Panic In Langley Bottom---excerpt

......I looked back toward the bottom of the bridge, and the overloaded log truck was just barely moving. As we watched, it slowly inched up the bridge until it was almost to us, and then the driver nearly stopped as he shifted the gears into double low. Heck, I reached out and touched the logs as they inched by, and then I had a thought.

“John Clayton, hop on the back of this danged truck and crawl up on top of the logs.”

“Wait a minute, Richard. Where’s this truck going?”

“Just across the bridge to the Calion Lumber Company. We’ll save a little time, and we won’t have to run down the other side of this narrow bridge.”

We hopped on the back of the truck, and nestled down between a couple of big logs, but that turned out to be  a mistake because the logs were just stacked up between side-rails and every time that durn truck hit a bump the logs shifted.

“Ahaaa! Get out from between the danged logs before we’re squished like a bug!” I yelled.

We finally made it to the top of the pile of logs, and we straddled the top log like a couple of cowboys. Shoot, I figured the ride would just be down the bridge to where the sawmill was, but I was wrong. Gosh, that log truck might have been real slow going up the steep side of the bridge, but it sure wasn’t slow going down on the other side. Heck, in about three seconds we were flying down that bridge like a turpentined cat, and as John Clayton yelled and pointed, we flew right past the Calion Lumber Company. Oh my God, What on earth have I gotten us into?

Yeah, and I was thinking about what Momma would say or do if she knew we were riding on top of a load of logs just roaring down the Calion Highway. Heck, I didn’t have a clue where that load of logs was headed after the truck passed the sawmill at Calion. What if the truck was taking a load of log down to Louisiana?

I thought. My gosh, we might be days getting back home, and they’ll  be dragging the river for our bodies. Talk about getting in trouble! Shoot, with half the country dragging the river and Cook’s Lake we’d be in so much trouble when we showed back up you wouldn’t believe it. We had to get off that danged log truck somehow.

We were just whizzing along heading toward El Dorado where I figured we’d be able to jump off when the truck stopped for a stoplight. Then, I figured we’d probably be able to hitchhike home, but at best we’d be way after 10 getting home, and we’d be in big trouble.      As it turned out, however, we never made it to El Dorado. About a half-mile from the Norphlet cutoff, I noticed a car coming up real fast behind us, and then—oh my gosh—red lights came on. There were police car lights, and then the siren, which just sounded so loud my ears rang, and I nearly barfed Heck, of course the log truck pulled over, and I figured when the policeman went up to talk with the truck driver, we’d sneak off.

It didn’t work out that way.

“Boys, come down off those logs!”

Panic in Langley Bottom--excerpt

Excerpt from Panic in Langley Bottom

...Well, to get back to the Champagnolle Creek fishing trip… Heck, the creek had been up, but the water was falling pretty good as the creek emptied into the Ouachita River, and that—falling water—really sets the fish to biting. I couldn’t wait to get my hook in the water. We rented an old wooden boat from Mr. Joe Perry, who has a cabin and a little boat rental place at Cook’s Landing, and paddled out into the middle of the creek. Shoot, in about 50 yards we were weaving through the big cypress trees that are growing in the creek, and it was time to start fishing. I flipped my cricket-bated hook out in a good-looking spot right beside one of the big trees, and my cork zipped under in about a second.

            “Come outta there!” I yelled. I set the hook and started to pull the fish in when I realized I didn’t have just a big bream on the line.

            “Hey, I got somethin’ pretty danged big!” I yelled. Heck, I was fighting that fish like crazy, and, shoot, I figured it was a bass that would weigh at least 3 pounds. Well, Daddy got the dip net ready, and I pulled up as hard as I could, and then—“Dang! It’s a worthless gar!” I yelled. A pretty big gar broke water, and then, before I could do anything, the sorry fish wrapped my line around a cypress knee and snapped it. That was one lousy way to start a fishing trip.

Alligator gars are what we call trash fish. You know, not good to eat, and all they do is mess up a fishing trip ’cause they’re usually big enough to where they’ll break your line.

Anyway, John Clayton kinda laughed and quipped, “That big bass sure had a long nose. Ha, ha.” Yeah, a gar is built like one of them torpedoes the navy uses, and their mouth is a long, pointed snout with some really sharp teeth, and I know how sharp ’cause last year I manage to land about a 3-pounder, and when I tried to unhook the sorry fish, it crunched down on my little finger. I still have a scar where that danged fish bit me. (I once had a college teacher tell me that an Alligator Gar is kinda like a living fossil. You know like one of them fish you seen in a museum that are in a rock.).....

Ask The Richard

To The Richard:

Why have we lost the tomato wars? What happen to all the Bradley Pinks? The tomatoes we get now have cardboard like skin, and they taste as if they came straight from California.

Brenda Cowslip

Jersey, AR

Possible answers:

(1) The University of Arkansas, operating under a six-hundred million dollar grant to develop a tomato that would bounce when dropped from a three-story building,—managed to do it.

(2) It has been documented that the first cardboard tomatoes appeared during the first year of the George W. Bush's presidency.

(3) The cardboard tomatoes are just an example of genetically engineered products. The Razorback Cheerleaders are to be next. The Alabama pom-pom girls have already been genetically engineered, and the results look very promising.

Answer: # 1. Actually, there is some truth in all of the above, but more blame must go to our fair University. The experiment to produce the durable Styrofoam tomatoes that could be reused as cups, and that could be grown in your garden, ended up as the noted Sty-fro-mater A little known fact is that the leftovers from River Market are sold to the Highway Department for pothole repair.

Ask The Richard

To The Richard:

I understand that in England they have something called the Department of People Who Walk Funny. Why can't we have similar departments?

Miss Susie Wiggles

Possum Trot, Arkansas

Dear Miss Wiggles:

You are very astute in your assessment of our need for additional state and federal departments. However, unbeknown to most of the public, many state and federal departments already have similar departments. I will list a few below.

(1) Under the Arkansas Facial Hair and Lip Enhancement Department there is a sub department called the Department of Eyelash Extension and Nail Color.

(2) The Arkansas Game and Fish Commission recently authorized a sub department called the Department of Lizards, Toads, and Bullfrogs. This department is also responsible for crawdads and salamanders, propagation and control.

(3) Another very active department, under the State Department of Natural Resources is  the sub Department of Home-made Whistles and Scarecrows, and this department is also the enforcement wing of the division and is responsible for making sure our discount stores have only Chinese products. 

South Arkansas a wilderness again?

To The Richard

I understand as South Arkansas continues to lose population it is in danger of becoming a wilderness again. Do you see any evidence of that happening?

Miss Donna Fay Triassic

Lost Valley, Arkansas

Dearest Donna Fay;

You bet I do. Listed below are several items that might show a trend toward South Arkansas becoming a wilderness.

(1) The state legislature will consider a bill to make L. A. (lower Arkansas) a territory again. Everything south of Fordyce will be known as the Territory of Lower Arkansas, and custom and immigration checkpoints will be manned along with border patrol stations.

(2) Sarah Palin has registered a homestead south of Luann.

(3) Two Red Wolf packs have returned and are terrorizing Hampton. Beavers have dammed the Ouachita River just north of Camden, and Kudzu has enveloped Bradley County.

(4) El Dorado will become the territorial capital next year, and the local Sons of Confederate veterans, Three Creeks chapter, will man all police stations and border crossings.

Answer: All of the above; welcome to L. A.

The Phantom of Norphlet

July 26th, 1944, Norphlet, Arkansas: A frightening message suddenly appears on the Norphlet Water Tank, "Beware! There is a specter amongst you!" The Phantom of Norphlet has announced his presence. Book number 12 of Richard, the Norphlet Paperboy series is finished and being edited.

The Norphlet Mafia, Chapters 17 & 18 Post 22

When we met the next morning, Mrs. Graves was out in the yard feeding those stinking Chihuahuas. When I took a good look at her yard and house, I nearly choked. Shoot, it had been dark when I came up with the idea of fixing and cleaning up her house and yard. But in bright daylight I noticed that the danged grass was about halfway up to my knees, the flowerbeds were so full of weeds you couldn’t see the flowers, and there was so much dirt on her windows it was hard for the sun to get through. But we didn’t have a choice, so I walked up to Mrs. Graves who was feeding her little “friends” and said, “Mrs. Graves we’re Boy Scouts, and we here to do our good deed for the day. We’re going to mow your yard, clean out your flowerbeds, and clean all the windows in your house.” Yeah, the Boy Scouts’ good-deed thing was a lie, but I couldn’t think of any other reason that I could tell her. You know like, “We’re trying to look good so the Marshal won’t send us to reform school.” But what I didn’t expect was how she acted. It took a few minutes for it to sink in, but when she saw my lawn mower, she really lit up. “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Boys, last night after I shot a couple of holes in my front door thinking I was shooting at burglar. I prayed the Lord would send me some help to fix up my door, mow my yard, and clean up my house! You boys are an answer to prayer!” Well, I have been called a lot of things, but being an answer to prayer ain’t one of ’em. “And, boys, while you’re at it, I have another door out in the shed behind the house. You wouldn’t mind hanging it for me would you?” “No, ma’am; we’ll get it,” I said as Ears and John Clayton just shot a hole through me with their eyes. ’Course I was wondering where Mr. Paul was so I asked, “Mrs. Graves where’s the man who was staying with you?” “Well, boys, after he got drunk last night and made up all those tales about manure and a animal’s head in his bed, Marshal Wing put him in jail to sober up. He got out of jail at daylight, and he was down at Fred Smith’s garage when Fred opened up at seven. Wanted him to clean his car; said it smelled. He was back here at nine, but he was still all upset. It seemed Fred cleaned his car and found two animal ears in it, but it still smelled to high heaven.” Yeah, it crossed my mind that they didn’t find the goat’s head under the backseat. Mrs. Graves kept talking, “And he was so upset. Finally, he put on one of those masks that painters wear to keep from breathing fumes, and just took off heading back to Little Rock.” The Norphlet Mafia had run the private eye out of town! Chapter 18 Trying to Look Good Okay, now I know I have done some stupid things, but agreeing to do all that yard and housework was right up there with kicking a wasp’s nest. Heck, it was mid-August and this is Arkansas not Alaska, and talk about hot… The weatherman said it was gonna be a record-setter, and that record was hot, not cold. But we were trapped like a rat in a barrel of cats. Either whip 10 cats, work like dogs, or get sent to reform school. Well, it wasn’t that bad early on, but it was a cloudless day, and my noon we were nearly just plain out of it. Mrs. Graves saved the day by bringing us a big, cold glasses of lemonade. As she handed up the lemonade she said, “Boys, I wish I could pay you, but I only get a small check from my late husband’s Social Security to get by on. Y’all know I raise Chihuahuas to help, but this has been a bad year, and I still have a whole litter that I haven’t sold yet because someone sprayed bleach on them. Sometimes I have to wait a week to buy groceries, but I am frying chicken for lunch, so you boys just wash up in about thirty minutes, and come sit to the table.” Yeah, I felt especially bad, ’cause I figured shooting the puppies with bleach had probably caused them not to get sold. And then to top it off, I had caused my two good friends to get all tangled up with everything, and all of us still might still get arrested. But, as I finished up the side part of the yard, I heard my stomach growling like some old bear, and I knew feeling bad was gonna get shoved to the back of my mind while I devoured that fried chicken. We had just finished lunch, and were about to start back to work when I saw Marshal Wing coming up the sidewalk. You bet I stopped breathing, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck just stick straight up. Well, the Marshal kinda slowed down and Mrs. Graves went out to talk with him. “Marshal, I sure hate it that my nephew caused so much trouble last night.” “Mrs. Graves, don’t you worry about that. I think he might have had a couple of beers too many down at Peg’s place. Anyway, I understand, he’s headed back to Little Rock.” “Well, maybe that’s for the best—oh, Marshal, look at my yard and house! I have had a prayer answered. These wonderful boys just showed up this morning, and they have been working all day. They’re little angels.” Well, I was watching Marshal Wing real closely, and he kinda frowned at “wonderful,” but as Mrs. Graves kept going on and on about all the stuff we had done, he kinda nodded. Well, we acted like we couldn’t wait to get back to work, especially with the Marshal standing right there. We had finished eating, and you bet it was good—the lemonade and fried chicken really pepped us up. But, you know, I really don’t think it was the lemonade and fried chicken. It was knowing that what we were doing was really helping a little old lady, who was just dirt poor, even if we were doing it for the wrong reasons. It was about 5 o’clock when we hung that new door—after we had to take it down to Boynton’s Hardware Store to get it cut down. Yeah, we were all just standing out in the front yard with Mrs. Graves, and she was telling us how good of a job we’d done when I saw a shadow on the grass, and it crossed my mind that it must be a big bird flying low. And then I heard a dog’s wild yelp, and we all turned and looked at the back yard where the 10 little Chihuahuas were scampering around, except now there were only nine. The biggest chicken hawk you have ever seen was taking off with one of the Chihuahuas in its claws. “Oh! Oh! The hawk has Prince Charming! Ahaaaaaaaaaaa!” You bet that scream from Mrs. Graves would easily have broken glass. “Richard do something! Save Prince Charming!” “Huh?” Yeah how am I supposed to save Prince Charming? That dang hawk was flying out of the back yard with little Prince Charming in its claws, and I didn’t have a clue what to do. But after Mrs. Graves let out another shriek, I figured I had better act like I was trying to do something, so I took off running after the hawk. Well, Prince Charming must have been a little heavy ’cause the hawk was flying low and it looked as if it was going to light. Oh my gosh, I thought. The hawk is going to light in that big tree ahead, and it’ll start eating Prince Charming! I turned on the speed, and I was nearly to the tree when the danged hawk lit. The hawk was about 30 feet up, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, but the hawk just ignored me. I guess that bird was tired of carrying a fat, little Chihuahua so it didn’t move. In fact it kinda glared down at me and then took a good look at supper. I’ve got to do something, I thought. Then I remembered my slingshot. Shoot, I grabbed it out of my back pocket just as the hawk plucked the first hair from Prince Charming and the little dog let out a yelp, I put a rock in the pouch and drew the rubber straps back. If I didn’t do something quickly it would be too late. I sent the first rock at the hawk, but I missed and it sailed right past it. Heck, I can get a second rock off real quick, though, and I did. When I let it go I knew it was gonna be real close and might even hit the hawk. It did. The second rock was right on target. Whap! It caught that hawk right below his neck, and although I knew a rock from a slingshot wasn’t gonna kill a big chicken hawk, it might upset it enough to drop Prince Charming. And it did! With a big screech, the danged chicken hawk jumped straight up, turned little Prince Charming loose, and flew off. I looked up to see a flying Chihuahua headed for the ground about 10 feet away. Heck, I play junior football for the Norphlet Leopards, and that brown ball of fur looked just like a football, so I made a dog-saving catch. ’Course I figured the dog would be kinda cut up from being clawed by a supersize chicken hawk, but outside of a couple of scratches, it was fine. Yeah, coming back up to Mrs. Graves’ house after saving one of her favorite dogs was really something. She was just going on and on about how wonderful I was when Marsha Wing walked back up. After about 10 minutes of telling Marshal Wing how great we were, she said there should be some kinda of a medal for saving Prince Charming. I figured it couldn’t get any better than that so we gathered up our tools and started back down the sidewalk toward town. Marshal Wing was right behind us, and when we turned the corner, he said kinda softly, “Boys, if I was y’all I’d forget I ever heard of the Norphlet Mafia.” He kinda smiled as he walked away, and I knew right then—no reform school. We were almost back downtown when Ears said something, “Y’all know what I’ve been thinking?” “Naw, what Ears?” I replied. “I think we should come back next week to Mrs. Graves’s house and do the same thing.” Then John Clayton piped up. “Yeah, and then the next week and the week after that…” “Hold it right there,” I said. “Let’s don’t get carried away.” The End