40StudeDude
01-20-2006, 08:17 PM
Serial: A work appearing in parts at pre-determined intervals. More at installment.
Installment. Issued as part of a consecutively published and indefinitely continued series. Serials and installments used on major radio stations in the 1930, 1940’s and some of the 1950’s. Radio programs such as Dick Tracy (1934-1948), The Shadow (1931-1954), Amos n’ Andy, (1930-1952), Fibber McGee & Molly, (1935-1959), The Great Gildersleeve (a spin-off from Fibber McGee, 1941-1950), Buck Rogers (1932-1941) and in 1940, Superman rode the airwaves into everyone’s home three times a week in the serial until 1951. There were countless other serials on the radios back in the day…way before television ever found its way into homes. Families gathered around the radio to listen to a serial much like today’s families gather to watch a certain continuing television program…
This serial requires your intrigue, your imagination, your sound effects and your indulgence.
PART THREE – The Sheriff’s ears.
The Powers County Sheriff heard about the race. Sam Buckner couldn’t believe there were several youngsters living around his small town stupid enough to plan a drag race, on HIS highways in HIS county. They wouldn’t get away with it even if he had to deputize every able bodied man in the county. No one was going to break the law in his jurisdiction, especially a drag race…and get away with it!
Even his young deputy, the ruggedly handsome Lewis Blake, known locally as “Lew” by all, knew this race was going to be The Big One. He was a proponent of “every town has it’s own story”…and this one could put Flatfield on the map, something he can use to his advantage! He certainly acted more worried than Sheriff Samuel “Sam” Buckner…even asked him to deputize extra people, corral them so he alone could arrest both young men, their accomplices and spectators…and like all young men, an ulterior motive was sunk deep in his head…but what a feather in his hat it would be! So big, that when elections came around next fall, he’d be able to run…possibly get elected as the youngest Sheriff in Powers County, take over Sam’s job.
Sheriff Buckner didn’t want outsiders in his jurisdiction, so he denied Blake’s request, but phoned nearly everyone else he knew in the county, asked them to be available when, and IF, the drag race actually took place. The main problem was that he’d simply heard about the race, second-hand…but had no more information on when it was to happen…or where…and that bothered him a lot!
He knew if he wasn’t in the right place at the right time, could be…one of the young men, or both, wouldn’t make it home under his own power, he’d go home in a lined box…permanently…and, if the Sheriff had anything to do with it, that simply was not going to happen on his watch. Sheriff Buckner had heard who was going to be doing the racing and he personally knew both these young men, what they were capable of and certainly didn’t want to see the unthinkable happen. His deputy didn’t either, but was positive the race would happen regardless of who knew.
Sheriff Buckner decided he’d better pay a little visit to Zack since he lived a few miles east of Flatfield and just a few easy miles off the main highway, in the four-stop- sign town of Guffey’s Corner…he couldn’t take the time, nor use the county’s money to drive in to Omaha to talk to Blade…even tho he’d like to. Zack might be a bit easier to intimidate…get him to see the error of his ways…at the very least, let him know that the Sheriff was wise to their game and get it passed on to Blade.
He grabbed keys to the newly acquired 1977 Ford cruiser off the office board and headed out the door. “I’d bet Blade’s the one that got this whole thing started, always was the one that couldn’t let anything slide,” he mumbled as he opened the car door, slid in and started the engine. He flipped on the windshield wipers and watched mud smear all the way across the glass…the wind had been kicking up a small storm earlier and with most of the fields now shorn of their corn, wheat or sorghum, the dust blew around in big clouds…good thing it’s raining, need to keep that good blak Iowa dirt right where it is. Leaves floated across the glass like small boats on a sea of mucky brown water, back and forth, back and forth, stuck under the wipers and nearly hypnotizing Sheriff Buckner. He blinked, shook his head, glanced at the instrument panel, pounded his fist on the wheel, turned the car off and removed the keys. “Who in hell was the last one in this car?” he mumbled to no one within earshot as he slid from under the steering wheel…no one was going to be standing in the pouring rain to hear his cussing…he was alone…the aviator’s sunglasses he always had with him were spotted with rain and water ran down his face. The regulation dark blue coat was getting soaked and the windshield, now covered with rain in the sudden downpour, was slowly being washed clean…and he was past being soaking wet. He walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk…“Dammit-all-to-hell, that’s the last time I let Lew take MY cruiser…” Lew was the last one in the car…last night…just before Sam checked out to go home, watched him check it out for his rounds, short as they were. Where in hell did he use up all the gas, where’d he go? Supposed to simply drive around town…let himself be seen…shouldn’t have used quarter of a tank for that! And the damned extra five gallon can we always carry is empty…how in hell? Why in hell? I’m gonna slap that kid up side the head!
Sheriff Sam got back in the car, tossed his messed-up sunglasses onto the dash, started the car and put it in reverse. “Hope I got enough to get to the station,” he said. One of his little idiosyncrasies, always talking out loud when he was angry…and he was angry about this! “If we’da had an emergency last nite, we’da been screwed big time…damned kid never thinks ahead.”
He pulled the shifter into low, laid on the accelerator and spun the tires, tossing up a ton of debris, leaves and mud…right onto the hood and windshield of the Mayor’s just- off-the-showroom-floor ’79 Lincoln…the only luxury car in Flatfield. Sheriff Sam hadn’t seen him pull up behind nor did he hear him honk his horn, trying to get his attention.
Mayor Kosgrove ducked as debris flew toward his car and realized the windshield stopped the mess…he flipped on the wipers, pushed the washer button and cleared the glass of muck…noticing the combination of mud, dirt and leaves stuck to the hood of his car. Dejected that his car was not new anymore at this point, he watched the Sheriff speed east, already past the town speed limit sign…and with no lights flashing. He parked in the spot just vacated by the Sheriff, got out of the Lincoln, dabbed at the muck on the hood of the Lincoln, slightly angry cuz the car was so new, never had been dirty…and hurried toward the door.
“Evening Mayor,” John Milner said, holding the door open, acknowledging the Mayor’s 6 foot 6 inch tall, 295 pound prescence. “Rough night, eh?
“Yes, very wet out there, but we need it. Just got my new car all dirty…mud all over the hood and windshield. I hate that. Say John, think mopping the floor now is going to do any good?”
“Well, ya know, Mayor,” John thot a moment and stroked his graying beard, running his fingers thru it, “y’all pay me to clean up this place nightly, mopping this here floor is part of my cleaning and I’d rather keep it a bit clean a little bit at a time than to have to do it all once in the morn…besides, you don’t want anyone tracking mud on that new carpet you just had installed in the hallway and offices, now, do ya?”
“Got a point, John. How’s your wife, Georgia?”
“Oh fine, ya know she’s been having some trouble with her back again.”
“Have you taken her into Omaha to get it checked?”
“Ya know, been meaning to, but with me working nights at this here job and been on days down at the canning plant, until last’ week…and ya know, all the driving back and forth I gotta do, ya know, jus’ can’t find the time to get her over there.” He stood, leaning against the wet mop, water puddling the floor, his left hand stroked his beard, ran his fingers thru it.
“John, listen, next time we get an ambulance in here from Omaha, put her in it. I’ll let Dorree know I want her to hold that ambulance until you can get your wife into town, you’re up for a free ride to Omaha for her, aren’t you?”
“Well, thank you kindly, Mayor, ya know I shore do ‘preciate that. Yep, I can get her here, ya know, if’n it ain’ta gonna cost me anything to get her there.”
“I’ll personally pick up the tab for you, John, I like your wife, she’s good people…and so are you, we appreciate you doing such a good job for us. In Flatfield, we take care of our own. Now, can you tell me where the Sheriff was headed?”
“Yeah, ya know, he said he was going over to see young Zack Franklen, mumbled something about seeing if he could deter him from doing something stupid. Ya know, I don’t know zactly what he meant by that, ya know? He figured he’d be back by 9 or so. Ya know you can call him on the radio, ya know?”
“Yes, exactly what I was planning. Any idea what he meant by that?”
“Nope, ya know, really don’t…I try to keep an ear on things around here…but he didn’t confide in me on that one. I’m just a janitor ‘round here, ya know…don’t know nothing ‘bout keeping the peace, crime or trying to talk anyone out of anything, ya know, or into anything like that…just try to take care of my own little corner of the world.”
“Thanks John,” Mayor Kosgrove said, checking the bottoms of his shoes. “Don’t want to track any mud in on those new carpets, I’ll give him a call on the radio.”
* * *
Hmmmmmm, looks like Flatfield’s Mayor is curious as to where Sam went…and John Milner is a bit slow…or…may be that’s just an act? Hmmmm….I wonder…(and I wrote this story!)! Sometimes these characters take on a life of their own! Also wonder if John’s any relation to the world famous John Milner that lives in Sacramento, California? Naw, that’d be stretching the story a bit, now wouldn’t it? Wonder why the Mayor wanted to know where the sheriff went? Think the Sheriff will talk Zack out of this drag race? Think Sam will run out of gas on the way…didn’t say he was headed for the gas station and already had his foot in the carburetor…ya know?
This story is starting to get quite interesting isn’t it? Guess you’ll just have to pull the HAMB up next Friday nite for more of this cereal…uhm…whoa…serial. Hey, we’re gonna need more beer next Friday, bring a couple cases, willya?
C Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,
R-
Copyright 11-05 –RAJetter/Aden Rush
A word from your sponsor:
“Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads”…the book, by R.A. Jetter describes a 16 year-old’s life in the late fifties up to the mid 1960’s in the Midwest…and what it was like to get into illegal drag races and fist-fights…it’s a series of 26 episodes, with each episode described in how and why, between each story. Vintage B & W photos are included-- a total of 208 pages.
High speed car stories set in the 1960’s.
Wanna know how it really went down back then? Wanna know what new ‘61 409’s, ’62 406 Fords ran like off the showroom floor? Wanna read about drag races, sock hops, real cruising and Premium gasoline? Wanna know how most of us spent our weekends back then? Wanna ride along with a lunatic?
If you do…this book will, at least, educate you to how it really was in the Midwest!
A personal, autographed copy is available at www.RAJetter.com (http://www.rajetter.com/) …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.
Installment. Issued as part of a consecutively published and indefinitely continued series. Serials and installments used on major radio stations in the 1930, 1940’s and some of the 1950’s. Radio programs such as Dick Tracy (1934-1948), The Shadow (1931-1954), Amos n’ Andy, (1930-1952), Fibber McGee & Molly, (1935-1959), The Great Gildersleeve (a spin-off from Fibber McGee, 1941-1950), Buck Rogers (1932-1941) and in 1940, Superman rode the airwaves into everyone’s home three times a week in the serial until 1951. There were countless other serials on the radios back in the day…way before television ever found its way into homes. Families gathered around the radio to listen to a serial much like today’s families gather to watch a certain continuing television program…
This serial requires your intrigue, your imagination, your sound effects and your indulgence.
PART THREE – The Sheriff’s ears.
The Powers County Sheriff heard about the race. Sam Buckner couldn’t believe there were several youngsters living around his small town stupid enough to plan a drag race, on HIS highways in HIS county. They wouldn’t get away with it even if he had to deputize every able bodied man in the county. No one was going to break the law in his jurisdiction, especially a drag race…and get away with it!
Even his young deputy, the ruggedly handsome Lewis Blake, known locally as “Lew” by all, knew this race was going to be The Big One. He was a proponent of “every town has it’s own story”…and this one could put Flatfield on the map, something he can use to his advantage! He certainly acted more worried than Sheriff Samuel “Sam” Buckner…even asked him to deputize extra people, corral them so he alone could arrest both young men, their accomplices and spectators…and like all young men, an ulterior motive was sunk deep in his head…but what a feather in his hat it would be! So big, that when elections came around next fall, he’d be able to run…possibly get elected as the youngest Sheriff in Powers County, take over Sam’s job.
Sheriff Buckner didn’t want outsiders in his jurisdiction, so he denied Blake’s request, but phoned nearly everyone else he knew in the county, asked them to be available when, and IF, the drag race actually took place. The main problem was that he’d simply heard about the race, second-hand…but had no more information on when it was to happen…or where…and that bothered him a lot!
He knew if he wasn’t in the right place at the right time, could be…one of the young men, or both, wouldn’t make it home under his own power, he’d go home in a lined box…permanently…and, if the Sheriff had anything to do with it, that simply was not going to happen on his watch. Sheriff Buckner had heard who was going to be doing the racing and he personally knew both these young men, what they were capable of and certainly didn’t want to see the unthinkable happen. His deputy didn’t either, but was positive the race would happen regardless of who knew.
Sheriff Buckner decided he’d better pay a little visit to Zack since he lived a few miles east of Flatfield and just a few easy miles off the main highway, in the four-stop- sign town of Guffey’s Corner…he couldn’t take the time, nor use the county’s money to drive in to Omaha to talk to Blade…even tho he’d like to. Zack might be a bit easier to intimidate…get him to see the error of his ways…at the very least, let him know that the Sheriff was wise to their game and get it passed on to Blade.
He grabbed keys to the newly acquired 1977 Ford cruiser off the office board and headed out the door. “I’d bet Blade’s the one that got this whole thing started, always was the one that couldn’t let anything slide,” he mumbled as he opened the car door, slid in and started the engine. He flipped on the windshield wipers and watched mud smear all the way across the glass…the wind had been kicking up a small storm earlier and with most of the fields now shorn of their corn, wheat or sorghum, the dust blew around in big clouds…good thing it’s raining, need to keep that good blak Iowa dirt right where it is. Leaves floated across the glass like small boats on a sea of mucky brown water, back and forth, back and forth, stuck under the wipers and nearly hypnotizing Sheriff Buckner. He blinked, shook his head, glanced at the instrument panel, pounded his fist on the wheel, turned the car off and removed the keys. “Who in hell was the last one in this car?” he mumbled to no one within earshot as he slid from under the steering wheel…no one was going to be standing in the pouring rain to hear his cussing…he was alone…the aviator’s sunglasses he always had with him were spotted with rain and water ran down his face. The regulation dark blue coat was getting soaked and the windshield, now covered with rain in the sudden downpour, was slowly being washed clean…and he was past being soaking wet. He walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk…“Dammit-all-to-hell, that’s the last time I let Lew take MY cruiser…” Lew was the last one in the car…last night…just before Sam checked out to go home, watched him check it out for his rounds, short as they were. Where in hell did he use up all the gas, where’d he go? Supposed to simply drive around town…let himself be seen…shouldn’t have used quarter of a tank for that! And the damned extra five gallon can we always carry is empty…how in hell? Why in hell? I’m gonna slap that kid up side the head!
Sheriff Sam got back in the car, tossed his messed-up sunglasses onto the dash, started the car and put it in reverse. “Hope I got enough to get to the station,” he said. One of his little idiosyncrasies, always talking out loud when he was angry…and he was angry about this! “If we’da had an emergency last nite, we’da been screwed big time…damned kid never thinks ahead.”
He pulled the shifter into low, laid on the accelerator and spun the tires, tossing up a ton of debris, leaves and mud…right onto the hood and windshield of the Mayor’s just- off-the-showroom-floor ’79 Lincoln…the only luxury car in Flatfield. Sheriff Sam hadn’t seen him pull up behind nor did he hear him honk his horn, trying to get his attention.
Mayor Kosgrove ducked as debris flew toward his car and realized the windshield stopped the mess…he flipped on the wipers, pushed the washer button and cleared the glass of muck…noticing the combination of mud, dirt and leaves stuck to the hood of his car. Dejected that his car was not new anymore at this point, he watched the Sheriff speed east, already past the town speed limit sign…and with no lights flashing. He parked in the spot just vacated by the Sheriff, got out of the Lincoln, dabbed at the muck on the hood of the Lincoln, slightly angry cuz the car was so new, never had been dirty…and hurried toward the door.
“Evening Mayor,” John Milner said, holding the door open, acknowledging the Mayor’s 6 foot 6 inch tall, 295 pound prescence. “Rough night, eh?
“Yes, very wet out there, but we need it. Just got my new car all dirty…mud all over the hood and windshield. I hate that. Say John, think mopping the floor now is going to do any good?”
“Well, ya know, Mayor,” John thot a moment and stroked his graying beard, running his fingers thru it, “y’all pay me to clean up this place nightly, mopping this here floor is part of my cleaning and I’d rather keep it a bit clean a little bit at a time than to have to do it all once in the morn…besides, you don’t want anyone tracking mud on that new carpet you just had installed in the hallway and offices, now, do ya?”
“Got a point, John. How’s your wife, Georgia?”
“Oh fine, ya know she’s been having some trouble with her back again.”
“Have you taken her into Omaha to get it checked?”
“Ya know, been meaning to, but with me working nights at this here job and been on days down at the canning plant, until last’ week…and ya know, all the driving back and forth I gotta do, ya know, jus’ can’t find the time to get her over there.” He stood, leaning against the wet mop, water puddling the floor, his left hand stroked his beard, ran his fingers thru it.
“John, listen, next time we get an ambulance in here from Omaha, put her in it. I’ll let Dorree know I want her to hold that ambulance until you can get your wife into town, you’re up for a free ride to Omaha for her, aren’t you?”
“Well, thank you kindly, Mayor, ya know I shore do ‘preciate that. Yep, I can get her here, ya know, if’n it ain’ta gonna cost me anything to get her there.”
“I’ll personally pick up the tab for you, John, I like your wife, she’s good people…and so are you, we appreciate you doing such a good job for us. In Flatfield, we take care of our own. Now, can you tell me where the Sheriff was headed?”
“Yeah, ya know, he said he was going over to see young Zack Franklen, mumbled something about seeing if he could deter him from doing something stupid. Ya know, I don’t know zactly what he meant by that, ya know? He figured he’d be back by 9 or so. Ya know you can call him on the radio, ya know?”
“Yes, exactly what I was planning. Any idea what he meant by that?”
“Nope, ya know, really don’t…I try to keep an ear on things around here…but he didn’t confide in me on that one. I’m just a janitor ‘round here, ya know…don’t know nothing ‘bout keeping the peace, crime or trying to talk anyone out of anything, ya know, or into anything like that…just try to take care of my own little corner of the world.”
“Thanks John,” Mayor Kosgrove said, checking the bottoms of his shoes. “Don’t want to track any mud in on those new carpets, I’ll give him a call on the radio.”
* * *
Hmmmmmm, looks like Flatfield’s Mayor is curious as to where Sam went…and John Milner is a bit slow…or…may be that’s just an act? Hmmmm….I wonder…(and I wrote this story!)! Sometimes these characters take on a life of their own! Also wonder if John’s any relation to the world famous John Milner that lives in Sacramento, California? Naw, that’d be stretching the story a bit, now wouldn’t it? Wonder why the Mayor wanted to know where the sheriff went? Think the Sheriff will talk Zack out of this drag race? Think Sam will run out of gas on the way…didn’t say he was headed for the gas station and already had his foot in the carburetor…ya know?
This story is starting to get quite interesting isn’t it? Guess you’ll just have to pull the HAMB up next Friday nite for more of this cereal…uhm…whoa…serial. Hey, we’re gonna need more beer next Friday, bring a couple cases, willya?
C Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,
R-
Copyright 11-05 –RAJetter/Aden Rush
A word from your sponsor:
“Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads”…the book, by R.A. Jetter describes a 16 year-old’s life in the late fifties up to the mid 1960’s in the Midwest…and what it was like to get into illegal drag races and fist-fights…it’s a series of 26 episodes, with each episode described in how and why, between each story. Vintage B & W photos are included-- a total of 208 pages.
High speed car stories set in the 1960’s.
Wanna know how it really went down back then? Wanna know what new ‘61 409’s, ’62 406 Fords ran like off the showroom floor? Wanna read about drag races, sock hops, real cruising and Premium gasoline? Wanna know how most of us spent our weekends back then? Wanna ride along with a lunatic?
If you do…this book will, at least, educate you to how it really was in the Midwest!
A personal, autographed copy is available at www.RAJetter.com (http://www.rajetter.com/) …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.