Art & Inspiration The Friday Nite Cereal….ehrrrr, uhhh… “Serial.” Part 14

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’s, 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 FOURTEEN - The ultimate drag race…finally!!!.

The hiway was flat, straight…nearly perfect…and empty. And way too far away from the Sheriff’s headquarters to worry about being caught. Dry enuff now, Friday nite, for a real go at seeing who had the best, or quikest car. Blade was ready…and on his way, with Stubby filling the passenger’s seat, quikly emptying one can of beer…it went sailing out the window as he reached for another.

“Thirsty, Stubs?” Blade shouted over the dull roar of the wind blasting in from both open windows. “We’re not even across the river yet and you’re guzzling those things like the brewery went out of business.”

“Long day,” Stubby said.

“Uh-hunh…and why was it a long day? Let me guess – maybe if you hadn’t stayed out all nite, with that slutty thinkg you picked up in the bar, you wouldn’t have had to crawl into work today.”

“Gimmee a break, B…it ain’t anything you haven’t done before.”

“True, but then again, my hangover is usually gone by the time I roll into the shop.” Blade answered. “Gimmee one of those before you kill them all off.”

“Can’t help it if you hold your liquor better’n’ me,” Stubby answered, grabbing another beer out of the brown bag and handing it to Blade. “And don’t give me any more shit about her…she was a one-niter…that’s all…doubt I’ll ever see her again.”

“Yeah, if you stay away from that bar, that is, ” Blade grinned…looked at Stubby, could tell he still felt bad. “You ever seen this stretch of road we’re going to take care of that Mercury on?”

“Yeah, I been over it a couple of times…nothing really stands out about it…’bout a quarter mile long, mebbee a bit more…takes a dive after the end marker…left turn, going down hill…it’s tight, but you can beat him there.”

A bit past the quarter mile marker from the driveway starting point, the road took an immediate midwest square-cornered left. What’s to worry? So there’s a ditch, trees, a farm field…BFD!

Not so easy. On the rite lane’s side, the edge of the road immediately fell off. Below, some 150 plus feet down the eroded bank, the Missouri river ran swiftly. The bank had been scoured this past spring by the flood, ate it away, leaving a monster cliff. Powers County didn’t have money to fix it, or put up a guardrail…yellow and blak barricades announced the wash-out, a “Reduce speed” sign hugged the right side of the asphalt. The left lane would be the easiest, but…when facing traffic there was no way to see oncoming cars coming around the curve. To make things worse, the road took that hard left…and a downhill dive just after the curve…extremely dangerous situation.

It took Blade and Stubby a little over an hour, and three six paks, from the Nebraska/Iowa line…Zack wasn’t waiting as expected when they got there. No one was…that surprised Blade, he expected a few spectators…no, wanted a lot of spectators watching, to prove once and for all who has the best car, who the best driver is. After waiting for a few minutes on the side of the road, he motioned Stubby into the coop and they drove down the straightaway, to the curve, inspected it and the highway…noticed just after the square corner, the downhill run was almost a mile.

“Which lane you taking?” Stubby asked.

Blade knew once he made the curve the race was his….so he’d take the oncoming traffic lane…stay away from the rite lane --the barricades, the cliff…and since he was first to arrive, lane choice was his. He checked his gas gauge - little over quarter tank. He and Stubby got back in and he turned the coop around, drove back to the starting point, turned around again and shut the Deuce off in the left lane.

Blade stepped out of the coop just as Zack rolled up in the Merc…Stubby’s watch showed 7:55. Zack’s friend, Conner, pulled up behind him…slid out and let his J-2 powered ’57 Olds idle. He opened the trunk, grabbed a flashlite and checked the batteries. Stubby got out of the coop and he and Blade walked to the front of the Merc…Zack slipped out of the chopped coop, nodded at them and walked to the Olds, they followed.

Conner looked at Zack, then Blade. “You’re both aware of the Iowa “unwritten” rules?” They nodded. “Same goes for Omaha’s unwritten rules. The race will start at the entrance to the farmer’s field, the crack that runs across the highway, right there,” he shined his flashlight up the road, “and will end ¼ mile from that point. There’s a series of Burma Shave signs that start down there,” he shined his flashlite down the road, towards the curve, “…the first sign is the end of the quarter. Understand?”

Stubby walked to the middle of the road and looked both ways, Blade turned his head a couple times to get an accurate view of the surrounding area…don’t need any surprises tonite. “Don’t see any side roads where John Law could slip up on us.”

“No,” Zack said, “that’s why we chose this part of the highway. It’s farthest away form the Powers County Sheriff’s office…takes them a long time to get here…no houses people or anything to turn us in…besides, we’ll be gone by the time the law gets here, if they’re called.”

“You know where we are to meet should the law show up?” Conner asked. Nods again. Zack pulled out his money, handed it to Conner. Conner asked for Blade’s, grabbed another flashlite from alongside the spare tire in the Olds’ cavernous trunk, unscrewed the end and held out his hand. Blade handed him $250…he added Zack’s $250, rolled it up, slipped a rubber band around it and shoved it inside the handle, put the end back and placed it in his back pocket. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money for a single race, especially in 1978. Blade motioned Stubby to the side of the road, to wait.

“Let’s do it,” Blade ordered.

“Not yet,” Zack replied, stopping Stubby in his tracks.

“What the hell we waiting for? Highway’s dry enuff and we got no spectators to get in the way.”

“An impartial observer,” Zack pointed up the road.
“Who? Don’t need anyone else here.” Blade mouthed angrily.

“Just a friend…a female friend…the one you embarrassed at the drive-in…I owe her…she wants to see you get your butt whipped.”

“Why you mouthy little pipsqueak, I oughta whip your ass right here right now,” Blade shouted, doubling his fists taking a few steps toward Zack…

“C’mon punk, let’s settle this…without cars…” Zack said. “You ain’t scaring anyone here.”

Blade took a swing, Zack stepped back and felt the air move as Blade’s fist went by…another swing, another right misses…Zack swung and connected, caught Blade on the jaw…he staggered back. Stubby grabbed Zack from behind…pinning his arms behind him, holding him so Blade could make his swing count. Blade rubbed his chin…advanced toward Zack. Conner yelled, holding a chromed tire iron high…Hold on Blade…you mite want back off a little,” he shouted. That stopped him in his trax. “Stubby, let him go…that’s a chicken-shit play, Blade…and if either one of you insist on this fight, well, then…how would the shiny black paint on this coop look with a few dents in the top…and maybe even that gorgeous hood? Yeah, looks like you put a lot of time in on that hood, Blade.” Conner raised the tire iron above the coop’s hood.

“Hold on a minnit, Conner,” Blade said. “We’ll settle this the way we agreed on…Stubs, let him go.”

“Asshole,” Zack said, pulling loose from Stubby’s hold, “gotta have your pally hold your opponent so you can get in the last jab…what a chicken-shit you are…”

“Zack,” Conner shouted. “Let it go…we got this race won."

“Not yet you don’t,” Stubby said.

“Only one way to find that out, Conner,” Blade shouted. “Stubby, ride with Conner to the corner…we need to make sure both sides see the end of the race the same.”

“Car coming,” Stubby yelled. “…everyone be cool.”

Zack’s girlfriend, Vicki rolled up in her Daddy’s car…parked in the entrance to the farmer’s field and walked toward the four guys.

“Who’s this?” Blade asked.

“My ‘impartial observer’…guess now you know she’s not so impartial…but we’ll need a starter for the race…she’s it,” Zack said.

Conner handed Vicki both flashlites, she jammed one into the inside pocket of her jacket. “You sure you want to do this, Blade?” she grinned and eyeballed Blade. “I know Zack does.” She turned and looked at Zack, he grinned and nodded his assuredness. “Get your cars lined up,” she ordered.

A minute later four front tires crowded the blak crack traversing the concrete hiway…cams bumped, carbs sucked, engines rocked, exhausts growled…and waited. She motioned for Conner and Stubby to head for the finish line. Couple minutes later, with Conner off the road at the at the Burma Shave signs, she raised the flashlite, finger on the button. She pointed the flashlite at Zack – ready. She pointed it at Blade -- he waved, too. Once. Twice. Three -- Go! Two flatheads snarled, lurched, tried to get past her as tire smoke, and its acrid smell, hung in the thick, damp air…Blade’s rear fender damn near hit her as his coop clawed for traction and shot ahead. The Merc, heavier and longer, finally got past her and gave chase. No one had any idea who would win at this point…only that they couldn’t get around that curve side by side. Vicki spun around, trotted forward out of the tire smoke to watch…the smell of burnt clutch, the best smell way before nitro, filled her nose and she reveled in the moment of it, grinning like a Cheshire cat…confidence in Zack.

Blade looked like he was ahead by the smallest of margins, but the Merc was gaining. Blade banged the tranny into second…and missed…the flathead winged, blak smoke exited dual exhausts…man, that hadda hurt! Zack shot ahead, made his second gear change but Blade wasn’t going to give up easily. His tires smoked again…the chase was on…the tables had turned. All bets off!

Zack’s Merc was the stronger car…but Blade wasn’t quitting. The corner was coming fast. Zack held the edge…looked like he was going to make it to the curve first…that is…until Sheriff Sam Buckner flipped on his red lites and edged out of the trees partway into Zack’s lane. Scared the shit outta the kid, he whipped the wheel to the left. Thots roared thru his head…did Blade know the Sheriff was there? That why he took the left lane? No way to know…but Zack’s brakelites lit and the nose of the lowered two-door took a huge dive, the front bumper popping rocks outta the concrete, sparks flew. The Merc fishtailed. Zack tried like hell to control it. The blak and white Ford hung a fender a bit farther into the roadway, allowing Zack no way around it. The Sheriff was determined to stop one of them…and it looked like he was intentionally letting Blade win. Zack’s Merc cut left quickly, tires bawled and he whipped it in behind the Deuce, clipped Blade’s rear fender and bumper. The coop wobbled but Blade didn’t hit his brakes. He saw Zack in his rear view mirror…and the sheriff pull out behind him. Blade knew rite then and there the race was his. Both cars squealed around the corner glued front to back and the Sheriff not thirty feet behind, the huge engine in the blak & white wailed and sucked and roared and gained. Up ahead, a car sat blocking both lanes of traffic -- lites flashing, the road blocked.

“Who in hell?” Sheriff Sam questioned aloud…noticing the blocked road. Looks like the hiway patrol…but how? He didn’t have much more than a split second to think about it.

Zack floored the Merc’s accelerator, it was apparent the law had them, one cruiser in front blocking the road and the sheriff behind them…Zack whipped back into the rite lane again, slammed the shifter into second and screamed around Blade, honked his horn and motioned him to follow. Just before the bottom of the hill, the Merc’s brakelites illuminated briefly and Blade knew that was signal to watch closely…the Merc cut a quik rite at the lower river road, banged across the rickety bridge and disappeared into the scrub-brush…and the welcoming darkness…the Deuce glued to his rear bumper.

The Sheriff slammed on the brakes…the big ol’ cruiser wasn’t going to make that corner in hot pursuit…he hauled the cruiser to the left and rite trying to get her stopped, tires crying in pain…he missed every bit of the corner and the hiway itself, screeched into the watery cat-tail pond, water and cat-tails went everywhere and the cruiser sunk up to the windows.

Meanwhile, up on the hill, having seen what just happened, Conner and Stubby and the Olds came screaming back toward Vicki and past in a blur of blue steel speed…arms waving out the window, shouting “follow us, follow us”…she hurried to her car and gave chase….headed for the meeting place.

Zack never showed up. After three hours…Vicki got worried, threatened to sic the Hiway Patrol on all of them if Zack didn’t show up soon. Conner assured her for the eighth time Zack was okay and he’d tell her why…“tomorrow, okay?” She tired of waiting and eventually left.

Blade finally showed to pick up Stubby…even Blade agreed the race was a draw that nite…and said he didn’t care about the money…told Conner to “split it with Stubby.” He also had extremely bad words for his uncle, Sheriff Sam…worse for his father for interfering, said he had no right to expect his decades old revenge via HIS coop and swore his father would never see him again.

The best part was when Deputy Lew Blake arrested Sheriff Sam Buckner after he climbed out of the sunken cruiser…Sam was quite shocked to see him. He was hauled back into Flatfield in the hiway patrol cruiser to spend some time in jail with his two cronies…the Mayor and John Milner, all three certainly got a different view of the jail facilities that weekend. On the way back to town, Lew explained to the sheriff that he’d lost the pair of handcuffs he was issued and had to borrow the sheriff’s out of his locker a few times when he went on patrol…actually had a spare key made for them…carried it on his key chain…and it didn’t take long to get it off his belt that nite and open the cuffs. He called the hiway patrol shortly after he got free, arranged with them to surround Milner’s place and he personally arrested everyone late morning without Sam knowing a thing about it. Lew knew the sheriff was going to surprise the drag racers that nite and set up his own trap…knowing the grand prize was going to be the sheriff.

“So, Sam, was it all worth it?” He asked the back seat passenger.

Sam didn’t say a thing and remained quiet on the ride to the jail.

“Billie will be by tomorrow to see you Sam, you stood her up tonite and she’s a bit angry. Oh, by the way, Mister Buckner, I’m taking over as sheriff now…by default.”

The next day, Conner confided to Vicki that Zack never went home that nite. Said Zack had planned this all along, it was the only way he could leave that little Iowa town of Guffey’s Corner…and he wanted out. He didn’t want to hurt his Mom, but she’d planned his whole life, even arranged for the girl he was to marry. Mom didn’t like Zack’s choice of girlfriends: Vicki, and didn’t approve of Zack going out with her. Zack didn’t want to run his Mother’s small town Mom & Pop restaurant for the rest of his life. He wanted more, knew there was more “out there.” Conner told Vicki Zack would be calling her in the next few weeks once he got settled in and not to worry anymore.

Sheriff Lew Blake ended up asking Conner several times in the weeks that followed where Zack was, asked if he was OK and if he’d talked to him lately, but Conner always told him he didn’t know where he was and had not talked to him. Lew was certain they stay in contact…as sure as he was about Zack’s chopped, white-walled ’49 Merc still sitting in Conner’s barn, up on the hill, waiting for him to retrieve it. But no way to confirm that without a search warrant…and there’s absolutely no reason to try to get one…they have no proof Conner even knew about the race…and there’s no law about storing a chopped Merc.

Blade and Stubby finally made it back to Omaha…Blade back to his shop and his new business partners, and business was good. The newest Powers County Sheriff couldn’t come into Omaha to get him…wouldn’t, anyway.

Blade, and the blak Deuce showed up a couple times at the drive-in’s during the next few summers…and the few times Lew took Dorree out on a date in his big bloked Camaro, they always seemed to end up at the cruises in Omaha, Lew always wondered about Zack’s absence and did eventually find out that Stubby was offered a job with a traditional rod shop in Phoenix…and moved…summer all the time there.

Sometime around early 1982, Lew heard Blade got into a bad drug deal. His burned ’63 split window Corvette was found pushed over the bank at Miller Park, in Northwest Omaha, next to the Missouri River…but his body never was found. His father never had a funeral for him and Lew has never heard his name used around Omaha since. Who knows where he is? Or if he’s still alive?

Strange as that is…what’s even more bizarre is, somewhere down in the renovated warehouse district, on Leavenworth, or Jackson, 13th or 15th, in Blade’s former back alley shop, in the building Daddy’s corporation still owns…tucked away in the corner, and probably tarped-up neatly, the vintage three-window Deuce sits…waiting.


* * *


The end.


Copyright 03-2006 RAJetter/Aden Rush


Well folks, that ends The Friday Nite Cereal, hope you all enjoyed it. I sincerely thank each and every one of you that participated…and if you’re still desiring such reading and can’t get enuff of the past serial, watch for the release of my new book “Fast cars, 4-speeds and Fist-fights” looks like it mite be available in June or July now…and if you want, the first book is still available, on my website (personally autographed) or order from major bookstores or Amazon.com. of course, we can’t end this without a commercial---

“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…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 …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.

 

Rog...the first signed book is MINE!

 

I enjoyed the shit outta this my friend. Do it again...

 

Thanks for the good read. Enjoyed your book.

 

Many thanx guys...glad you liked it...

BTTT...

R-

 

Damn, 3WLarry beat me to it...........I'll take the second copy!

 

That was fun, thanks please some more!

 

As always a great read Roger. You sure know how to make our week ends

Thanks for the ride

 

Seldom Scene and Blown 49...my appreciation to you...

BTTT for Saturday nite...

R-

 

Rog, Gail and I just got home from the races in Harlan and read the last installment, man was that a cool ending!!! Keep up the good work, I know it takes time to compose a fine read like this but PLEASE do another one soon!!! Oh, Andy our youngest won his first race tonight after three weeks of racing, two second place finishes and now a win!!! Tonight it don't get any better, finishing a mighty fine read and seeing our youngest win his first race!!! Thanks Roger!!! Bill

 

Roger, Thanks for the hard work you put into these tales. I'll admit that I've skipped down to here and have not read this installment yet. I'm waiting till I get back home tonight and can enjoy it without interruption. Just wanted to bring it back to the top for the Sunday morning crowd.

 

Hey Bill, glad you got around to this...and glad to hear you son is doing well...Indy cars here he comes?

Thanx JohnB...and I'm going to kick it back to the top one more time...

R-

 

well played, stude dude, well played....

thanks man!

 

To the top for the Monday crew!
Blade woulda won only he can't shift worth a damn...
Good ending Roger...but you dented the coupe!?!? Shame on you.