Theme music
NARRATOR: Once again it's time for THE ADVENTURES OF NICK STRONG: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Brought to you by Absorbine Jr. and the fine folks at S & H Greenstamps. Stay tuned for another exciting case from the files of Nick Strong
Commercials
NARRATOR: Welcome back to THE ADVENTURES OF NICK STRONG: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Today's gripping episode, titled The Forgotten File finds Nick sprawled on the sidewalk in front of a downtown skyscraper. Luckily, the sun is just rising – no one has seen him. Yet.
Sound of whistling
IRISH COP: Well now, what have we here? Sleepin' it off are we?
NICK: grumbles
IRISH COP: Musta been one fancy shindig – look at those duds. Ought to have a top hat to go with that tux. Now wake up and get along with you...
NICK: What? What the? Where am I?
Sounds of Nick standing up
NICK: My head! Ohhhhh.
IRISH COP: Oh. So it's you Strong. You should know better – you old dog. Had a rough one last night eh? Well I hope you had a good time.
NICK: What? I...I
IRISH COP: Get on home now, Nick. You don't want folks to see you like this. And if the Lootenant found you in this condition. Mother of Mercy!
NICK: Oh. Well I'll just be going then officer. (walks off)
IRISH COP: Officer now is it. Put on a tuxedo and you're all of a sudden to good to call me by my name are you? Ah, go on with you. (resumes whistling, walks off)
NICK (walking – street sounds): Ooooh my head. I must have done something last night... but I can't remember much... of anything. I...I'm really woozy.
Sound of collision
EVELYN STOATLY: Well! Pardon Me!
NICK weakly : I'm terribly sorry, I..I
Nick collapses
EVELYN: My goodness! What happened. Are you all right.
NICK: I'm just a little dizzy – my head hurts.
EVELYN: Can you stand up? Let me help you.
NICK: I think so. Let me lean on the wall here.
EVELYN: Hold my arm. Come along, we'll go to my office – you can lie down there – It's just around this corner.
NICK: Thank you.
Walking, then door opening
RECEPTIONIST: Good morning and welcome to the Stoatly Foundation
EVELYN: It's me, Phyllis.
RECEPTIONIST: OH! Sorry Miss Stoatly. Who is that ?
EVELYN: I'm not sure. Help me get him onto the couch.
NICK: I'll be myself in just a minute.
EVELYN: Just be quiet and lie down. Phyllis, go wet a cloth and there are some aspirin in my desk.
RECEPTIONIST: Yest Miss Stoatly.
EVELYN: How did this happen to you Mr...
NICK: I'm not sure?
EVELYN: Of what?
NICK: Of anything.
EVELYN: Is there someone I could call for you?
NICK: I can't think of anyone.
EVELYN: How about your tuxedo? At the opera last night?
NICK: Sorry, don't know that either.
EVELYN: Let's just start simple. What's your name?
NICK: I'm ... I'm... I mean, my name is ....
EVELYN: Yes...
NICK: I can't seem to come up with at the moment.
EVELYN: Oh dear. Well, at least I can introduce myself. I'm Evelyn Stoatly.
NICK: You say that like I should know who it is. Should I?
EVELYN: Read a gossip column in the past 10 years?
NICK: I forget.
EVELYN: You're doing quite a bit of that lately.
RECEPTIONIST: Here's a wet towel and the aspirins.
EVELYN: Thank you. Here, just let me wipe your head.... My goodness, that's quite a bump you have there! That explains a little. Well then, Mr. X, is there anything you do remember?
NICK: I'm trying, but it's all coming up fuzzy. Maybe if I took a little nap.
EVELYN: I don't think that's a good idea – you could have concussion. I think we should get you to a doctor.
NICK: I don't know...
EVELYN: I won't hear any argument – I'll take you to my doctor right away. Phyllis, help me get him outside and into a cab, then call Dr. Smuckles and let him know we're coming.
RECEPTIONIST: Yes Miss Stoatly.
Walking sounds, door opening, street sounds
EVELYN: TAXI!
Car stops, car door opening.
EVELYN: Just help me get him in.... Thank you Phyllis. I'll be back as soon as I can.
RECEPTIONIST: Yes Miss Stoatly.
EVELYN: Driver, 14th street and Oak – Dr. Smuckles's office, please.
DRIVER: Yes ma'am.
NICK: Why are you doing all this for me.
EVELYN: Why, taking care of the needy and endangered is what we do at the Stoatly Foundation.
NICK: But I'm...
EVELYN: Hush. Just relax until we see the doctor.
EVELYN: Hmmm. Why are we... Driver!
DRIVER: Yes ma'am?
EVELYN: 14th street is the other direction.
DRIVER: No ma'am, there's construction...
EVELYN: Don't be silly -- 14th street is in the exact opposite direction. Now turn around and take this cab where to Dr. Smuckles's office – this is a very sick man.
Clunk of car doors locking
DRIVER: That will be quite enough madam. Mr. Strong, I don't know who your lovely companion is, but is she values her safety, I'd suggest you instruct her to control herself.
EVELYN: slight scream
NICK: He's got a gun!
NICK: I think you must have made a mistake, friend. I don't know what you're talking about.
DRIVER: Don't play stupid, Strong. You have something that belongs to me and I intend to have it back.
NICK: I really don't know what you're talking about.
EVELYN: He doesn't! He's lost his memory.
DRIVER: Really? What a unique story. Well let us say that I intend to help him recover it.
EVELYN: But it's true, he really.
DRIVER: Please do not insult me with these juvenile stories. We shall discuss it further when we arrive. I have a lovely, secluded place in the country where we won't be disturbed.
Door handle sound
EVELYN: The door won't open. It's locked from the outside!
DRIVER: Well of course it is. Please do not make difficulties.
NARRATOR: Who is the mysterious driver? What is Nick hiding? Will Nick regain his memory? To find out, tune in next week for another exciting episode of THE ADVENTURES OF NICK STRONG: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Blackmail in Boravia
[NARRATOR]: Now we are proud to present the latest installment in the Adventures of Laura Luckwell, brought to you by Anderson's Tar Soap.
[Laura Luckwell]: It's a dirty world out there, I should know! Keep your nose clean, use Anderson's Tar Soap.
[NARRATOR]: Last week we heard the thrilling conclusion to the Case of the Emerald Tiger, this week we start a new adventure: Blackmail in Boravia. We join our heroine at a lavish party hosted by Laura's father, the wealthy industrialist Norman Luckwell.
[FX: Party sounds: low conversation of a roomful of people, clinking of cutlery and glasses, a string quartet can be heard in the background]
[Laura]: Danny you're not backing out!
[Daniel Lane]: I'm not backing out at all El-el, nothing of the sort, I'm just feeling rather poorly and thought I might step out for some fresh air....
[Laura]: Fresh air and a cab ride back to your club you mean. Well I'm not letting you get away with it this time, you totally embarrassed me last month at Blandings and you won't do it again. It took me half an hour of talking about horses and other nonsense for me to get you on Elspeth's dance card and you are not wasting my hard work by being a little coward.
[Daniel]: (sickly) Oh... not Elspeth... come on LL, you know I can't dance.
[Laura]: Nonsense! I taught you myself, remember? You danced superbly back then-
[Daniel]: (cutting her off) We were twelve! Besides... it's different at a big party, with Elspeth, I'll get all muddled.
[Laura]: Well you'll just have to muddle through. No more arguing, Elspeth's next dance is yours. Now hush up, here comes father.
[Norman Luckwell]: Good evening darling, hello Daniel. Are you enjoying yourselves?
[Laura]: Wonderfully daddy, it's a lovely party. Daniel has the next dance with Elspeth Keeble. Don't you think they'd make a sweet couple?
[Mr. Luckwell]: Joseph Keeble's girl? Good stuff my boy, quite a lovely young woman.
[Daniel]: Oh uh, yes sir. Quite delightful.
[Laura]: Sorry daddy, he's just looking forward to it so terribly. Anyway, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?
[Mr. Luckwell]: Of course, rude of me. This is Tõnis Hauser. Mr. Hauser, this is my daughter Laura and her friend Daniel Lane, Lord Briscoe's nephew.
[Tõnis Hauser]: A pleasure Miss Luckwell, Mr. Lane.
[Mr. Luckwell]: Mr. Hauser is the new Boravian ambassador, his government is very interested in working with some local industries. It could be a very... profitable relationship.
[Tõnis]: Ha, yes! The english can-do spirit eh? Your father took me on a tour of one of his factories today. Your modern assembly lines are very impressive, we hope soon to have the same capabilities in Boravia.
[Daniel]: What's keeping you fellows back? I thought that sort of thing was popping up all over the continent now-a-days.
[Tõnis]: We have had some problems. With various shipments of necessary equipment.
[Daniel]: Trucks breaking down eh?
[Tõnis]: Something like that. Let us say that some of our neighbours wish that we were less independent than we are, but no matter. We are a strong people and we have a good friend in England.
[Mr. Luckwell]: Well said! Now I won't have you lot talking anymore politics at my party. Daniel, from the look of Elspeth over there I think you might be overdue.
[Daniel]: What? Oh no. A pleasure meeting you Mr. Hauser, Mr. Luckwell.
[FX: Footsteps hurry off]
[Tõnis]: I would be a terrible guest if I let this young woman be abandoned here by herself. Norman, would you mind if I had the next dance with your daughter?
[Mr. Luckwell]: Not at all, Laura?
[Laura]: I'd be delighted Mr. Hauser.
[Music: Dance fades up for a short period obscuring other sounds and then fades out]
[Narrator]: We take this moment Luck-Fans to bring you the most important public health development of 1928! Some unethical companies would have you believe that one soap is pretty much like another, this is simply not the case. Exhaustive independent tests have shown Jonson's Tar Soap to provide deeper, more thorough cleansing of all forms of dirt and grime. In addition Anderson's is the only product on the market with proven ant-germ efficacy. Don't chance your family's health! Don't settle for imitators! Use Anderson's Tar Soap. We now return you to Laura Luckwell and Blackmail in Boravia.
[FX: Late night street sounds, a key rattling in a door, slight creak as door opens. Footsteps on wooden floor]
[Laura]: (hushed) Quietly Danny, Mrs Sanders will have been in bed hours ago.
[Daniel]: (drunk) Oooh, the look on Elspeth's face!
[Laura]: You're not still on about that are you?
[Daniel]: You didn't see her face LL, not up close. It was like wasisname and thingamie. Gates of hades opening and so on. I still see it when I close my eyes, I was heel-toeing-heeling and then-
[FX: Body falling heavily on floor]
[Laura]: Yes, it did rather look like that actually. Uuup we get, put your arm over my shoulder and.... there we go.
[FX: Pair of footsteps start on wooden floor, slow and erratic as Laura helps Daniel along the hallway]
[Laura]: Honestly I can't see what all the fuss was about. It was perfectly ugly dress she was wearing anyway. Now I asked Mrs Sanders to get a room ready just in case, yes here we are, in you go and we'll send over to your rooms for a change of clothes first thing in the morning.
[FX: Door closes. The door mutes a few erratic steps followed by the sound of Daniel falling heavily again]
[Laura]: (to self) Yes, well that's probably as good as we're getting. Sweet dreams Danny. For me too, now... Oh! Mrs. Sanders! You gave me quite a fright.
[Mrs. Sanders]: I apologise Miss Luckwell, I heard Mr. Lane and yourself come in and thought I had best come down to see if you required anything.
[Laura]: No, no, we're alright. or at least I am and Mr. Lane will be by tomorrow. I'm terribly sorry if Danny woke you.
[Mrs. Sanders]: Not at all. That door's squeak is unforgivable, one of the boys will take a look at it tomorrow. I shall stoke the fire on my way back to my room in case you feel like staying up.
[Laura]: Ah.. yes. A good idea. Thankyou very much, though I think I'm straight for bed.
[Mrs. Sanders]: Very good. Before I go Miss Luckwell: How did our wager go?
[Laura]: (laughing) Oh yes, I'm afraid you won this one. You shall have to add it to the tally. I did get Danny out there but he didn't make it a full song.
[Mrs. Sanders]: I'm sorry to hear that, perhaps some more lessons are in order? Goodnight Miss Luckwell.
[Laura]: Goodnight Mrs. Sanders.
[FX: Mrs. Sanders footsteps fade up the hallway. Laura's footsteps move a short way down the hallway. A door closes as she enters her room.]
[Laura]: (to self) Well that was a pleasant enough evening. There's something odd about that Mr. Hauser though-
[FX: Distant glass breaking]
[Laura]: That came from father's office!
[FX: Door opens, hurried footsteps down hallway, door opens, sounds of office being ransacked, paper being thrown around etc.]
[Laura]: You there! You've been caught in the act, hands up!
[Louis Smith]: Caught? Ha! Do you have a gun miss?
[Laura]: No, but I can assure you I'm more than capable-
[Louis]: I do have a gun miss and I'm more than willing to use it against his Majesty's enemies. Now sit down there quietly and there'll be no unpleasantness.
[Laura]: Enemies? I don't know what you're talking about but this is my father's house-
[Louis]: Here, stay back!
[Laura]: -and I won't have you going through his personal effects without so much as a by-your-leave!
[Louis]: I said stay back!
[FX: Gunshot. Body falling to the floor. Theme music fades in.]
[Narrator]: What a nail biting ending folks! Could this have been Miss Luckwell's last adventure? Who is the violent intruder and how does the mysterious Mr. Hauser fit in? Find out next week in Blackmail in Boravia part two: The Remmington Steal. Brought to you by Anderson's Tar Soap.
[Laura Luckwell]: It's a dirty world out there, I should know! Keep your nose clean, use Anderson's Tar Soap.
[NARRATOR]: Last week we heard the thrilling conclusion to the Case of the Emerald Tiger, this week we start a new adventure: Blackmail in Boravia. We join our heroine at a lavish party hosted by Laura's father, the wealthy industrialist Norman Luckwell.
[FX: Party sounds: low conversation of a roomful of people, clinking of cutlery and glasses, a string quartet can be heard in the background]
[Laura]: Danny you're not backing out!
[Daniel Lane]: I'm not backing out at all El-el, nothing of the sort, I'm just feeling rather poorly and thought I might step out for some fresh air....
[Laura]: Fresh air and a cab ride back to your club you mean. Well I'm not letting you get away with it this time, you totally embarrassed me last month at Blandings and you won't do it again. It took me half an hour of talking about horses and other nonsense for me to get you on Elspeth's dance card and you are not wasting my hard work by being a little coward.
[Daniel]: (sickly) Oh... not Elspeth... come on LL, you know I can't dance.
[Laura]: Nonsense! I taught you myself, remember? You danced superbly back then-
[Daniel]: (cutting her off) We were twelve! Besides... it's different at a big party, with Elspeth, I'll get all muddled.
[Laura]: Well you'll just have to muddle through. No more arguing, Elspeth's next dance is yours. Now hush up, here comes father.
[Norman Luckwell]: Good evening darling, hello Daniel. Are you enjoying yourselves?
[Laura]: Wonderfully daddy, it's a lovely party. Daniel has the next dance with Elspeth Keeble. Don't you think they'd make a sweet couple?
[Mr. Luckwell]: Joseph Keeble's girl? Good stuff my boy, quite a lovely young woman.
[Daniel]: Oh uh, yes sir. Quite delightful.
[Laura]: Sorry daddy, he's just looking forward to it so terribly. Anyway, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?
[Mr. Luckwell]: Of course, rude of me. This is Tõnis Hauser. Mr. Hauser, this is my daughter Laura and her friend Daniel Lane, Lord Briscoe's nephew.
[Tõnis Hauser]: A pleasure Miss Luckwell, Mr. Lane.
[Mr. Luckwell]: Mr. Hauser is the new Boravian ambassador, his government is very interested in working with some local industries. It could be a very... profitable relationship.
[Tõnis]: Ha, yes! The english can-do spirit eh? Your father took me on a tour of one of his factories today. Your modern assembly lines are very impressive, we hope soon to have the same capabilities in Boravia.
[Daniel]: What's keeping you fellows back? I thought that sort of thing was popping up all over the continent now-a-days.
[Tõnis]: We have had some problems. With various shipments of necessary equipment.
[Daniel]: Trucks breaking down eh?
[Tõnis]: Something like that. Let us say that some of our neighbours wish that we were less independent than we are, but no matter. We are a strong people and we have a good friend in England.
[Mr. Luckwell]: Well said! Now I won't have you lot talking anymore politics at my party. Daniel, from the look of Elspeth over there I think you might be overdue.
[Daniel]: What? Oh no. A pleasure meeting you Mr. Hauser, Mr. Luckwell.
[FX: Footsteps hurry off]
[Tõnis]: I would be a terrible guest if I let this young woman be abandoned here by herself. Norman, would you mind if I had the next dance with your daughter?
[Mr. Luckwell]: Not at all, Laura?
[Laura]: I'd be delighted Mr. Hauser.
[Music: Dance fades up for a short period obscuring other sounds and then fades out]
[Narrator]: We take this moment Luck-Fans to bring you the most important public health development of 1928! Some unethical companies would have you believe that one soap is pretty much like another, this is simply not the case. Exhaustive independent tests have shown Jonson's Tar Soap to provide deeper, more thorough cleansing of all forms of dirt and grime. In addition Anderson's is the only product on the market with proven ant-germ efficacy. Don't chance your family's health! Don't settle for imitators! Use Anderson's Tar Soap. We now return you to Laura Luckwell and Blackmail in Boravia.
[FX: Late night street sounds, a key rattling in a door, slight creak as door opens. Footsteps on wooden floor]
[Laura]: (hushed) Quietly Danny, Mrs Sanders will have been in bed hours ago.
[Daniel]: (drunk) Oooh, the look on Elspeth's face!
[Laura]: You're not still on about that are you?
[Daniel]: You didn't see her face LL, not up close. It was like wasisname and thingamie. Gates of hades opening and so on. I still see it when I close my eyes, I was heel-toeing-heeling and then-
[FX: Body falling heavily on floor]
[Laura]: Yes, it did rather look like that actually. Uuup we get, put your arm over my shoulder and.... there we go.
[FX: Pair of footsteps start on wooden floor, slow and erratic as Laura helps Daniel along the hallway]
[Laura]: Honestly I can't see what all the fuss was about. It was perfectly ugly dress she was wearing anyway. Now I asked Mrs Sanders to get a room ready just in case, yes here we are, in you go and we'll send over to your rooms for a change of clothes first thing in the morning.
[FX: Door closes. The door mutes a few erratic steps followed by the sound of Daniel falling heavily again]
[Laura]: (to self) Yes, well that's probably as good as we're getting. Sweet dreams Danny. For me too, now... Oh! Mrs. Sanders! You gave me quite a fright.
[Mrs. Sanders]: I apologise Miss Luckwell, I heard Mr. Lane and yourself come in and thought I had best come down to see if you required anything.
[Laura]: No, no, we're alright. or at least I am and Mr. Lane will be by tomorrow. I'm terribly sorry if Danny woke you.
[Mrs. Sanders]: Not at all. That door's squeak is unforgivable, one of the boys will take a look at it tomorrow. I shall stoke the fire on my way back to my room in case you feel like staying up.
[Laura]: Ah.. yes. A good idea. Thankyou very much, though I think I'm straight for bed.
[Mrs. Sanders]: Very good. Before I go Miss Luckwell: How did our wager go?
[Laura]: (laughing) Oh yes, I'm afraid you won this one. You shall have to add it to the tally. I did get Danny out there but he didn't make it a full song.
[Mrs. Sanders]: I'm sorry to hear that, perhaps some more lessons are in order? Goodnight Miss Luckwell.
[Laura]: Goodnight Mrs. Sanders.
[FX: Mrs. Sanders footsteps fade up the hallway. Laura's footsteps move a short way down the hallway. A door closes as she enters her room.]
[Laura]: (to self) Well that was a pleasant enough evening. There's something odd about that Mr. Hauser though-
[FX: Distant glass breaking]
[Laura]: That came from father's office!
[FX: Door opens, hurried footsteps down hallway, door opens, sounds of office being ransacked, paper being thrown around etc.]
[Laura]: You there! You've been caught in the act, hands up!
[Louis Smith]: Caught? Ha! Do you have a gun miss?
[Laura]: No, but I can assure you I'm more than capable-
[Louis]: I do have a gun miss and I'm more than willing to use it against his Majesty's enemies. Now sit down there quietly and there'll be no unpleasantness.
[Laura]: Enemies? I don't know what you're talking about but this is my father's house-
[Louis]: Here, stay back!
[Laura]: -and I won't have you going through his personal effects without so much as a by-your-leave!
[Louis]: I said stay back!
[FX: Gunshot. Body falling to the floor. Theme music fades in.]
[Narrator]: What a nail biting ending folks! Could this have been Miss Luckwell's last adventure? Who is the violent intruder and how does the mysterious Mr. Hauser fit in? Find out next week in Blackmail in Boravia part two: The Remmington Steal. Brought to you by Anderson's Tar Soap.
The Purloined Panda Predicament
This is a script for "Yours truly, Johnny Dollar," a serial that ran from 1949 – 1962.
Announcer:
From Hollywood, its time now for:
FX: Phone Rings
Johnny: Johnny Dollar.
McCrackin: Hi, Johnny! Pat McCrackin at Universal Adjustment Bureau.
Johnny: Hiya, Patsy, what's on your mind?
McCrackin: Hey Johnny, when you were a kid, did you ever want to run away and join the circus?
Johnny: Sure, once in a while. What kid didn't?
McCrackin: Well, here's your chance.
Johnny: You got elephants buying policies now? I know, these days, our investments are all worth peanuts.
McCrackin: Nope. Johnny, it's the only animal people are crazier about than elephants: Pandas!
Johnny: You're selling panda insurance?
McCrackin: That's what you're going to find out.
Music up
Announcer: Tonight - and every Saturday night - Bob Bailey in the transcribed adventures of the man with the action-packed expense account - America's fabulous free-lance insurance investigator...
Johnny: Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar!
Theme music up
Johnny: Expense account, submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar to the Universal Adjustment Bureau, Hartford Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Purlioned Panda Predicament.
Item one: Plane ticket and car rental to Vero Beach, Florida, home of Miss Holly Miller, heiress to the Millersoft organic processed cheese fortune, and winter home of the Ecorama Circus, manager, mister Donald S. Moore.
Johnny: I took a cab straight to Miss Miller's. She'd donated ten million dollars to the Ecorama Circus so that they could bring a baby panda over from China. Now the circus wanted to purchase an insurance policy. My job: investigate the setup. Universal didn't want to insure the safety of a ten million dollar panda cub without checking out the situation. But how did I know what kind of security a panda needs? I'd never even had a goldfish as a kid. That's where I hoped Miss Miller could help me.
FX: Doorbell echoing in a large space. Footsteps approaching. Door opening.
Butler: May I help you?
Johnny: The name's Johnny Dollar. Miss Miller is expecting me.
Butler: This way.
Johnny: I followed the butler down a hall so long I figured we were in the next county by the time he pushed open a door and stepped aside to gesture me in. It was an office as big as my whole New York apartment. Seated at the desk, one Miss Holly Miller. If the jeans and baggy shirt were supposed to be some kind of disguise, I hoped she could get her money back. Nothing you can buy would have worked to cover up the fact that she was a knockout.
Holly: Mister Dollar. Have a seat.
Johnny: Thanks. Nice place you've got here.
Holly: Yes. I've been very fortunate. The house isn't the real point, though. What I'm really lucky about is that my family fortune allowed me to follow my dream.
Johnny: Your collection of animals, you mean.
Holly: Yes. Would you like to have a look around?
Johnny: I would. Can I ask you a few questions, first?
Holly: Of course. I'm happy to do anything I can to help.
Johnny: I guess my first question is, why give the panda to the circus instead of keeping it in your own collection?
Holly: That's easy, Mister Dollar. Because an animal like that should really be shared with the whole world.
Johnny: Well then why not a zoo?
Holly: A zoo stays in one place. The only people who can see it are the ones who live in that city, or can afford to travel there. With the circus, children in small towns all across America will get to see a live panda. They'll be close to an amazing part of nature that they'd never get to experience otherwise.
Johnny: You must have a lot of faith in this circus, making this kind of donation.
Holly: This isn't your usual circus, Mister Dollar. It's a radical new idea, a caravan of environmental education. Oh, there are the usual clowns and acrobats. But the animal part is different. There's an exhibit about frog extinction, a musical number about deforestation, and the animals don't do artificial tricks – they're trained to exhibit their natural behaviors. We only love the things we know, Mister Dollar, and we only protect the things we love. We need children to love animals if we want to save our planet for future generations.
Johnny: I see. So, do you have valuable animals here? How do you protect them?
Holly: I certainly do, and I have the highest standards of security. You should have a look at them first hand.
Johnny: When I followed Miss Miller out the side door of her office, I thought we hadn't just walked into the next county, but another country altogether. I later saw that what we'd been in was something like a greenhouse attached to the main house, but from the inside, it was so thick with tropical plants that it seemed like a jungle. Like a jungle, it was full of the sounds of birds. And that wasn't all. A tiny orange monkey jumped out of a tree onto Miss Miller's shoulder and started chattering away.
Holly: (Laughs.) Oh, Pedro. You're such a bad little boy. I'm sorry, I didn't bring you anything to eat. How thoughtless of me.
Johnny: Whoa. What kind of monkey is that?
Holly: Pedro is a golden lion tamarin from the Amazon. He's the son of one of my breeding pairs. They're all assertive little creatures, but he's the boldest.
Johnny: Is that a valuable animal?
Holly: Well, Mister Dollar, valuable means so many different things. These animals are almost extinct in the wild. Pedro's genes are extremely valuable for captive breeding to keep the species going. But of course you probably mean monetary value. It's illegal to keep these without a permit, so they're not sold openly. But yes, on the black market, they're very valuable indeed.
Johnny: If you don't mind my asking - you have the permits?
Holly: Of course. We're a fully accredited facility here, like any major zoo except for not being open to the public. We're part of a number of cooperative breeding programs, and everything is quite above board, I assure you.
Johnny: I figured that, but, you know.
Holly: I understand. It's your job to ask.
Johnny: So what do you do here, as far as security?
Holly: Well, security means more than one thing as well. The first consideration is making sure the animals stay safely where they belong. You'll notice we passed through two doors from my office. The reason for the two doors, of course, is that if someone like little Pedro here gets out the first door, he's confined to that space. Chances are good he won't also get out the second door. And as far as anyone getting in, both of those doors are kept locked at all times. Only I and my head keeper have keys; he lets the rest of the staff in and out as needed.
Johnny: What about getting on to your property? I just drove right up.
Holly: You can drive up to the front of the house, indeed, and you can get into the house - if Chester lets you, that is. My butler may not look unusual, Mister Dollar, but you'd best not test his skill at any number of exotic martial arts. And if you bypass the front door, the whole back compound is fenced and alarmed. The gates are doubled like the doors here, both are locked, and the fence is also electrified to keep the animals away from it. They get a mild shock if they touch it, and they quickly learn to keep their distance. Again, no one gets in and no one gets out.
Johnny: I see. So you've advised the circus on all this kind of procedure? As far as the panda?
Holly: Well, they do already know quite a bit about keeping animals, naturally, but yes, I have. You'll see that in their winter quarters, they've built an essentially identical facility. I wouldn't accept any less.
Johnny: It's different, though, with them moving around to do their shows, right? What happens then?
Holly: Well, Mister Dollar, this isn't your old fashioned circus that lives on a train. They have special trucks to transport the animals, and they'll rent warehouse space in every town, air conditioned – pandas prefer the cold – and professionally patrolled for security. They've also had to ensure a steady supply of bamboo along the route – as you may know, that's the main diet of pandas. The Chinese often feed them other things in captivity – even chicken soup, I've heard – but our dear Shu Mai will eat very little else. I've inspected their arrangements in the first few cities and I'm quite confident in the management. Mister Moore has a stellar reputation in his field.
Johnny: Well, I won't take up any more of your time, then, Miss -
FX: Sound of flock of penguins
Johnny: What the -
Holly: (Laughs) There are no penguins here, Mister Dollar, that's my cell phone. Let me see - It's the circus. I'll tell them you're on your way. Hello, Mister Moore.
Johnny: I watched her face as she listened to the phone, just because, even with all those terrific animals scampering about, it was the most beautiful thing around to look at. So I was watching when her face went completely white.
Holly: We'll be there immediately.
FX: Sound of cell phone snapping shut.
Holly: Oh my word.
Johnny: Miss, are you OK?
Holly: The panda – it's missing!
Music up
Announcer: Now, here's our star to tell you about the next intriguing episode of this week's story.
Johnny: Next week, I find out a thing or two about a panda - and politics.
--Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar.
Music up
Announcer:
Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, starring Bob Bailey, is transcribed in Hollywood. It is produced and directed by August West. Be sure to join us next week, same time and station, for the next exciting episode of Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar.
This is a script for "Yours truly, Johnny Dollar," a serial that ran from 1949 – 1962.
Announcer:
From Hollywood, its time now for:
FX: Phone Rings
Johnny: Johnny Dollar.
McCrackin: Hi, Johnny! Pat McCrackin at Universal Adjustment Bureau.
Johnny: Hiya, Patsy, what's on your mind?
McCrackin: Hey Johnny, when you were a kid, did you ever want to run away and join the circus?
Johnny: Sure, once in a while. What kid didn't?
McCrackin: Well, here's your chance.
Johnny: You got elephants buying policies now? I know, these days, our investments are all worth peanuts.
McCrackin: Nope. Johnny, it's the only animal people are crazier about than elephants: Pandas!
Johnny: You're selling panda insurance?
McCrackin: That's what you're going to find out.
Music up
Announcer: Tonight - and every Saturday night - Bob Bailey in the transcribed adventures of the man with the action-packed expense account - America's fabulous free-lance insurance investigator...
Johnny: Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar!
Theme music up
Johnny: Expense account, submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar to the Universal Adjustment Bureau, Hartford Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Purlioned Panda Predicament.
Item one: Plane ticket and car rental to Vero Beach, Florida, home of Miss Holly Miller, heiress to the Millersoft organic processed cheese fortune, and winter home of the Ecorama Circus, manager, mister Donald S. Moore.
Johnny: I took a cab straight to Miss Miller's. She'd donated ten million dollars to the Ecorama Circus so that they could bring a baby panda over from China. Now the circus wanted to purchase an insurance policy. My job: investigate the setup. Universal didn't want to insure the safety of a ten million dollar panda cub without checking out the situation. But how did I know what kind of security a panda needs? I'd never even had a goldfish as a kid. That's where I hoped Miss Miller could help me.
FX: Doorbell echoing in a large space. Footsteps approaching. Door opening.
Butler: May I help you?
Johnny: The name's Johnny Dollar. Miss Miller is expecting me.
Butler: This way.
Johnny: I followed the butler down a hall so long I figured we were in the next county by the time he pushed open a door and stepped aside to gesture me in. It was an office as big as my whole New York apartment. Seated at the desk, one Miss Holly Miller. If the jeans and baggy shirt were supposed to be some kind of disguise, I hoped she could get her money back. Nothing you can buy would have worked to cover up the fact that she was a knockout.
Holly: Mister Dollar. Have a seat.
Johnny: Thanks. Nice place you've got here.
Holly: Yes. I've been very fortunate. The house isn't the real point, though. What I'm really lucky about is that my family fortune allowed me to follow my dream.
Johnny: Your collection of animals, you mean.
Holly: Yes. Would you like to have a look around?
Johnny: I would. Can I ask you a few questions, first?
Holly: Of course. I'm happy to do anything I can to help.
Johnny: I guess my first question is, why give the panda to the circus instead of keeping it in your own collection?
Holly: That's easy, Mister Dollar. Because an animal like that should really be shared with the whole world.
Johnny: Well then why not a zoo?
Holly: A zoo stays in one place. The only people who can see it are the ones who live in that city, or can afford to travel there. With the circus, children in small towns all across America will get to see a live panda. They'll be close to an amazing part of nature that they'd never get to experience otherwise.
Johnny: You must have a lot of faith in this circus, making this kind of donation.
Holly: This isn't your usual circus, Mister Dollar. It's a radical new idea, a caravan of environmental education. Oh, there are the usual clowns and acrobats. But the animal part is different. There's an exhibit about frog extinction, a musical number about deforestation, and the animals don't do artificial tricks – they're trained to exhibit their natural behaviors. We only love the things we know, Mister Dollar, and we only protect the things we love. We need children to love animals if we want to save our planet for future generations.
Johnny: I see. So, do you have valuable animals here? How do you protect them?
Holly: I certainly do, and I have the highest standards of security. You should have a look at them first hand.
Johnny: When I followed Miss Miller out the side door of her office, I thought we hadn't just walked into the next county, but another country altogether. I later saw that what we'd been in was something like a greenhouse attached to the main house, but from the inside, it was so thick with tropical plants that it seemed like a jungle. Like a jungle, it was full of the sounds of birds. And that wasn't all. A tiny orange monkey jumped out of a tree onto Miss Miller's shoulder and started chattering away.
Holly: (Laughs.) Oh, Pedro. You're such a bad little boy. I'm sorry, I didn't bring you anything to eat. How thoughtless of me.
Johnny: Whoa. What kind of monkey is that?
Holly: Pedro is a golden lion tamarin from the Amazon. He's the son of one of my breeding pairs. They're all assertive little creatures, but he's the boldest.
Johnny: Is that a valuable animal?
Holly: Well, Mister Dollar, valuable means so many different things. These animals are almost extinct in the wild. Pedro's genes are extremely valuable for captive breeding to keep the species going. But of course you probably mean monetary value. It's illegal to keep these without a permit, so they're not sold openly. But yes, on the black market, they're very valuable indeed.
Johnny: If you don't mind my asking - you have the permits?
Holly: Of course. We're a fully accredited facility here, like any major zoo except for not being open to the public. We're part of a number of cooperative breeding programs, and everything is quite above board, I assure you.
Johnny: I figured that, but, you know.
Holly: I understand. It's your job to ask.
Johnny: So what do you do here, as far as security?
Holly: Well, security means more than one thing as well. The first consideration is making sure the animals stay safely where they belong. You'll notice we passed through two doors from my office. The reason for the two doors, of course, is that if someone like little Pedro here gets out the first door, he's confined to that space. Chances are good he won't also get out the second door. And as far as anyone getting in, both of those doors are kept locked at all times. Only I and my head keeper have keys; he lets the rest of the staff in and out as needed.
Johnny: What about getting on to your property? I just drove right up.
Holly: You can drive up to the front of the house, indeed, and you can get into the house - if Chester lets you, that is. My butler may not look unusual, Mister Dollar, but you'd best not test his skill at any number of exotic martial arts. And if you bypass the front door, the whole back compound is fenced and alarmed. The gates are doubled like the doors here, both are locked, and the fence is also electrified to keep the animals away from it. They get a mild shock if they touch it, and they quickly learn to keep their distance. Again, no one gets in and no one gets out.
Johnny: I see. So you've advised the circus on all this kind of procedure? As far as the panda?
Holly: Well, they do already know quite a bit about keeping animals, naturally, but yes, I have. You'll see that in their winter quarters, they've built an essentially identical facility. I wouldn't accept any less.
Johnny: It's different, though, with them moving around to do their shows, right? What happens then?
Holly: Well, Mister Dollar, this isn't your old fashioned circus that lives on a train. They have special trucks to transport the animals, and they'll rent warehouse space in every town, air conditioned – pandas prefer the cold – and professionally patrolled for security. They've also had to ensure a steady supply of bamboo along the route – as you may know, that's the main diet of pandas. The Chinese often feed them other things in captivity – even chicken soup, I've heard – but our dear Shu Mai will eat very little else. I've inspected their arrangements in the first few cities and I'm quite confident in the management. Mister Moore has a stellar reputation in his field.
Johnny: Well, I won't take up any more of your time, then, Miss -
FX: Sound of flock of penguins
Johnny: What the -
Holly: (Laughs) There are no penguins here, Mister Dollar, that's my cell phone. Let me see - It's the circus. I'll tell them you're on your way. Hello, Mister Moore.
Johnny: I watched her face as she listened to the phone, just because, even with all those terrific animals scampering about, it was the most beautiful thing around to look at. So I was watching when her face went completely white.
Holly: We'll be there immediately.
FX: Sound of cell phone snapping shut.
Holly: Oh my word.
Johnny: Miss, are you OK?
Holly: The panda – it's missing!
Music up
Announcer: Now, here's our star to tell you about the next intriguing episode of this week's story.
Johnny: Next week, I find out a thing or two about a panda - and politics.
--Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar.
Music up
Announcer:
Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, starring Bob Bailey, is transcribed in Hollywood. It is produced and directed by August West. Be sure to join us next week, same time and station, for the next exciting episode of Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
How Fred Got His Groove Back
To look at me you’d never guess. Hell yes, I’m wearing a thong right now. It’s all I ever wear anymore.
I know, I know. I’m a 45 year old, 280 pound stodgy white guy. Me in a thong is not an image you want to think much about. But the thong changed my life.
It all started when I lost a bet. Me and Jimmy Cheese were talking about movies and I said it was George Kennedy who played Omar Bradley in “Patton”. He said it was Karl Malden, which was right of course, only I didn’t remember it until after I’d made the bet that the loser would wear thong underwear to work the next day.
What! So we make weird bets like that all the time. You don’t?
So I lost, of course. Jimmy holds me to it (just like I would have done to him) and nothing will do but we have to stop by Target after work and pick up the thong I will be wearing the next day. We had a little trouble finding one in my size, but we did finally.
Next morning I was a little reluctant, but I put it on. I’m not the kind of guy to back down, even when it is a little embarrassing. So the guys at the office laugh. Next time it’ll be their ass and I’ll be laughing. Hell, it’s something to talk about. You try entertaining yourself while processing life insurance premium refund claims all day.
So anyway, I put it on and put my pants on over it. It was a different feeling, or really several different feelings. My cheeks were rubbing against the fabric of my pants. I was lifted and supported in an entirely new way. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
In fact, after the initial round of hilarity at the office (I had to stretch my waistband to prove I was in fact wearing the thong) and things calmed down a little, I realized I really liked the feeling. It felt free and a little bit dangerous. It was also like something I vaguely remembered, but I wasn’t sure what at the time (later on I figured out it reminded me of wearing a jock strap in high school). By the end of the day I was really digging on my thong.
I went back to my regular boxer-briefs the next day, but they were unsatisfying. The day after that I wore the thong again. I liked so much I went back to Target and bought 5 more. They’re all I wear anymore.
I think they’ve changed my attitude about life. I walk a little differently – it’s subtle, but I think people notice on some level. I started talking long walks with Tina (my wife) after work and I lost 10 pounds. I thought she would make fun of me (OK, she did a little at first) but now she likes me in my thongs and she likes me new attitude. It’s improved things for us, if you know what I mean.
So yeah, I’m a thong guy.
I know, I know. I’m a 45 year old, 280 pound stodgy white guy. Me in a thong is not an image you want to think much about. But the thong changed my life.
It all started when I lost a bet. Me and Jimmy Cheese were talking about movies and I said it was George Kennedy who played Omar Bradley in “Patton”. He said it was Karl Malden, which was right of course, only I didn’t remember it until after I’d made the bet that the loser would wear thong underwear to work the next day.
What! So we make weird bets like that all the time. You don’t?
So I lost, of course. Jimmy holds me to it (just like I would have done to him) and nothing will do but we have to stop by Target after work and pick up the thong I will be wearing the next day. We had a little trouble finding one in my size, but we did finally.
Next morning I was a little reluctant, but I put it on. I’m not the kind of guy to back down, even when it is a little embarrassing. So the guys at the office laugh. Next time it’ll be their ass and I’ll be laughing. Hell, it’s something to talk about. You try entertaining yourself while processing life insurance premium refund claims all day.
So anyway, I put it on and put my pants on over it. It was a different feeling, or really several different feelings. My cheeks were rubbing against the fabric of my pants. I was lifted and supported in an entirely new way. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
In fact, after the initial round of hilarity at the office (I had to stretch my waistband to prove I was in fact wearing the thong) and things calmed down a little, I realized I really liked the feeling. It felt free and a little bit dangerous. It was also like something I vaguely remembered, but I wasn’t sure what at the time (later on I figured out it reminded me of wearing a jock strap in high school). By the end of the day I was really digging on my thong.
I went back to my regular boxer-briefs the next day, but they were unsatisfying. The day after that I wore the thong again. I liked so much I went back to Target and bought 5 more. They’re all I wear anymore.
I think they’ve changed my attitude about life. I walk a little differently – it’s subtle, but I think people notice on some level. I started talking long walks with Tina (my wife) after work and I lost 10 pounds. I thought she would make fun of me (OK, she did a little at first) but now she likes me in my thongs and she likes me new attitude. It’s improved things for us, if you know what I mean.
So yeah, I’m a thong guy.
At the Beach
The man in the thong was really getting into it now: his bare feet stomped a mad beat on the sand, the feathers in his hair swirled and still he sawed madly on his violin.
"He doesn't even have a hat." Dylan remarked.
"It would fall off." replied Tori without looking away.
"No, for money. If he's busking he should have a hat out or something for people to put money in. At least a towel. Not that he'd get much. That always annoys me, when people think they can do any stupid shit and get people to give them money."
"Huh?"
"If he wants to make money he should do something that people understand, something sensible."
"I don't think he wants to." Dylan thought Tori was going to add something more but she just lapsed back into silence.
Dylan was getting uncomfortable. When he'd suggested coming to the beach he'd had a typical date in mind: surf, sand, ice-creams, Tori squealing in the surf and him having an excuse to show off his pecs. Of course Tori wasn't really a squealing kind of girl and more often than not their dates didn't go as he planned. Watching nonsensical performance art instead of swimming for instance. He a growing feeling that there was a joke somewhere here and it was on him.
"Come on Tor," he tried again, "let's go get an ice-cream."
"In a bit," she squeezed Dylan's hand in an absent minded display of affection, "Oh hey, look at that!"
The dancing man hadn't done anything interesting that Dylan could see, if anything the performance was growing more erratic; feet and hair and violin all wildly out of time.
It wasn't he didn't like Tori. He really liked Tori. The problem was she liked him and Dylan didn't know why. He knew he was good looking (he worked at it), he was sporty, he had money, everything the girls near the bay loved. As far as he could tell though Tori didn't care about that; Tori loved thunderstorms, fast-food ice-cream cones, karate movies and, apparently, crazy violinists wearing nothing but thongs and feathers. Dylan had lived his short life being sensible and as far as he could tell Tori didn't like anything sensible at all. It just didn't make sense that someone like her would want to be with someone like him.
The show finally wound down, Tori led the applause.
"Icecreams?" She asked, grabbing her towel.
"Sure," Dylan shrugged, "Hey! He's passing a bowl around. You were wrong, he does want to make money."
"What? I didn't say that."
"You did, you said you he didn't want to make money."
"No. I said I he didn't want to be sensible, I can see where you'd be confused though, you're always sensible. Don't look that way cutie," she added with a grin, "I wouldn't have you any other way." and somehow Dylan knew she meant it.
He smiled despite himself. Maybe not everything had to make sense.
"He doesn't even have a hat." Dylan remarked.
"It would fall off." replied Tori without looking away.
"No, for money. If he's busking he should have a hat out or something for people to put money in. At least a towel. Not that he'd get much. That always annoys me, when people think they can do any stupid shit and get people to give them money."
"Huh?"
"If he wants to make money he should do something that people understand, something sensible."
"I don't think he wants to." Dylan thought Tori was going to add something more but she just lapsed back into silence.
Dylan was getting uncomfortable. When he'd suggested coming to the beach he'd had a typical date in mind: surf, sand, ice-creams, Tori squealing in the surf and him having an excuse to show off his pecs. Of course Tori wasn't really a squealing kind of girl and more often than not their dates didn't go as he planned. Watching nonsensical performance art instead of swimming for instance. He a growing feeling that there was a joke somewhere here and it was on him.
"Come on Tor," he tried again, "let's go get an ice-cream."
"In a bit," she squeezed Dylan's hand in an absent minded display of affection, "Oh hey, look at that!"
The dancing man hadn't done anything interesting that Dylan could see, if anything the performance was growing more erratic; feet and hair and violin all wildly out of time.
It wasn't he didn't like Tori. He really liked Tori. The problem was she liked him and Dylan didn't know why. He knew he was good looking (he worked at it), he was sporty, he had money, everything the girls near the bay loved. As far as he could tell though Tori didn't care about that; Tori loved thunderstorms, fast-food ice-cream cones, karate movies and, apparently, crazy violinists wearing nothing but thongs and feathers. Dylan had lived his short life being sensible and as far as he could tell Tori didn't like anything sensible at all. It just didn't make sense that someone like her would want to be with someone like him.
The show finally wound down, Tori led the applause.
"Icecreams?" She asked, grabbing her towel.
"Sure," Dylan shrugged, "Hey! He's passing a bowl around. You were wrong, he does want to make money."
"What? I didn't say that."
"You did, you said you he didn't want to make money."
"No. I said I he didn't want to be sensible, I can see where you'd be confused though, you're always sensible. Don't look that way cutie," she added with a grin, "I wouldn't have you any other way." and somehow Dylan knew she meant it.
He smiled despite himself. Maybe not everything had to make sense.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Potato
It was a really bad day today.
First of all I was late getting up, so I was late getting dressed and I had to run out the door while I was still buttoning up my shirt so Mr. Butts (who is the meanest bus driver we've ever had) wouldn't drive off and leave me. And of course I buttoned it up wrong, so when I got on the bus Jimmy and Stacey the fifth grader (not Stacy W., who is OK) laughed and made fun of me for a long time. It was worse because I had to unbutton the shirt so I could button it back up right and of course they made a big deal about that. But the bus wasn't so bad, because Jimmy and Stacey are always like that and they are like that to everybody, so you get kind of used to it.
It got really bad when we got to school. After the morning stuff -- the pledge and the roll and the principle doing the announcements over the intercom -- we have reading. They put us into reading groups today. School just started last week. Well, really it started the week before that, but it was on a Thursday and we only had a half-day on Friday, so really last week was the first real week of school. Anyway.
So Miss Porter is announcing the reading groups. And I'm in the PURPLE group. The purple group is like the third group. It goes red, white, purple, blue then green.
Sometimes I think adults think we are all stupid. We aren't stupid you know. Miss Porter gives us this big long speech about how one group isn't better than another group and it what group you are in doesn't mean you are smarter or dumber or anything. Which is a bunch of bullcrap and everybody knows it. All the smart kids (except me) are in the red or white group and the dumb kids are in the blue group. Green is for the really bad kids, they just sit around and fart off during reading. Purple is for the people who are not good or bad.
But I am a good reader. I am a very good reader. I think I am the best reader in our class. I read all the time, even when I don't have to. I go to the library – not the school library, the public library. Reading is important to me.
I got so mad because it was so unfair. Mark B. and Tina were in the red group. I can read better than both of them and Mark was looking at me and smiling. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to cry, I think. It was hard not to. I think my face got real red.
It was really hard to pay attention after that. I wanted to go ask Miss Porter why I got put into the purple group because I thought she knew about me and reading. Then I figured it out. It wasn't because I'm not a good reader, it's because I'm not a good talker. I have speech twice a week to help me learn to say my “R's” properly. I hate it and I hate not being able to talk right. I sound like a baby sometimes, and that makes me not want to read out loud sometimes and sometimes I take extra time to sound things out to make sure my tongue is in the right place and I'm am making the sounds properly like Mrs. Lyle the speech teacher wants me to. So I think that makes it sound like I am not a good reader, when I really am a very good reader.
This made me even madder. It was not fair to punish me for something I didn't do wrong and I was working to fix my speech. I couldn't go ask Miss Porter now because there wasn't a good time, plus I probably wouldn't be able to talk right when I asked her. She wouldn't listen anyway.
So I got really mad and I ended up doing something bad that I knew I shouldn't do even when I was doing it. But I did it anyway. I don't know why I did. I felt bad about it right after I did it, and I still do feel bad that I did it.
I didn't listen to much of Social Studies because I was making my plan. I guess I got the idea about the potato because I was looking out the window while I was thinking. The class has potato plant in a jar sitting on the shelf by the window that looks out on the little kids' playground. We started it on the first day of school. It's in water in a glass jar and it just has some short green vines coming out of it because we just started it on the first day of school. Miss Porter was real proud of it and talked about how it would be our earth sciences project for the whole year.
Here was my plan – I was going to poison that damn potato. Even though I shouldn't have done it, I think I made a pretty cool plan. On our way back from music class we always take a bathroom break. I was going to smuggle some pee back and pour it in the potato jar, which should kill it because pee has acid in it. Here's what I did. I took a cap off one of my magic markers (the pink one, who cares if it dries up. Dang.) and slipped in into my pocket. It is in the shape of a hollow cylinder.
After music was over and we went to the restroom, I hung back a little bit so I would be one of the last ones. I was real careful so nobody would notice what I was doing, and I was real nervous while I was sneaking the cap out of my pocket and peeing into it. It would be bad enough if somebody saw me, but I didn't want to spill pee on myself either. But I pulled it off and I hid it in my hand the way I learned to do with a quarter from my magic book.
Luckily when we go back to the classroom we kind of move around a lot, so I could go over to the window next to the potato jar. It was just as bad as filling the cap, trying to make sure nobody notice what I was doing. Also, I still didn't want to get pee on me. But I did it, and nobody said anything. I'm pretty sure nobody saw. I threw the cap in the wastebasket under the pencil sharpener by the door.
We had spelling next, then lunch. All during that time I felt pretty good about it. Mostly good. Mostly good that I had been able to pull it off but still a little bad about it. But mostly good.
Until we got back from lunch. When we walked into the room, we could tell something was wrong. Miss Porter was sitting at her desk and she was real quiet and she was frowning. That is not how she usually is. So it seemed like something was wrong, but we didn't know what yet. And she told us all to sit down at our desks which we did.
She stood up in the front of the room and told us something bad had happened and that she wanted to give the person who had done it a chance to make things right. Right then I got a really bad feeling in my stomach. I was busted.
She told us all to put our heads on our desks and close our eyes. Then she started talking. She talked very slow and very serious. She said we all make mistakes sometimes and do things that we should not do. She said the important thing was to take responsibility for our mistakes. She said she wanted to give the person who had done this the opportunity to take responsibility. She said they would not be punished and nobody but the person had to know about it.
This whole time I'm feeling worse and worse. Part of me is remembering the rule that you never ever confess to anything. But she's so serious. And I started to thing that killing the potato with pee is kind of a stupid thing to do anyway and it doesn't have anything to do with the purple reading group and it would make things any better. So I know what I've got to do. I take a couple of real deep breaths to get ready for the bad stuff that is coming and get ready to raise my hand.
Then Miss Porter says that this is the time and that the person who took Ramelle Nevins' plastic pencil sharpener in the shape of a pig out of her jacket pocket while it was hanging up on the coat rack in the back of the room should do the right thing and hold their hand up now.
I think I breathed out really loud. I heard some other people breathing too. But I put my hand back down. We sat that for a long time like that. I don't think anybody ever put their hand up, but I'm not sure. I did start feeling really bad about the potato though. It seemed like a really dumb thing to do now and the potato did not deserve to die and it was the whole class's project.
So I'm thinking about it all through math and I decide I've got to do something about it. The only thing I can come up with (beside telling Miss Porter, which I don't want to do because it would only get me in trouble and what good would that do?) is to spill the water so it will have to be replaced and hope that it is not too late.
And that's what I did. During afternoon break I went over to the potato. I used the same skills I did before to make it look natural. I made sure I was looking in a different direction from the potato jar and kind of swept my arm across the shelf a little bit, just hard enough to knock the jar over, but not hard enough to break the jar.
I guess I hit it too low or something, because it didn't just fall over. It kind of fell over my arm and spilled the water back towards me. Some got on my pants. There was a wet spot the size of my hand just below my pocket. Of course everybody laughed at me. Which did not bother me too much because if it had happened to somebody else I would laugh too. And the guys said I had peed on myself even though they knew it was only the potato water. I was really glad they did not know that in a way I had peed on myself. But it wasn't too bad and there was only 30 minutes until we got on the buses.
Miss Porter came over, and she was not mad, just kind of tired acting. She gave me a kind of funny look, then told me to dry my pants off with some paper towels. She took some too and cleaned up the potato water, stuck the potato back in the jar then took it over to sink and filled it up with water again. She put it back on the shelf, but closer to the window this time. She told us to sit back down (which I was glad to do because it would hide my wet pants) and we worked on a fractions worksheet until the first bell rang and the car-riders and walkers went to the gym.
When the second bell rang, we all got up to go. Miss Porter put her hand on my shoulder when I was walking out the door, and asked me to hold on a minute. When everybody else was out of the room she said she could tell I was upset about being in the purple reading group. I did not know what to say and I just kind of nodded. My face got red again. She said she knew I was a very good reader and I wasn't in the purple group because I wasn't a good reader. She said that sometimes the best way to get better at something when you are already good at it is to teach somebody else. She said she put me into the purple group so I could help the other purples with their reading. She said I would be a good example and I could help with some of the harder words. She smiled at me in a very nice way and said I should promise not to tell anybody else about it which I said I would not. Then she told me to hurry up or I would miss the bus, which was good because Mr. Butts was still mean and would leave me if he could.
When I was walking to the bus, I was not sure what to think. I felt good about what Miss Porter had said, but I still felt bad about what I had done. I was glad that I had spilled the potato jar, but it was dumb to have done it at all when I knew it was wrong to begin with. It was a weird day.
First of all I was late getting up, so I was late getting dressed and I had to run out the door while I was still buttoning up my shirt so Mr. Butts (who is the meanest bus driver we've ever had) wouldn't drive off and leave me. And of course I buttoned it up wrong, so when I got on the bus Jimmy and Stacey the fifth grader (not Stacy W., who is OK) laughed and made fun of me for a long time. It was worse because I had to unbutton the shirt so I could button it back up right and of course they made a big deal about that. But the bus wasn't so bad, because Jimmy and Stacey are always like that and they are like that to everybody, so you get kind of used to it.
It got really bad when we got to school. After the morning stuff -- the pledge and the roll and the principle doing the announcements over the intercom -- we have reading. They put us into reading groups today. School just started last week. Well, really it started the week before that, but it was on a Thursday and we only had a half-day on Friday, so really last week was the first real week of school. Anyway.
So Miss Porter is announcing the reading groups. And I'm in the PURPLE group. The purple group is like the third group. It goes red, white, purple, blue then green.
Sometimes I think adults think we are all stupid. We aren't stupid you know. Miss Porter gives us this big long speech about how one group isn't better than another group and it what group you are in doesn't mean you are smarter or dumber or anything. Which is a bunch of bullcrap and everybody knows it. All the smart kids (except me) are in the red or white group and the dumb kids are in the blue group. Green is for the really bad kids, they just sit around and fart off during reading. Purple is for the people who are not good or bad.
But I am a good reader. I am a very good reader. I think I am the best reader in our class. I read all the time, even when I don't have to. I go to the library – not the school library, the public library. Reading is important to me.
I got so mad because it was so unfair. Mark B. and Tina were in the red group. I can read better than both of them and Mark was looking at me and smiling. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to cry, I think. It was hard not to. I think my face got real red.
It was really hard to pay attention after that. I wanted to go ask Miss Porter why I got put into the purple group because I thought she knew about me and reading. Then I figured it out. It wasn't because I'm not a good reader, it's because I'm not a good talker. I have speech twice a week to help me learn to say my “R's” properly. I hate it and I hate not being able to talk right. I sound like a baby sometimes, and that makes me not want to read out loud sometimes and sometimes I take extra time to sound things out to make sure my tongue is in the right place and I'm am making the sounds properly like Mrs. Lyle the speech teacher wants me to. So I think that makes it sound like I am not a good reader, when I really am a very good reader.
This made me even madder. It was not fair to punish me for something I didn't do wrong and I was working to fix my speech. I couldn't go ask Miss Porter now because there wasn't a good time, plus I probably wouldn't be able to talk right when I asked her. She wouldn't listen anyway.
So I got really mad and I ended up doing something bad that I knew I shouldn't do even when I was doing it. But I did it anyway. I don't know why I did. I felt bad about it right after I did it, and I still do feel bad that I did it.
I didn't listen to much of Social Studies because I was making my plan. I guess I got the idea about the potato because I was looking out the window while I was thinking. The class has potato plant in a jar sitting on the shelf by the window that looks out on the little kids' playground. We started it on the first day of school. It's in water in a glass jar and it just has some short green vines coming out of it because we just started it on the first day of school. Miss Porter was real proud of it and talked about how it would be our earth sciences project for the whole year.
Here was my plan – I was going to poison that damn potato. Even though I shouldn't have done it, I think I made a pretty cool plan. On our way back from music class we always take a bathroom break. I was going to smuggle some pee back and pour it in the potato jar, which should kill it because pee has acid in it. Here's what I did. I took a cap off one of my magic markers (the pink one, who cares if it dries up. Dang.) and slipped in into my pocket. It is in the shape of a hollow cylinder.
After music was over and we went to the restroom, I hung back a little bit so I would be one of the last ones. I was real careful so nobody would notice what I was doing, and I was real nervous while I was sneaking the cap out of my pocket and peeing into it. It would be bad enough if somebody saw me, but I didn't want to spill pee on myself either. But I pulled it off and I hid it in my hand the way I learned to do with a quarter from my magic book.
Luckily when we go back to the classroom we kind of move around a lot, so I could go over to the window next to the potato jar. It was just as bad as filling the cap, trying to make sure nobody notice what I was doing. Also, I still didn't want to get pee on me. But I did it, and nobody said anything. I'm pretty sure nobody saw. I threw the cap in the wastebasket under the pencil sharpener by the door.
We had spelling next, then lunch. All during that time I felt pretty good about it. Mostly good. Mostly good that I had been able to pull it off but still a little bad about it. But mostly good.
Until we got back from lunch. When we walked into the room, we could tell something was wrong. Miss Porter was sitting at her desk and she was real quiet and she was frowning. That is not how she usually is. So it seemed like something was wrong, but we didn't know what yet. And she told us all to sit down at our desks which we did.
She stood up in the front of the room and told us something bad had happened and that she wanted to give the person who had done it a chance to make things right. Right then I got a really bad feeling in my stomach. I was busted.
She told us all to put our heads on our desks and close our eyes. Then she started talking. She talked very slow and very serious. She said we all make mistakes sometimes and do things that we should not do. She said the important thing was to take responsibility for our mistakes. She said she wanted to give the person who had done this the opportunity to take responsibility. She said they would not be punished and nobody but the person had to know about it.
This whole time I'm feeling worse and worse. Part of me is remembering the rule that you never ever confess to anything. But she's so serious. And I started to thing that killing the potato with pee is kind of a stupid thing to do anyway and it doesn't have anything to do with the purple reading group and it would make things any better. So I know what I've got to do. I take a couple of real deep breaths to get ready for the bad stuff that is coming and get ready to raise my hand.
Then Miss Porter says that this is the time and that the person who took Ramelle Nevins' plastic pencil sharpener in the shape of a pig out of her jacket pocket while it was hanging up on the coat rack in the back of the room should do the right thing and hold their hand up now.
I think I breathed out really loud. I heard some other people breathing too. But I put my hand back down. We sat that for a long time like that. I don't think anybody ever put their hand up, but I'm not sure. I did start feeling really bad about the potato though. It seemed like a really dumb thing to do now and the potato did not deserve to die and it was the whole class's project.
So I'm thinking about it all through math and I decide I've got to do something about it. The only thing I can come up with (beside telling Miss Porter, which I don't want to do because it would only get me in trouble and what good would that do?) is to spill the water so it will have to be replaced and hope that it is not too late.
And that's what I did. During afternoon break I went over to the potato. I used the same skills I did before to make it look natural. I made sure I was looking in a different direction from the potato jar and kind of swept my arm across the shelf a little bit, just hard enough to knock the jar over, but not hard enough to break the jar.
I guess I hit it too low or something, because it didn't just fall over. It kind of fell over my arm and spilled the water back towards me. Some got on my pants. There was a wet spot the size of my hand just below my pocket. Of course everybody laughed at me. Which did not bother me too much because if it had happened to somebody else I would laugh too. And the guys said I had peed on myself even though they knew it was only the potato water. I was really glad they did not know that in a way I had peed on myself. But it wasn't too bad and there was only 30 minutes until we got on the buses.
Miss Porter came over, and she was not mad, just kind of tired acting. She gave me a kind of funny look, then told me to dry my pants off with some paper towels. She took some too and cleaned up the potato water, stuck the potato back in the jar then took it over to sink and filled it up with water again. She put it back on the shelf, but closer to the window this time. She told us to sit back down (which I was glad to do because it would hide my wet pants) and we worked on a fractions worksheet until the first bell rang and the car-riders and walkers went to the gym.
When the second bell rang, we all got up to go. Miss Porter put her hand on my shoulder when I was walking out the door, and asked me to hold on a minute. When everybody else was out of the room she said she could tell I was upset about being in the purple reading group. I did not know what to say and I just kind of nodded. My face got red again. She said she knew I was a very good reader and I wasn't in the purple group because I wasn't a good reader. She said that sometimes the best way to get better at something when you are already good at it is to teach somebody else. She said she put me into the purple group so I could help the other purples with their reading. She said I would be a good example and I could help with some of the harder words. She smiled at me in a very nice way and said I should promise not to tell anybody else about it which I said I would not. Then she told me to hurry up or I would miss the bus, which was good because Mr. Butts was still mean and would leave me if he could.
When I was walking to the bus, I was not sure what to think. I felt good about what Miss Porter had said, but I still felt bad about what I had done. I was glad that I had spilled the potato jar, but it was dumb to have done it at all when I knew it was wrong to begin with. It was a weird day.
School Days
School Days
"Here it is!"
I picked my way carefully among chunks of drywall. The floor tiles were loose as well. It was one thing to do a little trespassing to take a picture for a friend, but breaking a leg was another.
I looked through the doorway that his voice had come from.
"This was my old classroom," Jake said. "This is so cool. I've never done this in a building that I knew before it was abandoned."
He was looking around with wonder in his eyes. I looked around with nothing more than mild interest. There was still a blackboard, half hanging off the wall, and a few overturned desks. Otherwise the room was mostly empty. Many of the windows were broken, with vines and tree branches poking through. If I'd had more imagination I'm sure I could have entertained myself by thinking of the many generations of children who'd gazed out these windows. Instead the main thing I had in common with them is that I was pretty bored.
"So this is where you want the picture?" I prompted. Let's do it and get out of here, I thought.
"Yeah."
He stood in front of the blackboard, wearing his special purple jacket. This was his thing, collecting pictures of himself in the jacket on all his adventures. In the past I'd only seen the resulting photos. But all his urban-exploration friends were off on a trip to an abandoned amusement park when he heard that the demolition of our old elementary school would start on Monday.
"Great," I said after clicking the shutter a few times.
"Let me have it," he said. "We should take some more. It's the last record of the place."
I gave up the camera. I should have seen this coming, of course, even if just from seeing the dozens of photos of decaying factories, hospitals and whatnot. He'd made it sound like this would be a quick trip, but it had been foolish of me to believe him.
Jake had disappeared out the door, clicking the camera at everything he passed. I followed without enthusiasm. Returning to our old school didn't thrill me nearly as much as it did him. Not only was I uninterested in decaying buildings, I had no fond memories of grade school.
He was far down the hall when I smelled something. Something like burning.
"Jake?" I called. OK, this really crossed the line. I had not signed on for dying in a fire. They wouldn't think to look for anyone to rescue, because there shouldn't be anyone in here.
He had disappeared into another doorway. I walked after him faster, slipping on the loose tiles. Dammit, this wasn't funny anymore.
I glanced in the classroom doors as I passed, more peeling paint, more half-mast blackboards. The smell was getting stronger.
"Jake!" I said to his back, just inside the door of the last room in the hallway.
He didn't turn, and I saw what he was looking at. A man – a hobo, you might even say – was sitting by the window. He'd built a fire, and he was cutting the last of a potato into a dented pot hanging over the fire.
I'd have thought it was a ghost or a hallucination, if the man hadn't spoken to us. And if I hadn't recognized his voice.
"Have a seat. This should be done in twenty minutes or so," he gestured at the pot.
"Mr Dell?" Jake said, before I found my voice.
The man peered at us as we walked closer.
"Jake Carter. Oh, and Roy Griffin."
I was sure his tone had changed when he said my name. But surely he couldn't remember me that well. He'd tormented plenty of children in his years as a teacher. I wasn't anything special.
"Yeah," Jake said. "Wow." To him, this was obviously the coolest thing. Almost as good as really seeing a ghost.
"Well, fancy meeting you boys here," Mr Dell said.
I supposed that to him we were still boys. Jake remembered it all so well, he might as well have been. He was off and running, reminiscing about elementary school, about a trip we'd taken to a historic recreation site of some kind, another to some museum, all the kinds of old buildings he'd grown up to be crazy about. I just watched. Mr Dell hadn't shaved or washed in a long time. I wanted to know what had happened that he was homeless, living in an abandoned building, cooking over a fire like a hobo. But Jake had taken hold of the conversation, and he was more interested in the distant past.
After a while Jake ran out of breath and paused for a second. Mr Dell said to me, "So I guess you don't remember so much about second grade, Roy."
"Oh, sure," I said. "Like that time you gave me an F for drawing those birds."
Stupid thing to pop into my mind. Stupider to mention it. No way he could remember the lesson where we were supposed to show we knew our numbers by drawing one bird, two birds, three birds. He'd drawn the birds as those abstract curved W shapes. I'd drawn whole birds with feet and wings and heads. I liked to draw, and the assignment was less boring that way. He didn't even give me a chance to redo it.
"Those fancy birds, with patterns on the wings," he said.
I stared at him. He remembered? Impossible. It was just that plenty of children had been given Fs for doing the same thing, I thought. But did they all draw patterns on the wings?
"Yeah," I said. "Boy, I felt terrible about that."
I meant for it to sound casual. How could I still hold a grudge about something so stupid?
I waited for him to apologize. To say that now he realized that that was no way to treat small children. That he'd been too hard on them, and he was sorry.
"Well, it's important to learn to follow instructions carefully," he said.
"Oh no," Jake interrupted. "I have to go. I have a job to get to."
Right. This was why Jake hadn't gone off to see the abandoned amusement park on the Jersey shore with his friends. He was a photographer, and he had a wedding to get to. And he couldn't go in those dirty clothes and that purple jacket.
"Cool to see you," Jake called over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
He trotted down the hall, as fast as you could with all the debris scattered around. I struggled to keep up. I wondered, did Mr Dell know he only had another day to live in his old school building? That the wreckers were coming on Monday?
As we squeezed out the gap between the chained-together exit doors, Jake stopped and turned to me.
"Wait," he said. "Do you think he knows that the building's coming down?"
"He must," I said.
"We should go back and make sure," he said, uncertainly.
"You don't have time."
He looked at his watch again. "Oh god, you're right. You go?"
"OK," I said. "Go ahead."
"Oh, that's great. I really have to go. Thanks for coming. I'll show you the pictures tomorrow," he said as he pushed his way through the overgrown weeds and grass to the gap in the chain-link fence around the site.
I watched till he disappeared down the street. Then I pulled the doors shut behind me and headed home.
"Here it is!"
I picked my way carefully among chunks of drywall. The floor tiles were loose as well. It was one thing to do a little trespassing to take a picture for a friend, but breaking a leg was another.
I looked through the doorway that his voice had come from.
"This was my old classroom," Jake said. "This is so cool. I've never done this in a building that I knew before it was abandoned."
He was looking around with wonder in his eyes. I looked around with nothing more than mild interest. There was still a blackboard, half hanging off the wall, and a few overturned desks. Otherwise the room was mostly empty. Many of the windows were broken, with vines and tree branches poking through. If I'd had more imagination I'm sure I could have entertained myself by thinking of the many generations of children who'd gazed out these windows. Instead the main thing I had in common with them is that I was pretty bored.
"So this is where you want the picture?" I prompted. Let's do it and get out of here, I thought.
"Yeah."
He stood in front of the blackboard, wearing his special purple jacket. This was his thing, collecting pictures of himself in the jacket on all his adventures. In the past I'd only seen the resulting photos. But all his urban-exploration friends were off on a trip to an abandoned amusement park when he heard that the demolition of our old elementary school would start on Monday.
"Great," I said after clicking the shutter a few times.
"Let me have it," he said. "We should take some more. It's the last record of the place."
I gave up the camera. I should have seen this coming, of course, even if just from seeing the dozens of photos of decaying factories, hospitals and whatnot. He'd made it sound like this would be a quick trip, but it had been foolish of me to believe him.
Jake had disappeared out the door, clicking the camera at everything he passed. I followed without enthusiasm. Returning to our old school didn't thrill me nearly as much as it did him. Not only was I uninterested in decaying buildings, I had no fond memories of grade school.
He was far down the hall when I smelled something. Something like burning.
"Jake?" I called. OK, this really crossed the line. I had not signed on for dying in a fire. They wouldn't think to look for anyone to rescue, because there shouldn't be anyone in here.
He had disappeared into another doorway. I walked after him faster, slipping on the loose tiles. Dammit, this wasn't funny anymore.
I glanced in the classroom doors as I passed, more peeling paint, more half-mast blackboards. The smell was getting stronger.
"Jake!" I said to his back, just inside the door of the last room in the hallway.
He didn't turn, and I saw what he was looking at. A man – a hobo, you might even say – was sitting by the window. He'd built a fire, and he was cutting the last of a potato into a dented pot hanging over the fire.
I'd have thought it was a ghost or a hallucination, if the man hadn't spoken to us. And if I hadn't recognized his voice.
"Have a seat. This should be done in twenty minutes or so," he gestured at the pot.
"Mr Dell?" Jake said, before I found my voice.
The man peered at us as we walked closer.
"Jake Carter. Oh, and Roy Griffin."
I was sure his tone had changed when he said my name. But surely he couldn't remember me that well. He'd tormented plenty of children in his years as a teacher. I wasn't anything special.
"Yeah," Jake said. "Wow." To him, this was obviously the coolest thing. Almost as good as really seeing a ghost.
"Well, fancy meeting you boys here," Mr Dell said.
I supposed that to him we were still boys. Jake remembered it all so well, he might as well have been. He was off and running, reminiscing about elementary school, about a trip we'd taken to a historic recreation site of some kind, another to some museum, all the kinds of old buildings he'd grown up to be crazy about. I just watched. Mr Dell hadn't shaved or washed in a long time. I wanted to know what had happened that he was homeless, living in an abandoned building, cooking over a fire like a hobo. But Jake had taken hold of the conversation, and he was more interested in the distant past.
After a while Jake ran out of breath and paused for a second. Mr Dell said to me, "So I guess you don't remember so much about second grade, Roy."
"Oh, sure," I said. "Like that time you gave me an F for drawing those birds."
Stupid thing to pop into my mind. Stupider to mention it. No way he could remember the lesson where we were supposed to show we knew our numbers by drawing one bird, two birds, three birds. He'd drawn the birds as those abstract curved W shapes. I'd drawn whole birds with feet and wings and heads. I liked to draw, and the assignment was less boring that way. He didn't even give me a chance to redo it.
"Those fancy birds, with patterns on the wings," he said.
I stared at him. He remembered? Impossible. It was just that plenty of children had been given Fs for doing the same thing, I thought. But did they all draw patterns on the wings?
"Yeah," I said. "Boy, I felt terrible about that."
I meant for it to sound casual. How could I still hold a grudge about something so stupid?
I waited for him to apologize. To say that now he realized that that was no way to treat small children. That he'd been too hard on them, and he was sorry.
"Well, it's important to learn to follow instructions carefully," he said.
"Oh no," Jake interrupted. "I have to go. I have a job to get to."
Right. This was why Jake hadn't gone off to see the abandoned amusement park on the Jersey shore with his friends. He was a photographer, and he had a wedding to get to. And he couldn't go in those dirty clothes and that purple jacket.
"Cool to see you," Jake called over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
He trotted down the hall, as fast as you could with all the debris scattered around. I struggled to keep up. I wondered, did Mr Dell know he only had another day to live in his old school building? That the wreckers were coming on Monday?
As we squeezed out the gap between the chained-together exit doors, Jake stopped and turned to me.
"Wait," he said. "Do you think he knows that the building's coming down?"
"He must," I said.
"We should go back and make sure," he said, uncertainly.
"You don't have time."
He looked at his watch again. "Oh god, you're right. You go?"
"OK," I said. "Go ahead."
"Oh, that's great. I really have to go. Thanks for coming. I'll show you the pictures tomorrow," he said as he pushed his way through the overgrown weeds and grass to the gap in the chain-link fence around the site.
I watched till he disappeared down the street. Then I pulled the doors shut behind me and headed home.
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