Panic in Langley Bottom---overview

“Panic…” is the twelfth of the Richard The Norphlet Paperboy novels.  This series has been favorable compared to Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. The reviews have been excellent with almost 50 five star reviews. The novels have been featured in a number of schools as required reading, and the comments from teachers and students alike have been extremely positive.

The novels are set in the mid 1940s during the Second World War, and are based on the author’s experiences during that time period. A number of adult reviewers have commented that these novels are for all ages, and the nostalgic setting always brings back positive comments from senior adults as the boys and their families huddle around the radio listing to the famous newscaster, Walter Winchell….”Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea…..this just in….General Patton army is on the move…”

A note from the author: “Writing this novel brought back more memories than any of the others I have written. The two boys, Richard and John Clayton get into quiet a bit of trouble as they usually do, but in this novel the settings are more authentic, and anyone growing up in South Arkansas during the 40s and 50s will recognize many of the places mentioned.

During the time frame covered by this novel, the most popular swimming hole for the boys in the Norphlet and Smackover area was a large, long abandoned oil storage pit called Blue Hole. One of the funniest situations I have penned occurs around a series of events that are kicked off by four boys going swimming in Blue Hole.

Just released today!Southern Historical fiction set in 1945 during the Second World War. Previous novels of this series have been favorably compared to Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. The 13 book series has garnered numerous five star Amazon reviews. The series is a nostalgic look at a time when families huddled by the radio, with young boys listening to The Lone Ranger and The Green Hornet. Later the adults would tune in famous newscaster Walter Winchell; "Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea....this just in...General Patton's army continues to march across Germany..." The numerous Amazon Five Star Reviews have all been from adults, but the readers of these books have ranged from teens to senior adults. The series is truly a book for all ages. Several reviewers have called Richard Mason "Americas' New Mark Twain."

Panic in Langley Bottom, an excerpt

.......As I washed it off I realized it was a nail, but when I looked at it closer I shook my head. It's a danged nail; a bent nail, but how did it get in the ground under a little willow tree?

Gosh, as I sat there and looked at that really unusual bent nail, I noticed something. The nail was square with a sharp point, and, like I said, it was bent. Well, I knew a couple of things from hunting arrowheads; Indians didn't have nails or for that matter anything made out of steel. Yeah, that hit me like a lead balloon, and I yelled to John Clayton, “Come here, quick! You are not gonna believe this!”

And then I had another thought. Must have been an old home-place here, and this is a nail from when they were building their house. Then it hit me! It was the wildest thing I could ever think. Naw, Mr. Joe told us that nobody had ever lived anywhere around here—-Could this nail be a Spanish nail— a nail from de Soto’s expedition?

John Clayton walked up about that time, and I handed him the nail. “Take a look at what I found.”

“Humm, it looks like a nail, but it’s bent.”

“Well, yeah, it is a nail. Look at how it’s shaped and look at the sharp point. What you make of that?”

“Heck, it I know. Maybe there’s an old house-place ’round here.”

“Naw, Mr. Joe said that he has the only house in these parts and as far as he knows no one has ever lived back here in the woods.”

“Well, we know several thousand Indians lived right around here.”

“You bet we do, but Indians didn’t have steel knives or anything else. This couldn’t have come from the Indians.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But who?”

“Just think about it. Somebody was building something, and they bent a nail and threw it away. I found the nail that they threw away.”

“Okay, Shearwood Homes, what else?”

“Well, since the Indians didn’t have nails, then someone staying with the Indians were using nails to build something. Right?”

“That’s right, Shearwood.”

“Okay, we know one thing for durn sure, nobody but Indians has ever lived anywhere around here, right?”

“You’re a hundred percent Shearwood.”

“All right then if it can’t be the Indians and it can’t be somebody’s old house-place, who does that leave it to be?”

“You tell me, Shearwood.”

“Hernando de Soto…”

“You have got to be kidding…”

“No, I’m not, and there’s more.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just guess what the Spanish were building when the man bent the nail?”

“I’ll never guess in a million years, so you tell me Shearwood.”

“A coffin.”

“What? What makes you think the man who bent this nail was building a coffin?”

“Well, Mr. Smartass, you tell me what else could he have been building?”

“Uh, well, maybe. Uh, well I can’t think of anything right now.”

“No you can’t because that’s the logical thing, and who do we know was buried at the winter camp of de Soto?

“El Canto?”......

Panic in Langley Bottom---excerpt

.....As I washed it off I realized it was a nail, but when I looked at it closer I shook my head. It's a danged nail; a bent nail, but how did it get in the ground under a little willow tree?

Gosh, as I sat there and looked at that really unusual bent nail, I noticed something. The nail was square with a sharp point, and, like I said, it was bent. Well, I knew a couple of things from hunting arrowheads; Indians didn't have nails or for that matter anything made out of steel. Yeah, that hit me like a lead balloon, and I yelled to John Clayton, “Come here, quick! You are not gonna believe this!”

And then I had another thought. Must have been an old home-place here, and this is a nail from when they were building their house. Then it hit me! It was the wildest thing I could ever think. Naw, Mr. Joe told us that nobody had ever lived anywhere around here—-Could this nail be a Spanish nail— a nail from de Soto’s expedition?

John Clayton walked up about that time, and I handed him the nail. “Take a look at what I found.”

“Humm, it looks like a nail, but it’s bent.”

“Well, yeah, it is a nail. Look at how it’s shaped and look at the sharp point. What you make of that?”

“Heck, it I know. Maybe there’s an old house-place ’round here.”

“Naw, Mr. Joe said that he has the only house in these parts and as far as he knows no one has ever lived back here in the woods.”

“Well, we know several thousand Indians lived right around here.”

“You bet we do, but Indians didn’t have steel knives or anything else. This couldn’t have come from the Indians.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But who?”

“Just think about it. Somebody was building something, and they bent a nail and threw it away. I found the nail that they threw away.”

“Okay, Shearwood Homes, what else?”

“Well, since the Indians didn’t have nails, then someone staying with the Indians were using nails to build something. Right?”

“That’s right, Shearwood.”

“Okay, we know one thing for durn sure, nobody but Indians has ever lived anywhere around here, right?”

“You’re a hundred percent Shearwood.”

“All right then if it can’t be the Indians and it can’t be somebody’s old house-place, who does that leave it to be?”

“You tell me, Shearwood.”

“Hernando de Soto…”

“You have got to be kidding…”

“No, I’m not, and there’s more.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just guess what the Spanish were building when the man bent the nail?”

“I’ll never guess in a million years, so you tell me Shearwood.”

“A coffin.”

“What? What makes you think the man who bent this nail was building a coffin?”

“Well, Mr. Smartass, you tell me what else could he have been building?”

“Uh, well, maybe. Uh, well I can’t think of anything right now.”

“No you can’t because that’s the logical thing, and who do we know was buried at the winter camp of de Soto?

“El Canto?”.....

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.