for the Chief - always standin' alone and cold in the rain - and gave him one of her old church goin’ umbrellas. Wasn't that nice?
The Chief held those cigars tight in his left hand and had his right hand raised in the traditional Indian greeting - "How". I knew that because I seen real movie Indians actually do it, when my dad took me to the movies at the Capital Theater in Beardsley.
I had to tell you about Chief Smokin’ Eagle so you'd understand this next part. The men would use the palm of the Chief's hand to light their matches. They were the complimentary, strike anywhere kind that came all the way from Allumettes Island! Mr. Mackay always provided to the town's high rollers with special treats like that. I couldn’t wait to grow up and start smokin’ them cigars too!
One fall, the townsfolk got a big surprise; a truck pulled up and parked near the church, loaded to the gunwales with guns. Man, you should have seen the assortment! There was shotguns, rifles and even some six shooters like the kind in the Roy Rogers films. Being that I was a kid at the time, I didn't have any money to buy one. $39.95 was a king's ransom back then, but I did get an official, all leather holster and Long Tom cap gun for Christmas later that year!
The fellow that owned the truck was smilin' at the crowd and puttin' out wooden barrels full of guns for all the men to see. He was really tall and thin, with no hair on his head except for some white, wispy growth just over his ears. He kind of looked like a preacher because he wore a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. When he had a big enough crowd, he started speakin'.
"Gentlemen, good day to you! My name is Chester Fielding of Fielding's Fine Arms. Purveyors of fancy shootin' irons and accessories since 1919. Now you're probably wonderin', what in the dickens is the royal gunsmith to His Majesty, the King of England and servant to the upper class huntin' trade doin' here in Liskerville? Well sir, I'd of been suspicious if ya hadn't of asked, right?"
He looked right at Mr. Feeney, who turned red and said, "Ah, well...I guess so..."
"And you'd be right!" Mr. Fielding shouted, waving a finger in the air. "Why, as soon as I drove into this lovely village, I could tell that you was smarter and more sophisticated than the people from Beardsley or Nerly Corners. Chester, I said, them people are what you call 'folks of above average intelligence'. Yes sir, not a dummy in the lot..."
He started pointing at the townsfolk, and as he did so, he winked at some of the people in the front row. "Come this time of the year, a fellow has to go out huntin' for to feed his family. Harvest is almost here too and winter's gettin' closer. I seen the fields on my way into town. Looks like you folks is not only smart but good farmers too."
The crowd was full of smiling faces and men nodding their heads in agreement. They were hangin' on his every word.
"I said to myself, Chester, you're gettin' older now. It's time to turn the business over to a younger man. But since I never married, well, there ain't no one to take this fine and very successful business and carry on after I'm gone. Then it hit me. What about the folks here in Liskerville? They're not fools! They are people of the soil. Farmers and hunters. Providers to their families. They know all about hard work and deserve a little good fortune! Am I right?"
Everyone drew closer to the white haired man, nodding in agreement with what he said and yellin’ “Yeah!” A lot of the men were lookin' over the guns that Mr. Fielding had put on display. Old lady Daly, the same person that gave Chief Smokin' Eagle his umbrella, walked over to Mr. Fielding and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
“Now, I’ll bet you’re thinking, ‘Poor Mr. Fielding, he’s gettin’ on and wants to retire. I wish I could buy that business from him, but I ain’t got enough money!' Well now, don’t fret. I don’t want all your money! It just so happens that I’m gonna let you in on a secret! Yep, a secret of how you can make big bucks from this here business and not pay too much for it. Come closer folks, gather ‘round. I don’t want this information getting’ out…”
The crowd went silent and quickly formed a semi-circle around the old man at the back of the truck.
“I don’t want no one that’s not entitled to this fountain of knowledge to be overhearin’ me.” Mr. Fielding stopped talkin’ and peered around, lookin’ for spies. Apparently satisfied, he continued. “This is what I was gonna do…”
For ten minutes, he wowed the crowd with his proposal. He told them how much money he made, the places he’d been and the houses and cars he owned. Every once in a while people would gasp or clap. Mr. Fielding had them eating out of his hands.
“So you’ve worked hard for your money. Don’t just give it to me! Heck, I don’t want all your money. If I did, why, I suspect myself of bein’ a crook, right? And again he looked at Mr. Feeney. Again Mr. Feeney answered, “Well, I guess…”
The old man was wound up now. “See! Right from the lips of one of your own! This is such a lovely place that it makes me want to put down roots and stay until the end of my days. With your help, and to prove to you that I’m on the level, here’s what I propose. I own a big mansion in Stumptown. You might have seen it when you was drivin’ in. I need to sell that so I can buy a place here. I was thinkin’ about the abandoned house across from the town square. The one that needs the new windows…”
Everybody knew that place. It was the old, haunted house that all us kids used to pitch rocks at when we was in town. I thought that I’d better not tell Mr. Fielding about throwin’ them rocks…
“Before the bank will give me a mortgage here, I gotta sell my old place in Stumpville. Since most of you are farmers, you’ll understand that my money is all tied up in my land there. What I want to do is this: buy the house here and move in. I figure to use them guns as collateral. How many people is here? Fifty maybe? If everyone gives me $10, that would make $500. That’s half of what I need for to buy that house yonder. The bank wouldn’t turn me down then, right?”
Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. They knew all about banks and lendin’ money. That subject has always been a sore point around here. Probably with any farmer anywhere in the world!
Mr. Fielding continued. “Now that would make everyone an equal partner in the business. Last year I made $20,000 without even tryin’! If you divide the number of people here - that’s 50, right? If you divide that number into $20,000, why, that’s 400 dollars a piece! 400 dollars on a ten dollar investment! After the money starts rollin’ in, you folks can give me the other 500 dollars. ‘Cause see, I only want $1,000 for the firearms business. I’ll trust you with my inventory and everything ‘til then…
Mr. Mackay, the owner of the general store, had been silent for the whole thing. After Mr. Fielding was finished talkin’, he stood up. “Well hold on a minute. Something don’t seem right here.”
Everybody turned to look at him. Mr. Fielding turned to look at him too. All the colour drained from his face.
“As you know, I own the store. Here’s my proposal. I’ll make up the other 500 dollars, so’s Mr. Fielding can buy his house outright…but you folks gotta pay him the first $500. I’ll get the money now if one of you passes the hat. I need to see all of it here, when I come out of the bank!”
Mr. Fielding looked relieved and one of the men started passin’ his Trilby around, collectin’ the cash. After a few minutes, Mr Mackay come out of the door of the Dominion Bank and walked over with his share of the thousand dollars.
“Seein’ as how I’m a majority shareholder, we’ll keep the guns at my store. They gotta be kept out of the rain...” He had a strange, kinda hungry look in his eyes when he said that.
Mr. Mackay took the money from the hat and added it to his own. “Here you go, sir. Now that you got your money fund, you can settle your affairs in Stumpville. We’ll move the rifles and such inside. I’ll bet you’re excited now!”
Mr. Fielding turned to the crowd and said, “Folks, what a wonderful town. Words fail me. I don’t know what to say…” There wasn’t a dry eye in the group. Everybody, including the men, had tears rollin’ down their faces.
“Of all the towns I’ve ever been in, this one is the best. I’m so glad that I could be the one to have given you the business.”
He got in his truck and started drivin’ down the road towards Stumpville. Everybody felt great and the feeling of love was large in our hearts.
A couple of days passed and we heard on the radio that a warehouse in the state capital got robbed of all its guns. Oh my.
And you know what else was weird? We never saw Mr. Fielding again.
I'm getting long winded. For those of you that don't mind a bit of reading, here's a short story. It's not my best, but hopefully, it tickles your fancy. After all, despite the sober nature of the board, a little dumbnosity should shine through. Do you believe in karma?
---
Guns at Liskerville Crossing
copyright 2006 - Stephen Redgwell (By the way, this is me, okay?)
When I was a kid, you could always tell when huntin' season was gettin' close. Mr. Mackay, the owner of the general store in Liskerville Crossing, would sit an old, beat up mannequin in the front window - wearin' a Mackinaw and Elmer Fudd hat. Us kids called the mannequin 'Sidney'. He propped a shotgun in Sidney's arms and put a sign by his feet - "Ammunition - Hunting Supplies".
Mr. Mackay was quite the businessman. He would move the pickle barrel away from the wood stove that was just inside and to the right of the front door. In its place he put an old, warped pine table – piled high with 12 gauge ammunition and other stuff. Since it was cool in the fall, he made sure to keep the stove stoked with wood. Some days, he had it glowin' red. It was always good to get warm standin' near the ammunition. I cherish those old memories.
Now of course, everybody from around there knew where Mr. Mackay kept the hunting stuff. Heck, it was the only store for twenty six miles. You had to go to the next county - to a place called Nerly Corners - before you'd find another shop. So he knew that he had the retail trade sewn up around here.
Sidney went into the store window to grab everyone’s attention. The routine went something like this. On Fridays, the men would go into town and stop at the Dominion Bank to withdraw money or cash their paychecks. Corn, oats and chickens were the local mainstays and some of the men worked as hands on the area farms.
From there, they'd stroll across the street to the general store. It was normal to see dozen or so local men, gathered together on the wooden sidewalk, in front of the picture window. Many of them would cough up a nickel and buy one of Mr. Mackay's fancy, imported cigars. They were silently guarded outside by Chief Smokin' Eagle, the store’s wooden Indian. Rain or shine he stood out front, quietly waitin' for someone to come by. He even had an umbrella, courtesy of old lady Daly. She felt sorry for the Chief - always standin' alone and cold in the rain - and gave him one of her old church goin’ umbrellas. Wasn't that nice?
The Chief held those cigars tight in his left hand and had his right hand raised in the traditional Indian greeting - "How". I knew that because I seen real movie Indians actually do it, when my dad took me to the movies at the Capital Theater in Beardsley.
I had to tell you about Chief Smokin’ Eagle so you'd understand this next part. The men would use the palm of the Chief's hand to light their matches. They were the complimentary, strike anywhere kind that came all the way from Allumettes Island! Mr. Mackay always provided to the town's high rollers with special treats like that. I couldn’t wait to grow up and start smokin’ them cigars too!
One fall, the townsfolk got a big surprise; a truck pulled up and parked near the church, loaded to the gunwales with guns. Man, you should have seen the assortment! There was shotguns, rifles and even some six shooters like the kind in the Roy Rogers films. Being that I was a kid at the time, I didn't have any money to buy one. $39.95 was a king's ransom back then, but I did get an official, all leather holster and Long Tom cap gun for Christmas later that year!
The fellow that owned the truck was smilin' at the crowd and puttin' out wooden barrels full of guns for all the men to see. He was really tall and thin, with no hair on his head except for some white, wispy growth just over his ears. He kind of looked like a preacher because he wore a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. When he had a big enough crowd, he started speakin'.
"Gentlemen, good day to you! My name is Chester Fielding of Fielding's Fine Arms. Purveyors of fancy shootin' irons and accessories since 1919. Now you're probably wonderin', what in the dickens is the royal gunsmith to His Majesty, the King of England and servant to the upper class huntin' trade doin' here in Liskerville? Well sir, I'd of been suspicious if ya hadn't of asked, right?"
He looked right at Mr. Feeney, who turned red and said, "Ah, well...I guess so..."
"And you'd be right!" Mr. Fielding shouted, waving a finger in the air. "Why, as soon as I drove into this lovely village, I could tell that you was smarter and more sophisticated than the people from Beardsley or Nerly Corners. Chester, I said, them people are what you call 'folks of above average intelligence'. Yes sir, not a dummy in the lot..."
He started pointing at the townsfolk, and as he did so, he winked at some of the people in the front row. "Come this time of the year, a fellow has to go out huntin' for to feed his family. Harvest is almost here too and winter's gettin' closer. I seen the fields on my way into town. Looks like you folks is not only smart but good farmers too."
The crowd was full of smiling faces and men nodding their heads in agreement. They were hangin' on his every word.
"I said to myself, Chester, you're gettin' older now. It's time to turn the business over to a younger man. But since I never married, well, there ain't no one to take this fine and very successful business and carry on after I'm gone. Then it hit me. What about the folks here in Liskerville? They're not fools! They are people of the soil. Farmers and hunters. Providers to their families. They know all about hard work and deserve a little good fortune! Am I right?"
Everyone drew closer to the white haired man, nodding in agreement with what he said and yellin’ “Yeah!” A lot of the men were lookin' over the guns that Mr. Fielding had put on display. Old lady Daly, the same person that gave Chief Smokin' Eagle his umbrella, walked over to Mr. Fielding and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
“Now, I’ll bet you’re thinking, ‘Poor Mr. Fielding, he’s gettin’ on and wants to retire. I wish I could buy that business from him, but I ain’t got enough money!' Well now, don’t fret. I don’t want all your money! It just so happens that I’m gonna let you in on a secret! Yep, a secret of how you can make big bucks from this here business and not pay too much for it. Come closer folks, gather ‘round. I don’t want this information getting’ out…”
The crowd went silent and quickly formed a semi-circle around the old man at the back of the truck.
“I don’t want no one that’s not entitled to this fountain of knowledge to be overhearin’ me.” Mr. Fielding stopped talkin’ and peered around, lookin’ for spies. Apparently satisfied, he continued. “This is what I was gonna do…”
For ten minutes, he wowed the crowd with his proposal. He told them how much money he made, the places he’d been and the houses and cars he owned. Every once in a while people would gasp or clap. Mr. Fielding had them eating out of his hands.
“So you’ve worked hard for your money. Don’t just give it to me! Heck, I don’t want all your money. If I did, why, I suspect myself of bein’ a crook, right? And again he looked at Mr. Feeney. Again Mr. Feeney answered, “Well, I guess…”
The old man was wound up now. “See! Right from the lips of one of your own! This is such a lovely place that it makes me want to put down roots and stay until the end of my days. With your help, and to prove to you that I’m on the level, here’s what I propose. I own a big mansion in Stumptown. You might have seen it when you was drivin’ in. I need to sell that so I can buy a place here. I was thinkin’ about the abandoned house across from the town square. The one that needs the new windows…”
Everybody knew that place. It was the old, haunted house that all us kids used to pitch rocks at when we was in town. I thought that I’d better not tell Mr. Fielding about throwin’ them rocks…
“Before the bank will give me a mortgage here, I gotta sell my old place in Stumpville. Since most of you are farmers, you’ll understand that my money is all tied up in my land there. What I want to do is this: buy the house here and move in. I figure to use them guns as collateral. How many people is here? Fifty maybe? If everyone gives me $10, that would make $500. That’s half of what I need for to buy that house yonder. The bank wouldn’t turn me down then, right?”
Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. They knew all about banks and lendin’ money. That subject has always been a sore point around here. Probably with any farmer anywhere in the world!
Mr. Fielding continued. “Now that would make everyone an equal partner in the business. Last year I made $20,000 without even tryin’! If you divide the number of people here - that’s 50, right? If you divide that number into $20,000, why, that’s 400 dollars a piece! 400 dollars on a ten dollar investment! After the money starts rollin’ in, you folks can give me the other 500 dollars. ‘Cause see, I only want $1,000 for the firearms business. I’ll trust you with my inventory and everything ‘til then…
Mr. Mackay, the owner of the general store, had been silent for the whole thing. After Mr. Fielding was finished talkin’, he stood up. “Well hold on a minute. Something don’t seem right here.”
Everybody turned to look at him. Mr. Fielding turned to look at him too. All the colour drained from his face.
“As you know, I own the store. Here’s my proposal. I’ll make up the other 500 dollars, so’s Mr. Fielding can buy his house outright…but you folks gotta pay him the first $500. I’ll get the money now if one of you passes the hat. I need to see all of it here, when I come out of the bank!”
Mr. Fielding looked relieved and one of the men started passin’ his Trilby around, collectin’ the cash. After a few minutes, Mr Mackay come out of the door of the Dominion Bank and walked over with his share of the thousand dollars.
“Seein’ as how I’m a majority shareholder, we’ll keep the guns at my store. They gotta be kept out of the rain...” He had a strange, kinda hungry look in his eyes when he said that.
Mr. Mackay took the money from the hat and added it to his own. “Here you go, sir. Now that you got your money fund, you can settle your affairs in Stumpville. We’ll move the rifles and such inside. I’ll bet you’re excited now!”
Mr. Fielding turned to the crowd and said, “Folks, what a wonderful town. Words fail me. I don’t know what to say…” There wasn’t a dry eye in the group. Everybody, including the men, had tears rollin’ down their faces.
“Of all the towns I’ve ever been in, this one is the best. I’m so glad that I could be the one to have given you the business.”
He got in his truck and started drivin’ down the road towards Stumpville. Everybody felt great and the feeling of love was large in our hearts.
A couple of days passed and we heard on the radio that a warehouse in the state capital got robbed of all its guns. Oh my.
And you know what else was weird? We never saw Mr. Fielding again.
