“Dear Neighbor Dorothy,
“Have you ever wondered what is at the end of the rainbow? Well, I want to share with you what happened to us. Yesterday my family and I were driving out in the country and when a small rainstorm cleared, my son called our attention to a huge rainbow that had suddenly formed across the sky. The end of it seemed to be in the road up ahead of us. I drove as fast as I could to the spot and when we all got out of the car and looked at each other our skin seemed to glow with iridescent colors of pink and blue and green. We could not believe our eyes. We were literally standing in the rainbow. If that is not a miracle, I don’t know what is. God truly blessed my family and me that day and we will never forget it.”
Mother Smith played a little of “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” “Thank you for sharing that beautiful story with us, Mrs. Carter. . . . Now every time I see a rainbow I’ll think of you and your family standing in the rainbow!
“Now I ask you. Isn’t life wonderful?”
THE SIXTIES
The Chickens Coming Home to Roost
AFTER BOBBY GRADUATED, he immediately got a teaching job at Franklin Pierce, a small college in Rindge, New Hampshire, and he and Lois were provided with a nice house on a lake. Although he made very little money, life was good for a while. They loved the college and the town but both of them, because they were from southern Missouri, were not used to the cold winters and the first year they nearly froze to death. Also, after his time in Korea, months of snow depressed him, and so Bobby started looking around for a warmer place. He had applied for jobs in Arizona and California but so far nothing had come through and in the meantime he and Lois were expecting their first child. As soon as they could, they came back to Missouri to visit. They spent a week with her parents and a week with Doc and Dorothy.
While they were in Elmwood Springs their old friend Mr. Charlie Fowler, the poultry inspector, called and said he wanted to stop by for dinner while they were there. It had been a few years and Bobby was glad to see him again. He had been at their wedding and had sent them a lovely gift. That night Dorothy made him his favorite, smothered pork chops and mashed potatoes, and after the first bite Fowler said the same thing he always did. “Dorothy, I’m not sure but I think these may be the best pork chops you ever made.” After dinner, when the men headed out for a smoke, Fowler asked Bobby if he would take a little walk with him.
“Sure,” said Bobby. They walked out in the backyard and sat down in the lawn chairs by the Sweetheart Swing and enjoyed the view. The sun was still pretty high in the sky. It had been an early spring that year and the apple tree was already full of pink-and-white flowers and the morning glories were already blooming and hanging off the old wooden fence and the garage. Ruby Robinson n uck her head out the window next door and said, “Tell your mother we have plenty of extra tomatoes over here if she needs any.”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure will,” he said.
Bobby sat there with Mr. Fowler and wondered why but figured he would find out sooner or later. After a while Fowler said, “That’s a mighty fine little wife you have in there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve been knowing you and your family for a long time now. Watched you and your sister grow up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fowler cleared his throat. “You know, if I had married and had a son such as yourself just starting out in life, this is what I would say to him—but since I don’t have one I’m going to tell it to you instead.
“Young Robert,” he said, “we . . . you and I . . . have to stop pecking around in the barnyard of mediocrity and dare to fly with the eagles out into the world of big business. That’s why a few years back I started buying up an interest in as many chicken farms as I could. I looked up and saw the handwriting on the wall, so to speak, and this is what it said. It said, Charlie . . . the poultry business is changing. It’s no longer just an egg world out there. It’s a fried-chicken-in-a-bucket-to-go world and you better jump in while the jumping’s good.” He leaned closer. “Now, son, this is strictly between you and me, but I just signed an exclusive contract with this fellow over in Kentucky for me to supply him with all his chickens. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not making money yet, but I’ve got my eye on this fellow and the way business is booming I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t open up another place real soon.”
“Really?” said Bobby.
“Yep . . . and it all pans out with my theory about the future.”
“What’s your theory?”
“Quantity,” he said emphatically. “Not quality. Fast, not friendly. That’s the secret of making money nowadays, boy. This is the jet age. People want to eat on the move. How fast, how cheap, and how much do we get for our dollar, that’s what folks are interested in today.”
Bobby nodded and thought about it.
“Anyhow, young Robert, what I’m saying is this. I’m looking for a good man to work for me, somebody with personality, good P.R. skills such as my own, and I think that you fit that bill to a tee. Say the word and the job is yours.”
Bobby was flattered by the offer but he did not know a thing about the poultry business. “I sure appreciate you considering me for the job, Mr. Fowler, but—”
Fowler did not let him finish his sentence. “Now, before you talk it over with your wife,” he said as he pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, “I’m going to write down a figure as to what you can expect to earn the first year. And this is just to start, mind you.” He jotted down a number and handed it to Bobby. “Of course, you would have to relocate but I think it is a chance worth taking and I give you my word, son, if I do well, you do well.”
The number Fowler showed him was twice the salary he was making now.
The next morning when Monroe stopped by the house for coffee and Bobby showed him the figure, Monroe, true to form, said, “Whoa . . . that’s some serious bucks.” Bobby was torn. He hated to give up teaching but with a baby on the way and no new teaching offers, he and Lois talked. They decided to get out of the cold of New Hampshire and take a chance with Mr. Fowler.
The Missing Plate
TOT WHOOTEN had never met Charlie Fowler but when Mother Smith was down at Tot’s beauty shop having her hair dyed purple again she mentioned Bobby’s new job. Tot said, “Well, for his sake I hope it works out. But no matter what you do in life there’s a fifty-fifty chance that something will go wrong.” She threw a teacup full of creme rinse on Mother Smith’s head and added, “Of course, with me it’s always been a ninety-nine percent chance that if something can go wrong, it will.”
Tot must have had a premonition.
The following Monday Norma Warren had just returned from driving her eleven-year-old daughter, Linda, over to Poplar Bluff to spend the week with her grandmother, Ida Jenkins. Much to Norma’s irritation, after her father had died her mother had picked up and moved there so she could be nearer to the Presbyterian church. “Now that I’m a widow,” she said, “I need to be closer to my own kind.” It hurt Norma to think her mother preferred the Presbyterians to her own family but she still had Aunt Elner, even though she was a handful. Today was Norma’s at-home beauty day and she was right in the middle of giving herself her weekly Merle Norman facial when the phone rang again for the third time in an hour. She did not answer it but it would not stop ringing so she finally had to pick up.
“Hello, Aunt Elner,” she said, as pleasantly as she could, trying not to ruin her facial, but this time it was not Aunt Elner again. It was Elner’s neighbor Verbena calling from the cleaners.
“Norma, it’s me. Have you heard what happened to poor Tot?”
“Oh God, what now?”
“You know Rochelle, his assistant, that heavyset gal who likes to have a snort or two with Dr. Orr?”
“Yes, what about her?”
“Well, I guess they lost poor Tot’s upper plate over the weekend. Too much fooling around in the office.”
“What do you mean they lost it?” she said,
destroying her facial.
“Friday Dr. Orr pulled her teeth out and took an impression of her gums for a set of false teeth and told her to come back Monday and he would have her plate ready . . . and this morning she sneaks up there by the back alley—she said she would just die if anybody saw her without her teeth—so she goes in and sits down. She said she couldn’t wait to get her new teeth. And then Dr. Orr walks in and she said she should have known something was wrong, she could smell the liquor on his breath, so anyhow he says, ‘Open up,’ and then he tries to put this upper plate in her mouth and it no more fits her than the man in the moon and he calls out, ‘Dammit, Rochelle, this is not Tot’s upper plate!’ He says to her, ‘Wait right here,’ and then she hears all this yelling and cussing, so anyhow, about fifteen minutes later he comes back and says, ‘Tot, I’m sorry, your teeth must have been thrown out by mistake. I’m going to have to take another impression and start over.’ ”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh yes. So as you can imagine, Poor Tot was fit to be tied. She said it was no telling whose teeth he had put in her mouth. And not only that, this was the very week she was going to the new catfish place. You sure can’t eat catfish without teeth, much less corn on the cob.”
“No.”
“And you know what the worst part is?”
“How could it possibly get worse?”
“I think James is slipping around on Tot with that Rochelle. That’s what Merle said. He saw them out on the highway at that old Casa Loma Supper Club, and they were all over each other, kissing and carrying on.”
“Oh no, Poor Tot.”
“I think it was sabotage, just plain sabotage. I think that girl just threw her teeth out for meanness so she could run around with James while Poor Tot has to stay home. But mind you, I didn’t tell Tot that.”
“Poor Tot.”
“Isn’t it the truth? If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And right after her mother set the house on fire and now this. It’s a wonder she can even get up in the morning.”
Norma went and cleaned her face and started again. She thought she better take care of her looks. She did not want Macky going out to the Casa Loma or someplace with some other woman.
The Pageant
UNFORTUNATELY, things had not turned out well for Betty Raye either. Hamm did not keep his word to her and in 1960 decided to run for another four years as governor. There went her dream of having her own home again. She had been heartbroken, but even she could see that his political career was like a train that could not be stopped. He was at the height of his popularity and he said not to run when he had all this momentum going would be such a terrible waste of all the time and energy he had put in. He pleaded with her, promised her that if he could have this one more term it would definitely be the end. “Anyway, honey,” he said, “the state law says a governor can’t serve three consecutive terms. So even if I wanted to I couldn’t run again. What better guarantee can you have than that?”
As heartbroken as she was about having to stay on for another four years, she could see how much the people depended on him. He seemed to thrive on pressure and enjoy his every waking hour. And like it or not, she had to admit Hamm had turned out to be a wonderful governor and although she still longed to spend more time with him and live in a home of her own, there was a part of her that was very proud of him. As much as she missed him, she was pleased he was so happy.
Also the good news about Hamm’s popularity was that in this election year his numbers were so high she and the two boys did not have to go on the campaign trail with him. There was almost no campaign, and as furious as it made him, Earl Finley had to sit and wait another four years until he could take back control of the state.
When Hamm won the election in a landslide, Cecil Figgs was of course delighted to have another four years and decided that it was time to put on a grand outdoor pageant celebrating the history of Missouri. It was to be a spectacular affair with a cast of hundreds, including an Indian pony to depict the first ride of the Pony Express in 1860 from St. Joseph to Sacramento. The pageant would re-create all the major events, starting from June 1812, when Missouri was first organized as a territory, and continuing up to modern-day Missouri.
They were rehearsing down at the big Shrine Auditorium and all day long Cecil had been losing his patience with State Trooper Ralph Childress, who, at six-four, could hardly be pushed around without something happening. Cecil was directing the governor’s Honor Guard to march onto the stage in a straight line and to continue marching through a huge reproduction of the St. Louis Arch with a GATEWAY TO THE WEST banner at the very top. When they reached the front of the stage they were to turn, face the audience, salute and, in unison, put their hands behind their backs, and hold an at-ease stance—all on the count of ten that Cecil was snapping away with his fingers. “One more time,” Cecil said, stomping his foot and clapping his hands at Trooper Childress. “Faster, faster, pick up your feet, you’re too slow.”
Finally the trooper, red-faced and ready to explode, stopped and said, “Listen, you little fairy, you snap your fingers at me one more time, I’m gonna rip them off and shove them up your fat ass.”
Cecil stood and blinked at him, “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Cecil frowned. “Don’t you make me waste my valuable rehearsal time fooling with you. I am the director of this show and you are going to do it and you are going to do it right.”
“Over my dead body,” said Trooper Childress.
Cecil glanced at his watch. “Take a fifteen-minute break, people. I want you all back here onstage at exactly one-forty, ready to take it from the top.” He then pointed at Trooper Childress and said, “And I want to see you downstairs right now, mister, let’s go.”
When they got downstairs to the large rehearsal hall, Cecil closed the door and said, “Take off that shirt. I’m not having you rip up a new shirt when we don’t have time to order another one.”
The trooper did so with glee, just itching to wipe up the floor with Cecil. The last thing Ralph Childress heard before Cecil hauled off and beat the living hell out of him was “I will not have a cast member setting a bad example.”
Fifteen minutes later Cecil came back into the auditorium clapping his hands. “Let’s go, people . . . right from the top.” Behind him came Childress, limping slightly. A few minutes ago, he had been lying on the floor too exhausted to get back up, while Cecil had stood over him with his hands on his hips and asked, “Now, are you ready to get back to work or not?”
The trooper had been so surprised that he’d laughed and said, “Yeah, I guess so.”
Cecil may have looked pudgy but he was as solid as a rock and as strong as a bull. He had been lifting dead bodies and caskets all his life. Although most of his military service had been spent arranging teas and bridge parties for the officers and their wives, he had been trained to defend himself. Nothing more was made of the incident but when the others asked Ralph what had happened he replied, “Aw, he’s all right . . . just trying to do his job.” In trooper language that must have meant a lot, because Cecil never had any more trouble with any of them and eventually they even came to like him. As a matter of fact, some came to him when they were having trouble with their wives or girlfriends and asked his advice. He seemed to understand women much better than they did.
And it was true in one important case. He had noticed Hamm and Betty Raye drifting further apart. After the pageant, he went into Hamm’s office and closed the door. “You know I don’t care what you do in your personal life but you need to start paying a little more attention to your wife.”
Hamm, distracted, said, “What?”
“Betty Raye. She hasn’t been anywhere with you in the last six months and that’s not right.”
“Oh yeah . . . yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should take her to dinner or something.”
“It had better be something,” Cecil said, “and soon.”
H
amm said, “Yeah, I will as soon as I get a free night.” But the free night never came. Betty Raye never said anything but she was lonesome. She really did not have any close friends in Jefferson City. Since it was the capital of the state, most people there were either in politics or married to someone who was. Betty Raye did not know a thing about politics except that it had taken her husband away, and she had nothing in common with the other wives, who seemed to love it. Alberta Peets, the ice-pick murderess, was her closest friend. She kept Betty Raye amused with stories of her many boyfriends, but when Alberta went home on a weekend furlough and the boys were off at camp, Betty Raye rattled around all by herself in the upstairs portion of the huge mansion.
One day in the middle of the afternoon, the phone rang at Neighbor Dorothy’s house in Elmwood Springs. It was Betty Raye.
“Well, hello, honey, what a nice surprise.”
“I didn’t want anything,” Betty Raye said. “I was just thinking about you and thought I’d call and say hello.”
They chatted for quite a while. Betty Raye asked about everyone and wanted to know how Jimmy was doing and said to tell him hello. When Dorothy asked how she was enjoying being the first lady of the state, Betty Raye said, “Oh fine.” She did not tell Dorothy but she often thought about them and her time in Elmwood Springs. And lately, there were times when she wished she had never left, but then one of her boys would run in looking for her and she’d be happy again.
The Dancing Storks