Back in the fall of 1948 Pappy Longbranch was still a young man.  He kept the hair in his nose trimmed, had absolutely no hair on his ears, and was decades away from wearing his khaki pants hiked up to damn near his armpits.  It was back when he played sax with the ‘Cactus Pricks’ over at The Lucky Lady Lounge.  He claimed he got more butt than a toilet seat after most of those gigs.  Being the dashing young war veteran, nobody disputed a word he said.  Not that he couldn’t stretch the truth on occasion.

One Saturday night, when the Cactus Pricks weren’t playing, he came in with an old army buddy who was driving through Texas and stopped in Fort Stockton on his way to see family back in his hometown of Graham.  Pappy introduced his buddy as Owen Baggett, a comrade he’d served with in the Pacific back in Dubya Dubya Deuce.  They weren’t in the bar for ten minutes before Pappy had everyone in the bar out in the parking lot looking at Baggett’s new ’48 Packard Station Sedan.

Make no mistake about it, the Packard was a fine automobile to behold.  Aztec Brown Metallic over a brown vinyl interior, the smooth new lines were accented by birch wood and mahogany paneling that was nicer than the president’s office at Prairie View State Bank over on Main Street.  Pappy had Baggett crank up the 288 cubic inch inline-eight and you could barely even hear the thing purr.  Ollie Olson said he’d bet a silver dollar could balance right on top of the thing, but it was a bet that couldn’t be taken because nobody had a silver dollar.  Even if they did, they wouldn’t have been dumb enough to pull it out in front of Ollie Olson, anyway.

Trixie, from over at the Klip-N-Dye, crawled into the back of the thing after putting the rear seat down to see if she could stretch all the way out.  Comments were made that if it stayed parked there long enough, it probably wouldn’t be the last time during the evening she took up that position.

As everyone wandered back into the bar, leaving the curiously named Station Sedan behind, Pappy began spinning yarns about their time in the service together.  “Because of my prowess with the ladies, they used to call us ‘Tag It & Baggett,’ he proclaimed.  Baggett remained fairly silent, letting Pappy do all the talking.  He seemed almost embarrassed by all the attention.

After about an hour and a half, Pappy was drunk as Cooter Brown and started really spinning some tales.  

“Ol’ Baggett here was the co-pilot of a bad-ass American bomber back in ’43,” he said.  “Flying with the 7th Bombardment Group while stationed out of British India.  Got orders to bomb a bridge at Penman, Burma.  Before they could get to the target, the enemy intercepted their air group.”  Baggett shifted on his barstool, obviously preferring to not relive whatever exploits took place during the war.  Pappy, however, was not to be deterred.

“Suddenly they were surrounded by Japanese fighter planes, taking hits left and right.  No way to out-maneuver the enemy in their big ol’ bombers.  Baggett’s plane was hit, and hit BAD.  Bullets tore through the gas tanks, setting the plane on fire.  Baggett and his crew barely ejected before the damn thing blew up,” Pappy said in detail, drawing a pretty good sized crowd to the bar.  Baggett just stirred the ice in his drink with his finger, hearing Pappy tell the story for the hundredth time.

“Then, the bastards started trying to pick off the American GIs floating down to earth who’d parachuted out of their planes.  That’s when ol’ Baggett here really got pissed.  Decided to play possum, just like any kid born and raised in Texas would know to do.”  Pappy had set his drink on the bar so he could halfway act out the scene for everyone who’d gathered around. “So he’s hangin’ there, lookin’ like he’s dead, when an enemy plane pulls up right next to him.  The damn pilot slides back the canopy on his plane, just to see if Baggett’s really dead or not!”

The crowd was entranced.  Baggett was staring down at the bar.  The bartender was filling up everyone’s drinks. Trixie was heading out to the Staion Sedan with Too Tall Thompson, the ranch foreman out at the Rockin’ J, but that has nothing to do with the story. 

“That’s when Baggett opens his eyes, draws his pistol, takes aim, and before the bastard flyin’ the enemy plane can even blink, Baggett shoots him dead center in the forehead with his .45 caliber M1911 pistol,”  Pappy went on.  “Three more shots, just for good measure.  The plane stalled, then went into a nosedive and crashed into the sea.”  The crowd roared.  Or, it could have been Trixie out in the Packard.  Either way, there was a LOT of yelling going on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the ONLY person to have ever shot down an aircraft using only his pistol!”  Pappy and Baggett didn’t have to buy another drink that entire evening.  Pappy had to retell the whole story for Trixie and Too Tall when they came back in, but they weren’t as impressed as the crowd had been with the first telling.  Of course, they both looked plum tuckered out, anyway.

Nobody remembers Baggett saying three words the rest of the night.  Pappy told everybody Baggett finished the rest of the war as a Prisoner of War, being captured as soon as he hit the ground.  The story of him and 37 other POWs getting liberated at the end of the war when eight OSS agents parachuted into their prisoner of war camp in Singapore made for another exciting tale. Through the whole thing, Owen only had one drink, and it ended up being a ginger ale.  Pretty unassuming guy.  He got Pappy home safe in the wee hours of the morning and then pointed the Packard home towards Graham.  He’d hit Odessa before Trixie and Too Tall woke up and Baggett even realized they were back there.  He let them out at the Stuckey’s.  They were uber embarrassed, but it gave Too Tall an idea for a business venture it took him decades to bring to market.

Some disputed whether or not Pappy was telling the truth or maybe just fabricated the whole thing as a form of entertainment for the crowd.  A lot of that kind of thing goes on in Fort Stockton.  But sure enough, one morning a while back they were talking about it at the Grounds for Divorce and Lucinda Googled it.  (Don’t know what folks did before they had the Google.) 

“Sure enough,” Lucinda said, “Owen Baggett was the only one to ever shoot down an enemy plane with his pistol.  Retired as a colonel from the Air Force in 1973, then went to work for a defense contractor to finish out his career.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if the US Government didn’t buy him that ’48 Packard Station Sedan, just as a ‘thank you’ for his service to the country, and reward for his shooting skills,” Rusty from the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store said.  “Don’t have heroes like that, anymore.”

“There’s a whole lot worse things they’ve spent money on than a ’48 Packard Station Sedan,” Lucinda said.  Nobody could disagree.