The final chapter in a series of ten stories.
Duke De Kalb calmly put the Impala into REVERSE and pulled it around the corner and down the dark dead end road as the sun just began its ascent in the east. By the first vestiges morning light, it was tucked back into the enclosed trailer and the old Chevrolet dually was pulling it back to a comfortable speed on the highway before morning traffic even started piling up. Taking mostly the back roads, Duke waited till he was in Rosenberg to pull over for coffee and a couple breakfast burritos at a place called Bandito’s he’d taken a shine to on his previous trips. He had quite the appetite.
Getting closer to Fort Stockton, Duke continued on the backroads out south of town, not wanting to be seen. Earl was waiting for him at Earl’s Salvage Yard and Formal Wear, as had been planned. As he pulled the truck and trailer through the gate, Earl closed it behind him and pushed the padlock to keep any looky-loos from making their way in. Nobody usually showed up at this time of day in the hot afternoon anyway, but there was no point in taking chances.
“I want the Chevy truck crushed. Then the trailer. There’s something in the trailer. Don’t worry so much about that. You can have whatever the value of the scrap is worth, plus $500 for each crush for your time.” Duke pulled out a bottle of scotch from nowhere and set it on the hood of the truck, on top of ten $100 bills. “We’ll toast your efforts as soon as the last one is crushed.”
Earl understood. Less than 40 minutes later, they were sipping scotch with their feet up on Earl’s desk and debating whether the Jim Bowie High School football team was going to be worth a damn or not in the fall. At the conclusion of their business, Duke walked past two unidentifiable metal cubes that had earlier been a Chevy truck and a batwing ’59 Impala in an enclosed car hauler. He made his way over to his car, which Dusty had dropped for him earlier that morning and was home for dinner.
And that was that.
In October of that year, Principal Pough from Jim Bowie High School, “Home of the Fightin’ Knives” reached out to Duke and asked him to be part of the Veteran’s Day Parade and Hometown Celebration. The parade was going to wind its way through town and end up with a big rousing pep rally inside the gym at JBHS and he was looking for a veteran to be the keynote speaker. “He’ll never do it,” Mrs. Drury said over at the Piggly Wiggly as Pough was checking out. “Don’t know why you’d even bother asking him. He’s pretty private. ‘Specially about his time in the war.”
“Don’t hurt to try,” Pough replied, confident in his abilities of persuasion where the public good was concerned.
Rather than try to get De Kalb on the phone, Principal Pough climbed into the driver’s seat of his Plymouth Volaré after downing a Cheeseburger basket at the Dairy Twin and drove out to the De Kalb place. “I figure he’ll have a harder time saying ‘NO’ if he’s looking right at me,” he told his secretary as he left for lunch. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Mrs. Woodfield, who’d worked for him for a dozen miserable years, wasn’t surprised he was able to stretch a 10 minute phone call into a whole afternoon of being out of the office. She’d deal with whatever crisis arose, just like she always did.
On the way out to the ranch, Pough passed by the bucolic scenery and thought about how the other half lived and the career choices he’d made, just to get his summers off. He waved at Dusty out on the tractor, plowing what was left of the fall alfalfa, as he pulled the Volaré up to De Kalb’s house. Miss Bella greeted him with a wary smile and a false sense of hospitality that Principal Pouch took as sincere. “If you’ll wait on the patio, I’ll tell Mr. De Kalb you’re here.”
On the patio, Duke shook his hand in a vice grip manner and told him to have a seat. “Would you like me to bring you some lemonade?” Bella asked.
Pough looked thirsty. Duke was impatient. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. Looking at the principal, he said, “You should have called ahead. I don’t normally accept mid-day visitors.”
Pough sifted in his seat as he fumbled for the words, wishing he’d have practiced something on the way out to the ranch.
“It’s about the Veteran’s Day Parade and Hometown Celebration. I’m heading up the efforts this year. I thought it would be great if you could be the Grand Marshall of the Parade. Be in the lead car, well, the one right behind Mayor Goodman. You know nobody rides in front of The Mayor! The parade ends up at the Jim Bowie High gymnasium. The speech you’d give to the crowd would cap off the whole day of activities!” Pough was relieved he was able to get out all the details, despite his mouth being dry.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Send all the details to my secretary so she can get it on the books.” And with that, Duke got up and went into the house. Pough walked around to the front of the house where the Volaré was, amazed at his own abilities of persuasion.
The parade started at the National Guard Armory. Duke was escorted to a 1979 Cadillac Eldorado St. Moritz Convertible where he would be riding atop the rear seat next to Miss Pecos County Feral Hog. She was a sweet enough girl, though a little on the plump side. Duke imagined she’d been chosen for her personality. The car captured his attention more than the alleged beauty queen sitting next to him.
The Caddy was finished in metallic blue over a white interior with blue sheepskin carpets. Power was provided by a 350 cubic inch V8 paired with a three-speed automatic transmission. Features included a power-operated soft top, power-adjustable seats, and automatic climate control. As he looked around the convertible, Duke thought it was a much better effort to customize a Cadillac than cutting a Seville in half and welding fake spare tires to either side of the front end. But then, he was probably prejudiced in the matter. It was easier to cut the owner in half than it was to do the same to a Seville, after all.
The interior was trimmed in tufted white leather with cobalt blue sheepskin carpets and light blue floor mats along with wood-look paneling on the dash and doors. Amenities consisted of power-adjustable seats, automatic climate control, a factory stereo, and cruise control as well as power locks, windows, and mirrors. Miss Pecos County Feral Hog smelled just a bit of talcum powder, sweat, and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers lip balm which she’d applied liberally underneath her snout. It was not holding up in the intense morning sun.
Duke was rigid throughout the parade, his back as stiff as his upper lip. He raised his arms occasionally in what folks took to be sort of a wave as he passed the Piggly Wiggly, the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store, the Lucky Lady Lounge, and finally the Blue Collar Pet Store. He waved at Rodger, standing inside the showroom of Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury, “Home of the Straight Shootin;’ Deal.” That was the last business there was a crowd in front of before the parade pulled into the parking lot of Jim Bowie High School.
Wading through the cheering crowds, shaking hands with dignitaries, noting the faces in the crowd, Duke made his way to the podium as the JBHS marching band played the third chorus of You’re a Grand Old Flag. Already on the podium, microphone in hand, Miss Pecos County Feral Hog belted out her rendition of The Ballad of the Green Beret that had the crowd on their feet and roaring at the end. So overcome with emotion were they that none even noticed the riverlet of lip balm that had made its way down her chin, over her throat, and was heading toward the valley between her ample bosom at breakneck speed.
Duke began his address with what the definition of Duty was, and how it was each man’s responsibility to answer that call. “It is not a call that can be ignored or postponed. It is a sacred obligation. We are given the responsibility to protect the blessings God has given us at all cost,” he said. The crowd applauded loudly.
“The cause that calls us knows no bounds, and will take no excuse for inaction. We are committed to act. We have an obligation that cannot be ignored.” The crowd rose to their feet.
“I have looked into the eyes of a man whose sole purpose had been to take away everything I held dear. Everything I had worked hard to protect. Everything that was important to me. And I took that life as a call of duty. To protect others. To save the most important elements of what we hold dear and to repeal the efforts of those who do not value what we value!” The crowd was chanting.
“I heard he killed a lot of Germans during the Big One,” Rusty Hammer whispered to his wife in the front row.
“We do such things not out of pride, certainly not out of blood lust. We do things out of an obligation to protect our own,” Duke went on. He looked out into the audience and saw Earl, standing on his feet in the third row. “We do this to crush the enemy and persevere in the face of evil.” Earl flashed him a Thumbs UP.
Duke was surprised to see Parker McHale in the audience, Dusty on one side of her and Mason McCullough on the other, arms up waving. “These are the ties that bind us,” he improvised. Dusty, Parker, and Mason went wild. “We do what we are called to do for the betterment of the COMMUNITY!” Duke roared into the microphone. Manny, up and clapping in the row behind Parker McHale, Dusty, and Mason was as proud as he’d ever been to be from Fort Stockton.
Principal Pough was seated behind Duke on the stage to be sure and get in the picture that would be on the front page of the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch the following morning. He was beaming, knowing he’d get credit for putting together such a rousing performance. Only Mayor Goodman looked mad, upset that he’d been overshadowed by someone with a real set of values and the courage to back them up.
As the marching band began playing These Colors Don’t Run and formed the shape of a large Bowie Knife at center court, Duke finished with “God Bless Fort Stockton. And God Bless the U.S. of A!” He saluted and walked into the adoring crowd.
Homicide investigators from the Houston Police Department who’d come to town, just to ask Duke a few questions about his late daughter’s former husband, were standing at the back of the gym. As the crowd cheered, they slid the spiral top notepads back into the shirt pockets of their ill-fitting Sears King’s Road polyester oxford shirts. They made their way out to the black Ford LTD sedan parked in the handicapped spot right next to the gym and headed to the K-Bob’s, hoping to be first in line.
“That was a wasted trip,” the heavier one said to the other. “But we may as well eat before we head back.”
9 responses to “A FATHER’S LOVE, Chapter 10”
I really enjoyed this ten-part series; it is tantric.
Duke remains a patriotic American success story who overcame adversity and heartbreak. Recognizing and avoiding ethical restraints, Eileen remains an anti-hero success story. Absent any ethical awareness, Mayor Goodman is still slinging slime and the good folks of Fort Stockton are either oblivious or transfixed. The solid and reliable cars and characters serve through good and bad, “like sands through an hourglass” in Southwest Texas. I was sad about the crushed classics but sacrifices are required and the only negotiable details are how big and who makes them. In the end, I think I understand why the 1979 Cadillac Eldorado St. Moritz Convertible was chosen for the parade and in reflection, think it is quite appropriate especially after the doctor’s Seville.
If I didn’t know better I’d say GM started with a Cutlass Supreme (as opposed to a W-30), and achieved some cosmetic improvements at a comedy bar one night. They filled the Michael-Strahan-sized-grill-gap as a Eddie Murphy tried out some new standup material on stage and unknowingly modeled his smile. So the grill remains a masculine feature on a more feminine form but it works (and should not be subject to current DEI reversal policies). Amid the laughter and low light, one the sketch artists was using an old Phyllis Diller comedy album jacket to sketch. He decided she had some pretty nice cheek bones, but he was drawing under the influence and her eyes were blurry enough to be four. So that’s what he put on the napkin with extra mascara. He remembered how her overly-wide smile had thin that lips curled whenever she snarled about her husband Fang. Not unlike his own wife’s when she snarled, but she used to look like Lauren Hutton and WOW, what happened there. Losing concentration and succumbing to artistic license, he highlighted the bumper’s sharp horizontal lines contrasting them with vertical pursing over-riders. Looking over his shoulder, one of the Interior Design Team was checking out Diller’s sparkling dress and cigarette holder shown inside on the protective sleeve. He and his buds agreed over-the-top bling-on-everything not leather or wood, would scream exclusivity and Mgt/Marketing would love it. Any other cabin feature would either cut, poke, or leave a rash like elitism and generational wealth and the UAW would love it. (Note: Both the features and the groups did as planned; pedals scraped shined shoes, flaking plasti-chrome knobs & sliders knocked knuckles, etc). In a related FYI, don’t have Rice Krispy Treats on the carpets or the convertible top, up or down. Anyway, the decent looking St. Moritz is still a surgically ‘enhanced’ Cutlass Supreme that fits the story really well. In stark contrast to the St. Moritz, the Seville Opera Coupe was sketched during a showing of Texas Chainsaw Massacre but also fits the story well. IRL, I’d rather have two W-30s in black or white, over gold. To each his own, it is still a good ten-part parable.
CMC: Thanks for another rollercoaster trip down Memory Lane and the smiles and/or questions along the way.
C Dave, Your prose is a bit eccentric, perhaps self induced ?
You been Smoking a Doobie, Dude?
BH3406,
Just reading your comment today; stumbled over it while searching for McCullough background info. Regarding your question: I’m naturally aspirated, corn beans & potato fed, formally alcohol fueled and, almost always musically inspired. But I dig eccentricity yet respect standards of social conduct while bleeding red, white & blue. Also, I consider myself a tangential thinker and skeptic with chronic side-eye. All that to say, “Nah, never touched the stuff.”
Ahhh, the perfect “crime.” Still planning mine (actually more than one). Of all of my acquaintances, only one I know would suspect me because he knows how devilish and invisible I can be.
Gotta wait for him to croak.
Oops, Now We All Know!
Duke’s duplicity in his speech to the crowd wasn’t lost on us blog readers. The good citizens of Fort Stockton’s Veteran’s Day Parade and Hometown Celebration understood the meaning of Duke’s speech as presented to them within the context they are aware of. Perhaps only Earl understood the duplicity. There are times when the Captain puts some of us in Fork Stockton as a participant and I wonder if some characters can exist outside the blog (besides New Guy).
That’s a Deep Thought. I only now realize that I am illubiated…
Maybe the Mayor looked mad because his bone spur was nagging him?
How can a fictitious bone spur, falsely verified by a doctor who had been pressured and overpaid for his “documentation” manage to nag?
More likely he was mad over not being the center of attention and adulation.