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The boys from Arizona pulled into Fort Stockton long about dusk on Saturday.  It’s always dicey meeting someone in person you’ve only emailed with in the past, but the awkwardness was short lived and we made our way over to the Lucky Lady Lounge so they could get a feel for the Fort and maybe meet a few of the locals.

Of course, Trixie was on the taller of the two like a chicken on a June bug.  Fresh menfolk are not a common occurrence and represent an opportunity not to be wasted.  Hank, behind the bar, wanting to show what true Texas hospitality looks like, gave us the first round of Lone Star Longnecks on the house.  The second round seemed to be more expensive than I remembered.  I guess it all balanced out in the end.

Rusty from the hardware store came over and introduced himself.  “I heard you guys were coming to give the Captain a hand with the ol’ Fairlane 500.  We all appreciate your efforts.  He might can tell a story, but he’s got the mechanical aptitude of a dirt daubber.  It’ll be good to see the ol’ Ford back on the streets of Fort Stockton again.”  They seemed to appreciate the genuine friendliness of Rusty.  I noticed they pulled him off to the side and started asking him if he had several different things in stock that they might be needing as they took a look at the car.

As Rusty pointed out, I’m not the most mechanically inclined.  But some of the things I heard them asking about didn’t make any sense to me as far as just getting the fuel lines checked and cleaned out.  However, I trusted them and their abilities and wasn’t going to question their diagnostic skills.  When one of them asked, “How about sheets of clear acrylic?  Got any of those?”  I was completely flummoxed.

About the time Trixie finished wedging her way in between the two boys from Glendale, in walks Earl from Earl’s Salvage Yard and Formalwear.  It was good to see Earl, and I was quick to introduce him to the Arizona Amigos.  When one of them asked him, “How many ’59 Cadillacs you got out there at the ‘Yard?” I thought he was just making friendly conversation.

While Earl was doing some figuring on the back of a cocktail napkin, Lucinda and Delgado walked in and took a place in the booth over by the jukebox.  I didn’t hesitate to take the out-of-towners over so they could meet Lucinda in person.  The tall one seemed to get all discombobulated as he saw her for the first time in the flesh.  “So nice to finally meet you, ma’am.  You’re even prettier than the Captain makes you out to be in the stories.”

“Thanks.  I get that a lot.”  She was doing her best to be humble, but she gets tired of all the adulation.  Delgado squirmed a little across the table.  He’s got a streak of Ecuadorian – Honduran jealousy that’ll flare up every now and again when men go on and on about Lucinda right in front of him.

Luckily, Brother Bob walked in, introduced himself, and inquired whether the two guests from the Grand Canyon State were planning on visiting Second Baptist for services Sunday morning.  “Maybe next time.  I’m pretty sure our morning will be taken up working on the Captain’s Fairlane 500.  We’ll only be in town tonight and tomorrow and have to make every hour count.”

Of course that wasn’t what Brother Bob wanted to hear and he walked off towards the bar muttering something about an old Ford not being the Lord’s work.  I couldn’t really disagree, but I did want to get the thing running again in a pretty bad way, so I figured there would probably be forgiveness.  And, bottom line, I don’t go to church there, anyway.  

Long story longer, it was a helluva night.  We shut the place down.  Trixie ended up driving me off at home and then headed over to the Naughty Pine Motel with the slightly inebriated guys from Glendale.  Whatever happened after that is between Trixie, the out of town guests, Vern from the front desk and anyone else who may have been involved.  All I know I slept like a log, almost as though Rex from Rex Hall Drug had slipped something into one of my Lone Stars.  I’m talking dead to the world.

At some point in the middle of the night, I thought I heard air compressors and a lot of banging going on.  But, so did the other guests over at the Naughty Pine, so I figured it was just something going around.  When Buttercup finally woke me up, my head felt like I’d just driven past the grassy knoll in downtown Dallas.  She said, “I can’t believe you slept through all the activity in the garage this morning.  I tried to rouse you a couple times, but you were having none of it.”

I asked her to lower her voice.

“Whoever those guys were from Arizona got here before the sun even came up.  Can’t believe you slept through the noise they were making.”  Buttercup seemed put out.  “They kept yelling for Trixie to hand them tools, or hold the light.  Then they’d go over to the cooler and grab a few more beers and the welding torch.  The neighbors came over right after sun-up to see what all the fuss was about.  Said they were going to call Chief Martin if the three of them out in our garage didn’t hold it down.”  Buttercup obviously doesn’t know what it means to whisper.  “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life,” she shouted.

“I can’t believe I slept through the whole thing.”  I sat up in bed and tried to focus on anything other than the throbbing in my head.  “Are they still here?”

“No.  They left about an hour ago.  Said they were both going over to the Klip-N-Dye for haircuts before they hit the road,” Buttercup said.  “But if I know Trixie, their ears won’t be the only thing that gets lowered before they’re on the highway out of town.”

She threw my Levis at me and the flip flops I keep next to the bed.  “You might want to go out and have a look at the Fairlane 500.  I had no idea that’s what you had in mind.”

I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but pulled on my jeans while she got me a CMC mug full of Folgers.  I stumbled out to the driveway.  This is what I was met with:

Unfortunately, it still wouldn’t start.

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Sunday afternoon at the CMC World Headquarters above the Ben Franklin, Lucinda made short work of deciding Comment of the Week.  It was a little vague exactly which comment he was being rewarded for, but I think it was this one from THE NEXT ASSIGNMENT, CHAPTER VII:

“Sorry about the length.

This reminds me of the Netflix series “Prison Break” where the “Company” had a renewable, scalable, cost effective energy source and they went to any extreme to protect its interest, The company had no political allegiance. It’s only allegiance was to itself. 

It’s interesting how you symbolized Fort Stockton as a microcosm of the political struggles (and maybe discourse) in our country, where misinformation, personal interests, and political division slow actual progress battling climate change. The wind vs. solar debate reflects disagreements over alternatives, with each side claiming to have the solution while failing to address deeper societal issues. The secondary underlying message (I haven’t mentioned the first), seems to be that no matter who wins the current battle, or long term battle, left or right, the war for truth, justice, and sustainability will continue indefinitely. The solutions to our problems may be pie in the sky as long as the system prioritizes personal and corporate gain over what’s best for all of us.

At least IMO, it was interesting how Goodman was the antagonist, or antihero, or the Kryptonite to the Consortium, but never had a line in the story. And Becky who represented the left with their solar solution verses Goodman’s worthless wind solution. 

It was fairly obvious even with Goodman’s history of sexual misconduct, illegal business practices, half the folks in Fort Stockton still support him, which shows us how misinformation and fear can be used to manipulate the masses. It also shows us how corrupt governments and corporations, working together, can skew public debate and policy for personal gain.

Side note: I can’t believe I missed the point in the story when Goodman’s wife was given the opportunity to escape and turned it down. Dammit, I get it now.

For me, there are 2 heroes. The armadillo, a humble creature, who only wants to survive, can destroy Gunter’s Eldoradanental and what it represents. Second, and the voice of reason, is Danilo when he said, “The wind will blow and the sun will shine, regardless of who is watching them or who wants to control each of them”. The story really isn’t about climate change, that is just the means to an end. For me, the first underlying message was offering Danilo as the 3rd alternative for us to follow and to be a possible to our society’s heartache. But can those who are so deeply entrenched in their convictions on either of the 2 sides, ever come around to another way of thinking?”

When I asked her what his prize was going to be, she said something about something special for a multi-time CotW winner. “He’s getting the Do-It-Yourself Vasectomy Kit, a coupon for two rolls of free film development at the Fort Stockton Fotomat in case Mrs. Motcat wants to record the event for posterity, and a set of balls for the back of his Crocks. He may be shootin’ blanks after using the kit, but will still be showin’ off to the people behind him in line at the Piggly Wiggly.” I swear, she thinks of everything.

Anyway, congrats to Motcat, who has won before but never been awarded a prize package like this one.

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We finish the week by saying goodbye to one of Texas’ own.  Kris Kristofferson shuffled off this mortal coil earlier in the week, sadly.  He was 88 years old.  In an ironic twist, Maggie Smith (who wasn’t from Texas, but would have enjoyed her time here if she could have ever made it) also crossed over the bridge.  The fact that she was the same age as Kris doesn’t seem right.  I figured her to be 50 or 60 years older.

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Anyway, that’s it for this week.  Remember, you know you’re old when you’re entering your birth year online and have to spin that thing like you’re on Wheel of Fortune.

PS: The part about the boys from Arizona showing up was all completely fabricated.  They had transmission trouble and had to postpone the trip.  I’ll keep you posted. (And Trixie.)

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