Art & Inspiration The (occasional) Friday Nite Read

The Legend of the Coal Man

Cole Younger was his name…no, no relation to the famous cowboy of old…but just as mean…and just as good-looking, except for the mutton-chop sideburns he grew after he graduated. He was one of those wild kids in high school everyone knew…one of those guys that was most despised just cuz he was so cool and so up on the scene. Remember the type? Yeah, every high school had one and every female wanted to be HIS girlfriend…except for female peer pressure, of course…remember how girls would smile and giggle if he looked their way, or even if he said something to one of them? But girl-friend peer pressure wouldn’t let any of them get too close to him…their loss. He was one of those bad boys everyone knew but few liked…except for certain girls…and those few guys that wanted to emulate him.

Cole was the “Fonz” of days past…the original, the first. Make no mistake about that, except, no one called him Cole…he was known around the area as “the Coal Man,” dark, cold and just as calculating …from Omaha to Sioux City and every small town in between, his name was feared. He was a loner, especially in high school…when he graduated he had few friends to hang with.

He got thru high school by the skin of his teeth…so did I…and that was about the only thing he and I had in common in 1962/’63. I knew him simply by seeing him around…at some of the sock hops we both frequented, or at some of the drive-ins we hung out at…or by being a spectator at a late evening drag race out on Highway 30 or 59…yeah, there were times we didn’t have to prove our own cars, just stood alongside the highway, watch someone else prove they were quik, or fast, or stupid. Cole didn’t like me much, at first…he could tell if he liked, or disliked someone within the first three seconds of meeting them…I got five seconds. During the summer, after we’d graduated, I didn’t do much…didn’t know where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do…Cole, “the Coal Man” didn’t either…he took a job at the local truk stop on the west side of town…couldn’t afford college and neither could I.

It’d taken a little over a year of working nites to get his hot rod done…not the classic fenderless roadster type you’re thinking of….this was Iowa, remember…it got real winter there -- snow, cold, mud tires, anti-freeze and heaters. Ain’t none of this running around without a top or windows…besides, the car he built was a real sleeper…a ’49 Chevy Fleetline…fastback…a kustom for the time, slammed on the ground (simply called “lowered” back then), nosed, decked, door handles removed, bumpers smoothed off, ’51 Ford taillights stood on end -- frenched in, headlights frenched and an antenna sunk in the rear quarter fender…whitewalls, Olds Fiestas, fender skirts and blak rolls and pleats. He allowed me to help him do the bodywork and when we were done sanding that last coat of gray primer, he squirted it Bronze lacquer in the truk stop’s wash bay and buffed it to a high luster.

No one knew, except for the machine shop guys, what engine the Coal Man was building or what went into that little Chevy…most everyone assumed it was just another stovebolt six…except…it didn’t exactly sound like a six…maybe a warmed over 292” GMC six…but no…sounded more like a new V8…283.” Lumpy cam…throaty rumble. Naw, perhaps a new 327”…they ran good, were available if you knew the right yard…some even guessed 348”, or the harder to get 409”…but the exhaust note didn’t sound quite right for a W blok.

I knew…

After the five seconds he allotted me for an introduction, he made no bones about knowing all about my ‘57’s engine/trans…and its reputation…told me…yeah, ordered me…didn’t ask…we were going racing and he could whip my car with his Fleetline…not just once, but twice or more. Maybe…but then again, I didn’t need my nose busted, besides, he said there’d be no money on it…just for grins, his grins. I figured what the hey, no harm, no foul. We went out. Did I win? Sorta…he missed a shift on the first go…and, well, I swear he got me the second time simply by luck …it was that close…and I attributed that win to my hand slipping off the first-to-second shift….that’s no excuse tho…told him so. One for one…he said we’d go again and I wanted another shot at him…I was the one that had the reputation to uphold, ya know? It was a dead-even start…until I hit second…his engine held low longer and his second gear shift shot him ahead of me. He did it to my ‘57’s six cylinder…not just once after that, but…five times…in a row…I lost…good thing there wasn’t any money on it…his Fleetline was quik…quiker’n my six, one good thing – no one will know about those races I lost .

He’d built the Chevy to take on the gold Chevy coop in Council Bluffs, Iowa…Lee’s coop…the same one I told you about in a past Friday Nite Read…the story called “Morris’ Shoebox,” remember it? Seems not only did Lee’s Chevy whip my buddy’s shoebox, Lee’s little ’52 coop put it to one of the Coal Man’s first cars…another shoebox…running a ¾ race flatty…and the Coal Man didn’t like getting beat…especially by a Chevy. He warned Lee that he’d be back to settle the score. If ya can’t beat ‘em, ya go home and build something bigger, right?

The wind howled early that evening and it was damp…condensation formed on the quarter windows but there was no rain…humidity hung in the form of fog…wet, cold, went right thru you…bad night for a race…but the Coal Man went to Omaha to settle a score…and no one backed out of a race becuz of a little local dampness…maybe it’d be different in Omaha – a little dryer.

I knew the time for the race…I was late. He ordered me to show up…needed a back-up, so I drove my ’57 to Council Bluffs, 72 miles from our hometown…for the Coal Man’s moral support …you know how it is…loner’s don’t ask anyone to ride with them…and I knew Lee’s pals weren’t the type to let a race slip by without beating up someone, especially if Lee lost…if the Coal Man was alone, the beating would be worse.

They were waiting in the A & W…word had gotten around…everyone that was anyone knew the Coal Man was gunning for Lee and they wanted to see it go down, the place was crowded and all the slots, except one, were filled with kustoms or wanna-be kustoms. The Coal Man rumbled the Fleetline over the curb-cut, rolled the car past the gawkers, around the back and up the other side to the empty slot, right next to Lee’s Chevy. I had to park on a side street. By the time I got to both cars, the Coal Man had already placed a hundred dollar bill on the hood of Lee’s Chevy, held down with a sweating half-filled mug of root beer and the two of them stood nose to nose, exchanging heated words…touching another man’s car without an invitation just wasn’t cool…and tainting the perfect gold paint job with a mug of root beer was a deadly sin! Lee was pissed. The Coal Man stayed cool…Lee’s buds kept the crowd at arm’s length…I couldn’t even get close to back him up…we were outnumbered ten to one anyway. I knew now it was going to be one of those winner take all races and some one was going to get beat up…bad.

Lee’s huge pal, Fred, ripped a t-shirt off some guy in the crowd, picked up the mug, the money, wiped off the smooth hood with the t-shirt and poured the root beer on the Coal Man’s shoes. Lee put his arm in front of Fred and moved him away from the Coal Man…shook his head no, handed his pal his own hundred dollar bill and took a step back from the Coal Man…this one was going bad…and could only get worse.

Both men’s eyes never lost contact until I edged my way thru the crowd and stepped in front of the Coal Man. “You sure you want to do this?” and “You know we’re going to get the shit beat out of us when this is over?” He glared at me. “You know that hundred is already gone, don’t you?” I knew with them holding the money, the Coal Man would never get that money back, even if he won.

He grunted an acknowledgement, backed up, slipped behind the wheel of his Fleetline and fired it up…Lee fired up his six and backed out of the slot, I ran to the ’57 and slipped in line behind Fred’s ’54 Chevy who was following the Coal Man’s Fleetline…Eighth Street was the local straight-away and it took about ten minutes to get there. Both sides of the street were already lined with spectators…only the two Chevy’s that were to race were allowed thru the crowd…I had to park in a dirt driveway.

I just barely got to see the start…both Chevy’s rear tires were smoking and the splits on Lee’s Chevy wailed. The Fleetline’s tires smoked and started drifting toward the curb…the Coal Man feathered the throttle and straightened it out…the noise from those two engines, and exhaust was almost unbearable…clutches stunk, tires stunk, the acrid smoke burned my eyes but the second they were away from the line, I ran thru the smoke to get a better look…it looked like an even race from where I was…but going away, the Coal Man’s Fleetline was ahead…and pulling away…down the street at a good clip, street lights danced off the tops of those two cars as they passed…the humid night air was adding untold horsepower to both cars…all I could hear was Lee’s split’s going away…but the Fleetline’s taillights were definitely ahead.

Gotta get to the end….I ran to the ’57, fired it up and laid a patch out of there, around the blok, headed up a parallel street…five blox later I cut back to Eighth and couldn’t see where they’d gone. Up ahead, dim taillights…one set, two…off to the side of the street…yeah, that’s them. I got there just as Lee was crying “foul”…the hood was open on the Fleetline…he wasn’t afraid to take on a flathead V8, but a Buick Straight 8 in that Chevy was more than he could comprehend…the chrome air cleaners on the four single carbs and the valve cover glistened…a bit of oil smoke drifted out from under the filler cap…the Coal Man had the dipstick out and was ignoring Lee’s protests. Lee’s pals pulled up, checked out the Fleetline’s engine, conferred with Lee and surprisingly, Fred handed the Coal Man the two hundred dollars. Vindication…sweet vindication.

Somehow I knew the nite wasn’t over…and it didn’t take long…I got nailed from behind…went to my knees…saw two guys grab the Coal Man and a third start wailing on him…we musta got in a few good licks before we went out cuz I hurt like hell. When I woke up, and I was hurtin’, I helped the Coal Man to his knees…moaning about how his side hurt…he held his ribs and wiped the blood off his face with his shirt-sleeve. My own nose had been bloodied, lips swollen, t-shirt torn and cuts and scrapes on my elbows and knees bled…figured from the asphalt…I could hardly walk so I know the Coal Man was worse…musta been a helluva fight.

I sat the Coal Man in the seat of the Fleetline…asked if he could drive…he just grunted…the blak rolls and pleats had been slashed…the instruments had their glass faces busted and the quarter windows were cracked….those guys knew small things are tuffer to fix than big things… the quarters had been keyed…the roof, too…surprisingly, they didn’t touch mine. The Fleetline started and ran, mine started…we still had to get home…

We limped out of Council Bluffs…I was sore and had trouble concentrating…I knew the Coal Man was in worse shape then I…and wondered if he was going to make it… the pea soup of fog still lingered in the valley and somewhere along the two-lane I lost the Coal Man’s dim headlights in my rear view mirror...figured he’d taken a turn at some side road and went home the back way. When I noticed him gone, I doubled back but there was no finding him in the dense fog that blanketed the Missouri Valley…besides, I knew the Coal Man didn’t want anyone to see him like he was…tuff guys just don’t get beat up! After an hour, I was hurtin’ pretty bad so I gave up and went home, figured he’d call me later that day.

Tiny woke me about nine Sunday morn…don’t know how many times the phone rang…asked me if I heard about the Coal Man? Other than the race last nite, no. He didn’t know about that but said the cops found him and his Chevy in the Boyer River…he’d missed a bridge...and drowned when he couldn’t get out. I kicked myself, and it hurt even more, but I knew that, as a loner, that would have been the way the Coal Man wanted to go out...alone and in his hot rod.



Copyright ‘04-‘04 Aden Rush/R.A. Jetter

 

Whoa! Best read yet Roger.

 

Seems as though there's a Cole from my Class and although it was sad to see him go..., we all felt the same as to his demise!

Mark

 

I always enjoy reading your stories, even if you get beat up and lose a friend

 

Geez Roger, ya did it again!! Another super read!!I don't know how ya do it but I felt like I was there with you!! Just keep em coming as they keep getting better!! I know the road ya took home from C.B. and it gets pretty dangerous when it's foggy and it's a wonder ya made it through the rail road tunnel on that curve south of Mo. Valley. Again congrats on the fine read and we'll see ya in June and if ya have time on Friday night I'll even spring for a couple of steak suppers for you and Dan!! Catch ya later!! Bill

 

wow....speachless...

 

Once again, an amazing read R-. Thank you for posting again! I can't get enough!
Greg

 

awesome read, man

 

Thanks. I feel like I was riding shotgun.

 

Now that...
was freakin' EXCELLENT.

Bill

 

that was incredable. It is hard to read and not feel that you were there.

 

that was so good .. it takes me back to 62 .tthanks weeds

 

Man, it sure doesn't stay on/near the first page very long anymore, does it??

Many thanx to all that posted replies, I sure appreciate the comments and feedback...

Moparrodder...gonna take you on those steaks...but is there a steak house in Dunlap???

So...BTT for the Saturday crew...

R-

 

BTT, again.
Gave me the shivers.....yet again another great read!

 

Roger, Yup, there is a steak house in Dunlap and it will be an honor to treat you guys to some good ole Iowa corn fed beef and my wife Gail works there on Friday night too! I'll email you later or give ya a call when the date gets closer Bill

 

Thanks,Roger!!!!!

 

Pretty cool...what's weird is knowing all those places you're talking about.
More! More!
.......and let me know when you're gonna go to Bill's place for steaks so I can attend too.

 

[ QUOTE ]
what's weird is knowing all those places you're talking about...and let me know when you're gonna go to Bill's place for steaks so I can attend too.

[/ QUOTE ]

Rocky, Rocky...I figured you were an Oregon transplant...you grow up in the Omaha area or you just get out and drive around a lot?

That trip (and steak dinner) is gonna happen about June 11th...we'll be rolling into town Friday afternoon....the green rad chopped '57 will be a "Feature Car" at the Onawa Classics "Blast From The Past Grafitti Night" rod run...we'll be around til Sunday then make a blast back home to livable humidity!!!

See ya then?

R-

 

hey Roger thanks again, this one is one of the best I believe! Thanks alot

Briggs

 

Always a good read...glad to see the Friday Night stories back again!!

 

Yet another fantastic read. Thanks very much Roger.

 

Great read Roger.