GOODBYE OLD GIRL

Cover of RollercoasterI will tell you the background story on this short essay at the conclusion.


I fell in love from the moment I first laid eyes on her.  I beieve it was her simpleness that I found most attractive.  She had a rare, undefinable beauty that can be captured only by what lies deep within one's heart.  This was what made me feel so close to her.


When we first met she was full of life, vigor, and a whimsical fortitude of fun and adventure.  But, as the years swept by, age began to etch it's way onto her outer surface.  Not only her physical being, but even her inner soul, the very essence that brought forth the fun and happiness from within was beginning to tarnish and grow weary.  The old girl was no longer able to stand as she once did.


People began to turn their heads away from her and those who had once known and loved her just ignored the old girl.  Those who had not known her during her younger days would sometimes stop by, only to cause further destruction of her lifeblood.


I visited her on her final day.  Tears came to my eyes as I saw but a mere skeleton of the girl that had once shared so many of my times of happiness and joy.


Today I turned away as the swing of the mighty wrecking ball began to destroy  the remains of the one whom I had grown to love and cherish.  This was the end of Ocean View.


Goodbye, old girl.  I will certainly miss  the treacherous hills and curves of "The Rocket" and the delightful music you used to play for me all along your midway.  And who can forget the endless nights which were spent dancing in your luxurious ballroom.  You looked absolutely lovely in your starring role in the movie "Rollercoaster".


I'll sure miss you old girl.  Yes, goodbye Ocean View Amusement Park.  The memories will remain.

"The Rocket" at Ocean View Amusement Park in Norfolk, VA.

Ocean View Amusement Park was a small park located in Norfolk, Virginia.  In the late 70's, while our ship was undergoing an overhaul, the movie "Rollercoaster" starring George Segal, Timothy Bottoms, Henry Fonda, and Richard Widmark was released.  If you remember that film, at the beginning of the film, there is a horrible roller coaster accident caused by a terrorist that was blackmailing theme parks across the country with similar accidents.  So, when we went to a local theater to see the film, they had one of the damaged coaster cars on display and a sign advertising Ocean View, since that is where the opening sequence was filmed.  It was then that I learned about this park and a friend and I took a bus to go there.  This was, I believe the last year that the park was opened.  Although quite small, there was a good day of fun there, including the roller coaster that had "crashed" in the movie (very convincing models and stage trickery were used for the actual crash).  The roller coaster was called "The Rocket" and to this day I remember it as being one of the best coasters I have ever ridden.  


After our ship had returned to our home port of Charleston, S.C. I saw a newspaper story that the park had closed and was being used in a made for TV movie called "The Death Of Ocean View Park".  At any rate, when I read that they were going to blow up the roller coaster for this movie, I was kind of bummed out and ended up writing this little essay.  One last little detail.  The star of this film was Mike Connors of "Mannix" fame.  The film was produced by Playboy Productions.

Ramblin' On

Image via Wikipedia

This next story is actually an essay that I wrote during a time of writer's block.  It deals with writer's block.  To preserve the flavor of the essay, it is presented as it was originally written in all caps.  It's pretty nonsensical, but you may enjoy it.


AS I SIT (OR IS IT SET.  I CAN'T REMEMBER FOR SURE.) AT THIS TYPEWRITER TYPEWRITING AWAY I JUST CANNOT THINK OF ANY STORIES TO WRITE.  I CANNOT THINK OF ANY STORIES TO WRITE EITHER.  SO NOW I HAVE BEEN FORCED TO SIT (SET) HERE AND RAMBLE AWAY AND BORE EVERYBODY TO DEATH.  NOT ONLY THAT BUT YOU ALSO WOULDN'T BELIEVE HOW MANY TYPEING EARRERS I AM MAKING. SEE WHAT I MEAN?  ONLY NOW I HAVE DECIDED NOT TO CORREDCT THEM.  SO THERE.  FOR THE FEW PEOPLE WHO ARE STILL READING THIS WORTHLESS PIECE OF GARBAGE MOST SUITABLE FOR WRAPPING FISH I WOULD LIKE TO SAY HOWWWDDDY, SO I WILL SAY IT NOW.  I DIDN'T SAY I WOULD TYPE IT.  I SAID I WOULD SAY IT.  AND I DID.


SINCE I'M RAMBLIN' AWAY AND NOT TALKIN' ABOUT STUFF I MAY.  SCRATCH THAT LAST SENTENCE.  START AGAIN.  SINCE I'M RAMBLIN' AWAY AND NOT WRITING A STORY I MAY AS WELL TALK ABOUT NESA (WRONG) NEAT STUFF.  I THINK NOW THAT I HAVE TALKED ABOUT ALL THAT NEAT STUFF I'LL JUST GO RIGHT AHEAD AND TYPE IT UP.


IN ALL THE WORLD THERE IS NOTHING FUNNIER TO READ THAN A DIRTY BOOK.  ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU HAVE DROPPED IT IN A MUD PUDDLE. (HA-HA HUH)


SERIOUSLY THOUGH, ISN'T IT FUNNY HOW SOME PEOPLE CAN GET ALL EXCITED BY READING WORDS LIKE UUUUNNNNNNGGGGGGHHHH, AAAAAAAAAAHHHH, OOOOOOOOOOHHHHH, AND NNNNNNNGGGGHHHH.  I ALWAYS LOOK AT IT LIKE IT MUST BE A TYPEWRITING ERROR.  YOU KNOW, MAYBE THE KEYS GOT STUCK OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT.  OH WELL.  THEY SAY WHATEVER TURNS YOU ON.    NOW ME.  I LIKE TO READ BOOKS LIKE BED, SLEEP, REST, NAP, HOLIDAY, AND WEEKEND IN THEM.  MY FAVORITE WORD IS (ARE YOU READY FOR THIS ONE) VAAAACCAAAATTTIIIOOONNNNN!!!!!


NOW YOU MUST ADMIT.  DOESN'T EVERYONE LOVE TAKING A NICE LONG VACATION?  I KNOW I DO.  BUT NOW THAT I TYPE OF IT, I WILL BE DOGGED IF I KNOW WHY.  WHAT I AM ABOUT TO TYPE YOU IS ONE OF MY DEEP DARK SECRETS.  WHENEVER I TAKE A VACATION, THE TRUE AND HONEST ME COMES FORTH.  TOTAL KLUTZ.  KNOWING ME AS WELL AS YOU DO I KNOW YOU FIND THAT HARD TO BELIEVE.  BUT TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.  IT'S ABSOLUTELY TRUE.


TAKE FOR EXAMPLE THE LAST TIME I WENT ON VACATION.  IT WAS IN MARCH BEFORE I REPORTED ABOARD THIS SHIP, THE USS ORION (AS-18).  (HECK OF A WAY TO END A VACATION, HUH?)  I HAD JUST FINISHED WITH ET SCGI (FINGERS WERE IN THE WRONG PLACE) SCHOOL AND I NOW HAD FIFTEEN GLORIOUS DAYS (SIXTEEN IF YOU COUNT MY ONE DAY OF TRAVEL TIME) IN BEAUTIFUL OHIO.


I FLEW EITHER DELTA OR AMERICAN AIRLINES FROM O'HARE IN CHICAGO TO CINCINATTI (WRONG) CINCINNATI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, WHICH, BY THE WAY, IS LOCATED ACROSS THE OHIO RIVER IN KENTUCKY.  I WENT TO THE BAGGAGE AREA TO PICK UP MY SUITCASE.  HALFWAY TO CINCINNATI WE HAD TO TURN AROUND AFTER I OPENED MY SUITCASE TO PULL OUT MY GRADUATION PICTURE AND REMOVED A SIZE 34-C, PADDED.  MY SUITCASE WAS STILL THERE.


NOBODY EVER GOT TO SEE MY GRADUATION PICTURE.  I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE PUT MY CAN OF SHAVING CREAM IN MY SUITCASE.  OH WELL.  YOU CAN REST ASSURED MY CLOTHES DIDN'T HAVE A WHISKER ON THEM.


I DON'T LIVE IN CINCINNATI.  CINCINNATI IS 120 MILES FROM MY HOMETOWN OF PORTSMOUTH, OHIO.  I COULD FLY TO HUNTINGTON AIRPORT WHICH IS ONLY 60 MILES FROM MY HOUSE.  BUT HOLY SMOKES, THAT TAKES ALMOST TEN MINUTES LONGER TO FLY THERE.


AFTER THE THREE HOUR DRIVE TO PORTSMOUTH I WATCHED A LITTLE TELEVISION, DROPPED A BEER ON MYSELF, SLIPPED IN THE SHOWER, AND FELL INTO MY BED, WHICH COLLAPSED UNDER ME.


AFTER FALLING OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING I DECIDED TO GET UP.  I PUT ON MY PANTS AND SHIRT FIRST.  I THEN BENT OVER TO PICK UP MY SHOES AND SOCKS.  AFTER CHANGING PANTS AND GIVING THE RIPPED ONES TO MOM TO SEW, I FINALLY GOT MY SHOES ON.  IMMEDIATELY, I REMOVED MY SHOES AND PUT THEM ON THE RIGHT FEET. 


I SAT DOWN AT THE KITCHEN TABLE TO HAVE A CUP OF COFFEE I TALKED WITH MOM ABOUT COLD GREAT LAKES, ILLINOIS AND ABOUT WHERE I WAS GOING.  I DIDN'T FINISH MY COFFEE.  MOM'S SALT SHAKER HAD BEEN BROKEN AND THE SALT WAS SITTING IN A BOWL NEXT TO THE BOWL OF SUGAR.  NEED I SAY MORE?


I WENT INTO THE BATHROOM TO SHAVE, COMB MY HAIR, AND PUT ON SOME DEODORANT.  I HADN'T PLANNED ON TAKING A SHOWER BUT DECIDED TO AFTER I PICKED UP THE HAIR SPRAY INSTEAD OF THE RIGHT GUARD.  BUT YOU KNOW, ONCE YOU THINK ABOUT IT, RIGHT GUARD IS SORT OF A HAIR SPRAY.


I TOLD MOM I WOULD SEE HER LATER, BORROWED HER CAR KEYS, (I WRECKED MY CAR LAST TIME I WAS HOME) AND WAS OFF TO TOWN.  WE ACTUALLY LIVED TWELVE MILES FROM PORTSMOUTH IN A LITTLE CITY CALLED LUCASVILLE.





I FINALLY MADE IT TO PORTSMOUTH AROUND !!#) (IF YOU ARE WONDERING WHAT TIME THAT IS,  LOOK AT A TYPEWRITER.


FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS I DROVE AROUND TOWN GOING FROM HOUSE TO HOUSE TO VISIT OLD FRIENDS FROM HIGH SCHOOL.  WHAT A DRAG.  EVERYONE I KNEW HAD EITHER MOVED, JOINED THE SERVICE LIKE MYSELF, OR WERE AWAY AT COLLEGE.  AFTER A WHILE I WAS GETTING DESPERATE.  I ENDED UP SPENDING THE DAY TALKING TO TEACHERS FROM HIGH SCHOOL.  (THRILLS)


AFTER WHAT HAD TURNED OUT AS A DISASTROUS, TERRIBLE BORING, BLECH DAY, I WAS DETERMINED TO MAKE THE MOST OF THE NIGHT.  NOW I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WOULD ALL MAKING THE MOST OF A NIGHT BUT I KNOW IN MY OPINION IT WAS NOWHERE NEAR THAT.  WHEN I GOT HOME I FOUND OUT THAT MY MOM HAD INVITED ALL OF MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS OUT TO THE HOUSE FOR SUPPER THAT NIGHT. (DRAG)


THAT'S  ABOUT HOW IT WENT FOR THE NEXT FOURTEEN DAYS.  YOU MIGHT THINK IT WAS A RELIEF TO BE LEAVING.  WELL, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN.  BUT LIKE I SAID, I HAD ONE DAY TRAVEL TIME.  THAT WAS THE DAY FY OLD GIRLFRIEND FROM HIGH SCHOOL CAME BACK FROM VISITING HER GRANDMA IN COLUMBUS, OHIO.  I WOULD TYPE ABOUT THAT, BUT LIKE I SAID ON PAGE STO (WRONG AGAIN) ONE, READING THOSE STORIES DON'T TURN ME ON.  NO MORE RAMBLIN' TODAY.

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The Witch Next Door

Image via Wikipedia

I know that you are going to find this hard to believe, but I have a witch living in the house next door.  Now I know you are thinking that there may quite possibly be someone living next to me who practices witchcraft.  A lot of people do.  But of course their spells never work.


I definitely am not talking about that kind of witch.  I'm talking about a full-fledged, warty-nosed, Wicked Witch of the West type of witch.


She had lived next to me for six months before I finally found out for sure.  Oh sure, there were certain little things which made me kind of suspicious.  Take for instance her clothing.  Would any normal person wear a long, black, silk gown with a matching hat that comes to a point?  And another thing.  Who in this day and age still uses a broom to get around town?  I have no doubt that it gets great mileage.  But who wants to have all of the neighbors staring at you?


I didn't say anything to her about that.  So what if she was a little eccentric?  My Grandfather used to chase wild women at the beaches.  You wouldn't think anything was wrong with an 84 year old man having a little fun.  The only trouble was, he was pretty good at catching the ones he chased.


Getting back to my story, none of those things really made me think she was a witch.  What eventually gave it away was what happened on the day I had to go to her house to borrow a cup of sugar.  I needed the sugar to make some Kool-Aid which I always liked to take to work.


The first thing I did was to get my umbrella from the closet.  It wasn't raining on my house, but darned if I didn't get soaked every time I walked past her house  It seemed that her house was always in a constant state of downpour.


I walked up the rickety old steps to her porch and knocked on the door.  Slowly the creepy, weather worn door opened, a high screeching sound coming from the hinges.  The frail old woman spoke to me.


When I told her what I wanted she led me into the living room and told me to sit down while she got it.  She hobbled to the kitchen as I started to sit down on the dust covered divan, trying to avoid the cobwebs that surrounded it.  As I did, a black cat jumped out from behind me with a loud cry.  Soon thereafter, my neighbor came back with the sugar.  I stood up, thanked her, and bid her farewell.


"It's all my pleasure Sonny," she cackled.  I stepped outside, opened my umbrella, and headed for home.


I know that you are now wondering how that made me find out for sure she was a witch.  Actually, it didn't.  I found that out today at work while I was on my lunch break.  Just one sip of my Kool-Aid that was laced with witch sugar and boom.  That sugar changed me into a frog.  You don't know how difficult it has been for me to actually type this.  Take my advice.  Before you borrow sugar from your neighbor, make sure you know them well.  Extremely well!  Ribbit ribbit ribbit.


That one was certainly short and sweet.  In this collection, there are many stories that are only one or two pages.  I know the criticism will be that these are more like essays and not stories.  And you would be correct.  That is why I named the book "From the Writings of a Sailor," and not "From the Short Stories of a Sailor."

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The Letter In The Bible

Image by Lawrence OP via Flickr

When I originally wrote this story I called it an offbeat love story.  Whether you agree or not will definitely depend on how twisted you are.


"He's in room 114 and look lady, don't tell him I told you."  The attendant behind the desk sat back down in his old wooden chair and picked up his comic book, paying no more attention to the lady that had interrupted him.


She walked down the dimly lit hallway, passing what seemed like endless miles of doors, many silent, and some with their televisions on.  There were a few doors where she could hear the sound of bouncing bed springs and the grunts of some middle-aged man getting his rocks off with some two-bit whore.


Room 114 was near the end of the hall, next to the vending and ice machines.  She knocked on the door.  No answer.  Another knock.  Still nothing.  She called out to him.  "Dan, are you there?"  There was no reply.  Maybe, she thought, he was asleep and hadn't heard.


She put her hand to the doorknob and turned it.  It was unlocked.  She opened the door and stepped inside.  There were no lights on in the room, but from the dim hallway light she could see that someone was on the bed.


She reached for the light switch.  Hopefully, the light wouldn't startle him.  Unlike the hallway, the rooms were well equipped for lighting, allowing her to see it all.  Her scream broke the silence of the room before she passed out, overcome by the shock of what she had just seen.


Hearing the scream, the desk clerk tossed his comic book aside, and ran down the hallway to see what had happened.  Before he arrived, the other people from the hotel had already surrounded the door.  Some had been sickened by the sight.  All of them were horrified by it.


The clerk shoved his way through the crowd.  He squeezed past those blocking the entrance, and his eyes fell upon the same gory scene that everyone else had been witness to.


"Oh my God," he whispered.  "Jesus Christ!"  He turned and asked everyone to leave.  The clerk then lifted the woman off of the floor, carried her to the hotel lobby, and rested her on a couch.  He then called the police.


Within minutes the police had arrived and the clerk took them to the room.  One of the cops, after an initial inspection spoke to the other.  "Sure looks like suicide to me.  Think so Al?"


Al looked at the figure on the bed.  The man lay nude on the center of the blood coated sheets.  He must have been dead for many hours, the smell of decomposition already wafting through the thick dense air.  An open package of razor blades lay by the dead man's side.  What had once been snowy white bed sheets were now drenched a dark, crimson red from the blood that had poured out. He did a thorough job, Al guessed.  Deep gashes were carved in both wrists.  Perhaps the pain of waiting to die had been too much.  Embedded deep in his chest was a long thick knife.


Al finally spoke.  "Yeah, I think you're right about this one."


After the crime scene investigators had completed their tasks, the body was given a final examination from the coroner before being tagged and bagged and taken to the morgue.  The coroner agreed that it looked like your basic suicide.


Al was preparing to lock the room when something caught his eye.  He walked over to the lamp desk and picked up the bible that was there.  Several pages of folded paper were inserted in it.  He removed them and began to read.  It was a suicide note.  What caught the homicide detectives attention was the fact that the note didn't match the suicide.  He read the entire letter.

Dear Marsha,

I want you to understand why I did it.  Baby, you know I ain't so good when it comes to writing letters and I guess my last one won't be so different.

You know how much I love and care for you.  Baby, can you ever forgive me for not being able to take care of you?

Now that you left me, I can't say that there's any reason for me to stay around no more.  You now have someone else to take care of you and my little girl.  I know that man of yours is looking for me.  Convince him that the only reason I'm doing this is because I love you and don't want to be in your way no more.

If anyone finds me before I die, don't try to see what I took by looking for the pill bottles.  I threw them away and you won't find them.  Let me just die in peace.  Bye Marsha.

I love you and I will forever.

Dan

Want to know the rest of the story.  Come back soon and you can read the shocking end.


Homicide detectives Al Kaupman and Ed Miller were sitting at the kitchen table and were talking about the wrap-up of the case.  Al's wife, Kate, brought them more coffee and sat the pot in front of them.  She interrupted their conversation and spoke.


"It could have had a romantic ending if that guy hadn't found him and butchered him like that.  Did he think the guy was still asleep?"


Ed answered her question.  "I suppose so.  After he stabbed the guy, he slit his wrists to make it look more like a suicide.  After all, how many Americans do you know who commit hari kari?  The autopsy showed that the guy died from the knife wound, not the drugs.  He was legally still alive when he was stabbed.  The coroner found enough pills in his stomach to kill a platoon, but they didn't reach his blood stream yet.  He killed a man who would eventually have died anyway."


Kate spoke again.  "How did he know the guy was at those apartments?"


"Simple," remarked Al.  "He had been following the guy and had slipped right past the desk clerk without even being seen."


That night, as Al and Kate lay in bed, she kissed him on the cheek and spoke to him.  "I'm really proud of you, do you know that?"


"Why thank you Kate," he said, wrapping his arms around his wife and kissing her firmly on the lips.  To hell with today, he thought.  A fire was rushing through him--one he had not felt in what seemed like ages.  Al decided to take full advantage of the evening.  He kissed her again, this time giving Kate a long, sensual kiss, his hands reaching for the thin panties which had clung to her still shapely figure.  


They both reached a thunderous climax that night.  The two of them spent long, tender moments just fondling each other; exploring each other like they had never done before, finally exhausting themselves in the late hours of the night, and falling asleep with their arms wrapped around one another.


That same night, Marsha, the ex-wife of Dan, slept alone, softly crying herself to sleep.  How could she have been so stupid, leaving Dan for that jerk who now dared to call himself her husband.  A man that would probably now spend the rest of his life in prison.  She had truly been in love with Dan and realized what a fool she had been for leaving the one person that had truly loved her.  Dan had tried his best to provide for her.  But he could never hold down a job and she wanted more out of life than the world of poverty Dan could give her.  When she became pregnant with their child she knew her only option to give their child a better life was to divorce him.


Her crying eventually subsided and the tears dried as Marsha left her thoughts drift away, her exhaustion finally giving away to sleep.  As she slept, she began to dream.


In her dream Marsha saw a figure approaching from a foggy mist, calling to her.  As the person approached, she began to recognize the familiar features.  It was Dan and he was reaching out for her and beckoning her to come to him.


Marsha ran to him, engaging him with a hug and kiss when she finally came to him.  They were together again.  That was all that mattered.  She would stay with him for an eternity.


It was during the next day at work that Al got the radio call from his precinct chief.  Him and Ed were parked at a fast food restaurant having some burgers and fries for their lunch.  Ed had left the car to go to the restroom.  Ed returned, got back into the car and looked at Al, who looked like he had just seen a ghost.


"Hey Al, what's the problem?" Ed asked.  They had been partners for six years and Ed knew there was a definite problem.


"It's about the case from last night," Al finally responded.  "Late last night they found that ex-wife of the guy that was murdered.  She had stepped right out of her balcony and went over the ledge, killing herself.  It must have been too much for her."


"What about their kid?" Ed questioned.  "The kid all right?"


"Dead too," Al answered.  "Just quit breathing.  Coroner says it looks like SIDS."


"Maybe," Ed responded.  "Maybe they both died for the sake of love."


Like I said, to see this as a love story, you need to be just a little bit twisted.  In our next story, we will bounce once again to comedy.  It's a really short, comical piece about a next door neighbor.  In fact, the story is called, THE WITCH NEXT DOOR.  Come back and visit soon.

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HOW I CONQUERED CHRISTIE MARIE (HOW CHRISTIE MARIE CONQUERED ME)

I think that it is now time to be a little more light hearted and this next story fits the bill perfectly.  It is also the first story that I wrote that actually seems to me like a real short story.  It's about how love blossoms in Tennessee between a boy of no experience and a girl with lots.  Remember, this story was written more than 30 years ago and has no connection with the movie that is coming out called SHE'S OUT OF MY LEAGUE, even if Tom Mckenn is definitely out of his league.  By the way, the name McKenn was derived from one of my Grandmother's maiden names and is the name of course of some of my relatives.  Most of them come from southern Kentucky and are actually named McKeehan.  The reason I didn't use that name in this story is because I didn't know until years later that it was spelled like that.  I hope you enjoy this one.  Even though I was still no great author, I think now that this story showed some improvement, and after reading it a couple of days ago, I still got some chuckles out of it.


I'd heard about bein' pleasured way back in the fifth grade.  All the boys at the county school had talked about "bein' pleasured", an' some even snuck dirty pictures of women with no clothes on into the schoolhouse.


Lord a' mighty, do I 'member the rantin' and ravin' our schoolmarm, Miss Emma Lou Twitty did when she found one of 'em inside Billy Farney's arithmetic book.  And poor Billy!  His Papa had him back in that shed fer' pert' near twenty minutes!  Ole' Billy couldn't set down fer' a week.  He told us later that his Papa didn't whoop him fer lookin' at the pictures, but fer' tearin' them out of his books.


Now before I tell y'all the rest of my story, I reckon' I'd better tell ya' somethin' about me.  I was what you would call the shy type.  In fact, that would be a huge understatement.  Take fer' example the first time I saw one of them nekkid pictures.  It warn't the first time someone had brought pictures to school.  I just warn't interested before.  But it seemed, from what everyone was talkin' about, this one was really good.  It seems that it was the first picture someone had brought where the girl warn't wearin' no bloomers.  Well sir, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to take a looksee.


I warn't shor' if it was shock or amazement.  Whatever it was, I just stood there next to Jimmy Maynard, pointin' at the spot below her belly button.  Finally I managed to say what had been racin' through my head.


"Sh-sh-she a-ain't got no th-thang!  It's done been cut off!"


I still ain't lived that down.  Well sir, when they started laughin' I melted like molasses poured on top of some griddle cakes.


Another thing 'bout me.  I ain't got much common sense.  The next day when I came to school all of the boys were still talkin' about it.  Before goin' to class, Billy and Jimmy tracked me down and called me over to talk.


"Tommy, me an' the boys, well, we've been talkin' and we decided we was goin' ta' give ya' the benefit of the doubt.  We know you were pullin' our leg yesterday.  "Warn't you?"


Yes sir, I had no common sense.  Given the chance to right myself fer' my stupidity the day before, I admitted to them that no, I warn't kiddin'.  Their faces went blank before they broke out in roars of laughter.  Billy whispered into Jimmy's ear and then set next to me. Peter walked back to the rest of the guys, tellin' them what was going on.


"Tommy," Billy said.  I looked at him quizzically and he continued.  "I've got some explainin' ta do to you."


I don't think I need to go into details, 'cept to say I walked away a differnt' person.  I was shocked to know my folks did thet' kind of stuff.  Heck, I was surprised that anyone did that with one another's personals.  But, all in all, it sounded like a lot of fun.


What he told me shor' didn't help my shyness any.  It only made it worse.  Whenever a girl talked to me it seemed like my throat would tense right up and nothin' but squeaks would come out.


Over the next six years us kids did a little bit of what you would call developin'.  An', from what I noticed in the school's locker room I was developin' quite a heap more than the other boys in my class.  That didn't change my shyness though.  It seemed like all the girls in the ninth grade were chasin' after me and I don't know how I managed, but I always escaped.


By this time, most of the boys in the class, and I'd guess girls fer' that matter, had been pleasured at one time or 'nother.  I'd thought about it, if you know what I mean, but darned if my heart still didn't drop to my drawers every time a girl came up to me.


Christie Marie Mason came to our school in the eleventh grade.  I 'member the exact day cause that was the day I fell in love.  Charlie Gorner, the Principal, brought her into our English class.  He first introduced her to our teacher, and then to the class.


"Hurumph!"  He always cleared his throat before he spoke.  "Students, I want to introduce y'all to Christie Marie.  Christie and her folks just moved to Yahoo County from upstate thar' in Boone County.  I know y'all will make her feel right at home." (When I wrote this story, not only wasn't there a YAHOO web site, but there was no internet, or if there was, it wasn't yet ready for the general public. -riesen2b)


Now I don't want this story to sound too romantic, but I'd swear on my pet do Homer's grave that it was love at first sight.  I ain't sure if it was just my imagination, but I'll be darned if she warn't lookin' straight at me.  How did I know?  Cause I spent most of my time starin' straight at her.  Every time our eyes would meet I would blush and look the other way.


Christie looked like she was sixteen going on twenty-one.  Her silky baby blond hair fell in waves down the curved arch of her back, cascading across her bottom before drifting halfway to her knees.  Her wide, bright green eyes shimmered like emeralds against the light of a full moon.  Her smile was pure stunning white, each tooth set perfectly in place.  Her lips were full and lush, almost begging for mine to be placed against them.


All I could think were dirty thoughts.  Thoughts that I had never even thought about.  And it sure didn't help matters much when she placed her books on the empty desk next to mine, sat in the seat, looked straight at me again as she smiled and said hello.  For the rest of the time that we were in school, in my mind Christie Marie would be nekkid.  I just couldn't stop thinkin' about her.


I became aware in the next week that she was takin' a real interest in me.    It seemed like ever' time I tried to steal a look at her, darned if she warn't lookin' at me and sighin'.  I'd always turn my head real quick, too embarrassed to say anything.


Since this is a longer story since the first, and since I'm drifting off to sleep while I'm typing,  I'm going to cut it off here for now.  When we return, we'll find Tommy in the predicament of preparing for the school's winter dance.  So, stay tuned for more.


It was December an' 'proachin' the week of the big school dance.  Like ever' year the guys were talkin' 'bout which girl they's a gonna' ask out and the girls were talkin' 'bout who they hoped would ask 'em out and I was just in the middle doin' nothin'.


Now as I suppose you can guess, none of the girls expected me to ask anyone out.  They'd done given up on me a couple of years ago.  However, bein' as Christie Marie knew nothin' about me, whenever the girls talked to her she said she wished I'd take her out.


The girls, always bein' ones to spread gossip like peanut butter, told the boys about it and Billy took it on himself to tell me.  It warn't that Billy was a wantin' me to ask her.  It was just that he as a wantin' me to let Christie know I warn't a goin'.  That way see, she'd go with him.


Billy came to see me down by Peewee Creek, which is whar' I go all the time to think.  I was standin' by the creek skippin' rocks when I saw Billy on the other side.  He called out to me.


"Hey Tom!"  They called me Tom instead of Tommy now.  I liked it.  It sounded more grown up even if I didn't feel it.  "All raht' if I talk with ya' a bit?"


"Sure.  Come on over," I called.  He had no shoes on and liftin' his pants legs he came splashin' over to the other side.  We sat down on a coupla' big ole' rocks and Billy began talkin' while I continued to skip rocks.


"D'ya do that a lot?" he asked, tryin' to think of a way to bring up the subject of Christie.


"Yep,"  I said.  I threw a rock and it skipped across the creek six times before sinking to the shallow bottom.


"Well, anyway.  I came to talk to you about Christie Marie."


"What about her?"  I glanced over to Billy, wondering what was up.


He stood up and stepped in front of me and spoke, "Did you know she wants you to go to the dance with her?"


"Your kiddin'!"  When he said that my heart skipped a beat.  I looked at his face, lookin' for signs that he was playing a trick on me.


"No, I'm not," he said in a serious voice.  "You uh, plannin' on askin' her?"


"I'd never have the guts to ask her.  You know that."  Just the thought of it gave me the shivers.


"Good, er, I mean, yeah, I figgered that much.  Think ya' can do me a favor then?"


"Sure," I said without hesitatin'."  After all, Billy was my best friend.  "What is it?"


"Tell Christie you ain't goin' so that I can ask her and she'll go with me."


I had already said I would so no matter how scared I was I'd have to talk to her.  Just talkin' to her was enough to make me shudder.


The next day, during lunch break, I saw Christie sitting by herself on the school yard, readin' a book.  Nervously, I slowly inched my way over to her.  When she noticed my shadow blockin' the sun she looked up, saw me, and smiled as wide as she could.


"Hello Tommy."  She was the only one who still called me Tommy.  I melted.


"Um, er, hi thar' Christie Marie," I said weakly, my hands behind my back and my head lookin' towards the ground.


She closed her book.  "What's up?  Anythin' special?"


"No, not really.  It-it's jest' that uh, uh..."  My voice trailed off.


"Yeah, go on," she urged.


"Well, you know that thar's a dance this weekend and well..."


She interrupted me, trying to speak my thoughts.  She spoke the wrong ones.  "And you want me to go with you!  Oh Tommy, I'd just love to!"  She startled me by wrapping her arms around me, grabbing me, and plantin' a great big kiss raht' on the cheek.  If ever I'd been close to passin' out it was raht' then.  I swear I darn near died.


As soon as I recovered I tried to explain to her what I really wanted to say, but she just wouldn't listen to me.  Darn' women!  Once they set thar' mind on somethin' it's like movin' a stubborn mule to get 'em to change it.


Finally, I gave up.  She'd done had everything all planned out.  Just then, the bell signalin' the end of lunch sounded.  She got up, straightened her dress, and said goodbye.  She took a few steps, turned, and spoke.


"See ya' tomorrow night at eight Tommy."


"Uh yeah," I muttered.  "See ya'."


After school Billy came up to me to see if'n I'd talked to Christie.  "Well did ya' talk to her?" he asked, anxious for an answer.


"Yeah"  I dreaded havin' to explain the outcome.


"Did ya' tell her?"  Billy became even more anxious.


"Sort of."  I was stalling.


"Sort of?" he asked in a puzzled voice.


"Well, dad blurn' it Billy, you know how I am when it comes to girls.  Somehow it all got messed up and now I'm goin' to the dance with her."


Billy's temper blew like a bull gettin' an enema.  If I'd been in the Olympics I'm sure I'd gotten' a gold medal for the two mile run to my house.  Billy was with me all the way and would have caught me if he hadn't stopped in a pile of cow dung and stopped.  I was too scared to stop and waited 'till I got home to clean my shoes off.


When we return, it will be the day of the big dance.  What's in store?  You will have to come back to see.


The next day I was busy preparin' fer' the dance.  I spent the mornin' warshin' and waxin' my Papa's pickup.  I don't really know why I bothered.  Most of the roads in the county were dirt.  After that, I took a shower, warshin' my hair, takin' extra care to make a straight part down the side.  My hair, in my opinion, was one of my better features.  It was jet black and as thick as the fur on a grizzly bear.  I never used that greasy gunk on my hair, preferrin' the dry, natural look.


I was nervous all day and when it came time to leave I was shakin' like a leaf.  I sure hoped my under the arm spray would hold up.  I had just gotten my license and because of that, the truck looked like me whenever I shifted gears--as jumpy as a rabbit.


I got to Christie's house at almost exactly eight o' clock.  I got out of the car, walked to her door, and knocked.  Sweat beaded on my forehead as my heart pounded.  Her Mama opened the front door.  She looked like a pleasant sort of woman.


"Evenin' Maam," I said.  "Uh, is your daughter ready?"


"Are you Tommy Mckenn?"


"Yes Maam, I am."


"If you ain't the purtiest little thang.  Come right in.  My daughter has good taste, that's fer' shor'."


I blushed of course.  "Thank you kindly Maam."  I stepped in.


"She'll be down in a few minutes so you might as well sit down on the sofa.  I'll be right back.  Ya' want anything like a RC Cola, Dr. Pepper, or Grape Nehi?"


"An RC would be fine Maam."  I certainly needed it 'cause my throat was as dry as a bone.


In a few minutes Christie Marie came down the steps.  I was speechless.  She was the purtiest critter I had seen in all my born days.  Her lips were glossed a bright sensuous red which was set off by the warm glow of her skin, as well as perfect rows of glistening white teeth.


The dress she wore clung to her body, showing every line, dip, and curve that there was to see.  Her neckline came down in a vee, giving an enticin' view of her firm round bosom.  It was then that I noticed that she had no bra on.  And with a dress that tight, why warn't there no pantylines?


I finally built up the courage to speak.  "Gosh Christie Marie, you shor' are pretty."


"Thank you Tommy," she responded with a smile.  "


"Uh, are you ready to go?"  I already knew that her answer would be yes.


"Let me say g'bye to Mama first."  She went into the kitchen and came back out with her Mama.


"Now you two have fun," her Mama instructed.  "And Tommy, make sure you take good care of my little girl."


"Oh, I shor' will Maam.  Don't you worry about a thing."


I escorted Christie to the truck and helped her in.  I went to the driver's side and hopped in myself.  As I began to rev the engine, Christie spoke.


"Tommy, let's not go to the dance.  You see, it's not that I don't want to go, but it's jest' that I'm not a very good dancer and I'd rather be somewhar' where we can be alone.  Okay?"  She edged her way towards me and kissed me on the cheek.


Now tell me.  How can you say no to a purty' girl like Christie Marie when she goes and kisses ya'?  I know I couldn't.


"Gosh yes, Christie.  Whar' ya' wantin' ta' go?"


"There's a good movie at the drive-in.  It's a James Bond picture.  Doesn't that sound good?"


"Sounds fine to me," I replied.  "Let's go."  I'd wanted ta' see Thunderballs anyway.


We got to the drive-in.  I paid the money and drove in.  The movie would be startin' in a few minutes and I wanted to find a good spot.  I headed for the front row, but Christie was going to have none of that.


"No, no, no Tommy!  Let's get close to the back row, puhleeze?"


Her pleadin' tore my heart apart.  I couldn't refuse.  After we parked at the second to the last row, I asked Christie if she wanted anything from the snack bar.  She had no interest in food.


Well sir, the movie was playin' and as I sat watchin' it I felt Christie's body nudge in closer to me.  She picked up my right arm and draped it around her shoulders, snugglin' her head next to me.
A couple of moments later I darned near had a heart attack because Christie Marie began rubbin' her hand against my chest, reachin' inside my shirt.


I was frozen, unable to move.  If that had surprised me, what happened next was a total shocker.  She removed her hand from my shirt, lowerin' it to the bulge that was rapidly developin' in my pants.


"Ch-Christie!  Do you think you should be doin' that?"


"Oh Tommy," she whispered.  "Don't you like it?"  She rubbed some more.  I thought my zipper was gonna' burst right open.


"B-but Christie!  Wh-what would your Mama say?  I've n-never..."  I didn't finish.


"Don't worry," Christie interrupted, trying to calm my embarrassment.  "I'll teach you."  She planted her soft red lips against mine and we kissed.  I'd never played with anyone's tongue before, but as we did our tongue tango, I knew there was no stopping me from going further.


Well, next thing ya' know I was rubbin' her an' she was rubbin' me and I was tryin' to take off her dress and she was pullin' down my pants and..."


Well sir, have you ever heard the cry of a banshee?  I ain't but that's whut' I must a sounded like when her head went down below.  She began kissin' and lickin' and suckin' and what have you!  I was on a jet headin' straight to heaven.


Hate to cut you off here, but I thought I would leave you here in suspense.


After that she sat up and smiled.  "Now it's your turn," she spoke as she lifted her legs onto the seat, bending her knees and spreading her legs.


"But Christie Marie, I cain't do that to you!  Thar' ain't nothin' thar'!"


I know that silly.  There ain't supposed to be.  You just kiss it an' lick it and nibble a bit.  Puhleeze!"


Thar' she was pleadin' with me again.  Well, like I said before, I cain't refuse.  In no time Christie had her hands at my head and was a moanin' and a pantin' like she'd just run a mile.  Finally, she grabbed my head and raised me up fer' a kiss.


"D'you like it?" I asked.


"Oh Tommy, it was great!  Tommy, will you pleasure me now?"


Hot dingy, I thought  The moment I'd waited fer.  I got ready to pleasure her when she spoke.


"Tommy, you can't do nothin' in that condition." She pointed down to my nether regions.


"Huh?"  I looked down and shor' 'nough it was as wilted as cooked spaghetti.


"No problem," she said.  "I'll fix ya' right up."  She wrapped her hand around it and started moving it up and down.  In no time it was ready.


Once again I got ready but soon realized the difficulty I faced with my long legs, a short seat, and an over-sized steerin' wheel.  


"Wait a minute Tommy.  I've got an idea.  Sit up."  Well, I did that and she got on top of me, settin' right down on it and buckin' like a mule.


Everything would have been fine if poor Christie Marie hadn't fell back against the steerin' wheel and honked the horn, right when both of us reached the moment of truth.


Next thing I know, a flashlight was shining in our faces.  It was the manager, who happened to be a good friend of Christie's Papa.  Well sir, both of us were yanked out of that truck, hanging on to our clothes to hide ourselves from everyone, and were dragged into a back room of the snack bar whar' we finally managed to get dressed.


Boy, do I remember the looks on our folks faces when they arrived and the manager had told them about our 'shenanigans'.  It took Papa forever to apologize to Christie's folks, vowing never to let his boy do something like that again.


Both me an' Christie got good beatin's when we got home.  My butt was whooped till it bled.  Finally, Papa let me go to bed, vowin' never to let me out of his sight.  I guess the fact that my folks were pretty religious had somethin' to do with his anger.


When I went to school on the followin' Monday I talked to Billy who had forgiven me for what I'd done.  I told him all about what had happened over the weekend.  He was astonished.


"Y-you mean you two really did do it?"


"Yeah.  But boy, does my behind hurt now.  Why are you so surprised?"


"Because all of us other guys.  And the girls too, I reckon'.  We just talked about it, but we never really did it."


"You're kiddin' me!"


"N-no I ain't.  You lucky dog!"


Well golly, I thought.  Nothin' but talk.  To think I had always thought I was the odd one who'd never done it and now it seems I'm the odd one who had done it.


"Hey Tom," Billy said.  "How is pleasurin'?"


I thought for a moment.  "Why, it's pleasurable Billy.  Yes sir, it sure is pleasurable."


Oh yeah, I forgot to mention.  What happened was eventually forgotten and me and Christie began to see each other again.  And again and again.  Like I said, pleasurin' shor' was pleasurable.


And there you have it.  The next story in this compilation is LETTER IN THE BIBLE.  Look for it soon right here at FROM THE WRITINGS OF A SAILOR.

HUSH STREET

Image via Wikipedia

Wearily, he trudged down the filthy, rat-infested street of the once proud neighborhood.  At one time Hush Street was known as the spotlight of Cincinnati.  Back in the fifties, Hush Street was home to some of the cities most lavish nightclubs, elegant restaurants, and finest apartments.  It was sometimes referred to as Cincinnati's Golden Mile and also as Millionaire Avenue.


But now, many years later, the aging time-worn street had become filled with crime an violence.  Where the wealthy once lived, poverty stricken people now made their homes.


Broken, boarded windows and unpainted weather worn signs and buildings now lined the street.  All along the alleys, the homeless could be seen, sometimes sleeping in their own pool of urine with an empty bottle of alcohol next to them.  Trash cans overflowed and the rotting debris inside them added another stench to the slums.  Indeed, Hush Street was now a slum.


The sky had been gray and overcast all day.  When he was halfway home it finally began to rain.  Luckily he was expecting it and had brought his raincoat with him.  Sharp streaks of treacherous lightning ignited the late afternoon sky, followed by the echoes of loud boisterous thunder as it rumbled against the tall brick buildings.

Looking atop the buildings, he saw darker, more hideous clouds approaching from the west.  He chuckled as he saw a wino, still passed out near a bus stop, not even aware that it was raining.

The rain began to fall in sheets, pounding against his body.  Because of the forceful howling wind it was becoming harder to make any leeway.  The forecast had said severe thunderstorms but this was more like a tornado.  Reluctantly, he decided to seek shelter temporarily, running to the nearest building and darting inside.


An acrid smell of vomit permeated throughout the hallway, invading his nostrils.  He fought back the rising urge to vomit himself.  Instead he covered his nose with a handkerchief, attempting to filter the odor.


Jack Berger had lived in Cincinnati almost his entire life.  His parents had immigrated from Germany during the first World War.  Finding no work in New York, his father moved to Cincinnati, taking a job in a trade he knew best, beer-making.


At that time Cincinnati possessed several local breweries.  His father, with his considerable skill and knowledge had quickly moved up the ranks of the company and had eventually became the companies President and CEO.  


That was when their family had moved to Hush Street.  Jack's father had invested wisely and had left Jack, an only child, a considerable inheritance when he passed away.


Jack knew the destruction of Hush Street was occurring.  Every morning he read in the paper about the murders, burglaries, and rapes which had occurred.  It saddened him to see such a royal area being destroyed, overrun by thugs and murderers.  Jack could have moved from Hush Street long ago, and had even considered it only six months earlier when his apartment was robbed.


He changed his mind.  Hush Street was his home.  He was raised here and was not about to leave.  He would stay until the end.  The only thing that would make him move from Hush Street was when he was hauled away by a hearse.


The storm began to subside and Jack decided to start back for his apartment. There was only four more blocks and he would make it before the rain had a chance to start again, he thought.


When he stepped out of the building, he returned his handkerchief to his pocket and looked down the street.  He shook his head in disgust.  The drunk who had been sitting against the stop sign was still there, clothes drenched with rain, but still in the same position.  


Someday,  Someday, he thought.  Hush Street will change.  The scum that inhabits the streets will be run out.  Hush Street will once again be the highlight of this town.  If nobody else will do anything about it, I will.  Jack took a shortcut down the alley, taking the fastest route to his apartment and hoping to stay dry.

That brings us to the end of part one of Hush Street.  In part two, we will see this area of town from the eyes of another.  Stay tuned.


Hush Street was a shitty place to live, he thought to himself.  But what the fuck, as long as I do what I do here, and as long as the old lady keeps getting those welfare, checks, it's a helluva' lot better than working.  And besides, he thought with a light chuckle, these apartments the welfare office put you in were once owned by the wealthy.

He reached into his left front pants pocket and removed a switchblade.  Pressing the trigger, a smooth, silvery blade shot out from the end.  Using the side of a building, he shoved the blade back into the case.

The rain had finally stopped but the sun remained hidden behind the clouds.  Another storm was approaching, Felipe thought.

Felipe Martinez was a Mexican-American, born and raised in San Diego.  He had left California when he was sixteen, ending his cross country expedition when he arrived in Cincinnati.  The money he had stolen from his Mother was exhausted.  For two years he supported himself by bussing tables in restaurants and by pumping gas.  He had tired of that and decided he wanted to be a pimp, hustling whores like his Father in California.  Within a year he had six girls hustling for him.  One of those he married.  Felipe would have continued pimping if his life hadn't been threatened from one of the towns biggest pimps for cutting into his territory.  His wife began drawing welfare checks when their first kid was born.

He hated the little bastard.  The brat was always waking him in the middle of the night crying.  One night he could take no more and proceeded to slug the little fucker.  His wife told the hospital that her son had fallen from his bed.  It was a state run hospital with little resources or little interest in the poor and indigent and had not bothered to seek any investigation into child abuse.


Felipe had become a mugger along Hush Street.  Although he looked mean with the knife, Felipe had never used it on anyone.  They always handed over their money, cowering liked scared little babies, ready to piss their pants.


Felipe looked down the alley and saw someone coming.  He was an average looking man in his late forties, maybe early fifties.  He couldn't tell much about the man as a long black raincoat hid his body features and thick black-rimmed glasses hid his face.  This one would be easy, Felipe thought.


Officer Pinkerton had patrolled the Hush Street area for the past twenty years.  He was one of the few remaining cops in Cincinnati that still enjoyed "walking a beat".  It saddened him however, to see Hush Street deteriorate before his very eyes.  When he was originally assigned to Hush Street it was still a thriving neighborhood.  But, as buildings aged and federal housing projects were constructed in the area, more and more crime set in.  Dale Pinkerton had almost lost his life once as he tried in vain to stop a gang fight.  He had been stabbed in the chest by one of the sons-of-bitches.  When the suspects were brought in for questioning however, Dale, even as an experienced officer who was trained to take mental notes of faces and identifying features, was unable to pinpoint his attacker.  It had just been too dark and had happened to fast.
The captain of the precinct wanted Dale transferred for his own safety, but he refused.  Three months after the incident occurred, Dale was back on the beat he loved.
He knew he couldn't  rid Hush Street of crime by himself and that aggravated Dale to no end.  It seemed to him that he was the only one in the department, or the entire city for that matter, who gave a damn about what happened to Hush Street.  Was he the only person that remembered Hush Street in all of it's glory and splendor?

The thunderstorm must have kept everyone in for the day, Dale thought to himself.  He liked it when it rained.  It seemed like all of the crime and violence of Hush Street was temporarily washed away.  He was approaching an alley when he heard the voice of someone threatening somebody for money.  But, he thought resignedly, it was only an idea.  The criminals just like fucking rats, always come out of their holes after the rain.  Cautiously, he removed his pistol from his holster.

"That's right you four-eyed son-of-a-bitch, get on your fucking knees before I blow your god-damned brains out!"  That always scared them shitless, Felipe thought.


"Fuck you! No!" Jack fired back, anger seething inside him.  He was furious that this animal would try and do this.  This was the same sickening bastard that was destroying his neighborhood.


"Hey man, you better watch your step.  I can drive this knife into you so fucking deep that your stomach will be looking out your ass.  So just give me the friggin' money and I'll think about letting you live."  Felipe was shocked when the man had said no.  He decided to get the money and get the hell out.
Jack wasn't fazed and fired back, "I'm not giving you a goddamn thing so just go!"  He turned and began to walk away.  He could tell that this punk was just a pussy and would back off if threatened himself.


"You crazy bastard!" Felipe screamed.  No one could do that to him.  He ran to the man, grabbing him from behind by his chin, as his other hand brought the steely knife across Jack's throat, immediately realizing that he had probably just killed a man as the blood began to pour from his neck and the blood from the artery spurted out in a spray with every pulse.


Jack turned around and looked at the man who had probably just ended his life.  His face grimaced in pain and he fell to his knees as his legs became weak.  He was struggling to catch his breath as his hands gripped his throat, trying to stop the overwhelming flow of blood.  He knew it was going to be useless.  He struggled to speak, choking on his blood that was spilling down his throat and down his torso.  With every word spoken, a spray of blood speckled his killer.


"I-I hate you."  His voice was becoming extremely weak.  "But you'll get yours you dirty bas-"  Jack fell face first onto the alley way and expired.


"Alright you goddamn mother fucker.  Hold it right there or your going to see your brains splattered on the side of that building.!"  Officer Pinkerton had been too late to stop the stabbing.  He was poised at the end of the alley, feet firmly planted, gun cocked and ready to fire.

"Now wait. Wait.  Don't shoot.  Please. Please don't shoot.  It was an accident.  That's all."  Beads of sweat trickled down his face.  Felipe knew he was pretty much screwed and lifted his arms in surrender.

"Alright, hands against the wall, feet spread and don't you move an inch."  Martinez did as ordered, too scared to disobey.  That man was right, Felipe thought to himself.  I am just a pussy.


As he walked towards the perpetrator, Dale thought of being a vigilante and killing this worthless piece of shit.  That's what he should have done when he first saw him.  His finger touched the trigger but the thought of doing so made him realize that he would be no better than him if he didn't let this bastard go through the motions of the justice system.  He wasn't the judge.  He wasn't the jury.  He could only round them up and let the citizens that he was sworn to serve decide what this man's fate would be.

"It's too bad that Jack couldn't be here today," the mayor said.  "If it hadn't been for his love of Hush Street, then this moment could have never been brought to fruition.  Before his life was brought to a tragic end, Jack Berger had planned on initiating this project himself.  He had made all of this possible through provisions in his will."


"Ladies and gentlemen it is my pleasure to present to you--Hush Street."  The mayor had the honor of cutting the ribbon and the crowds began to enter eager to experience the gourmet restaurants, upscale stores and theaters, and to just bask in the beautifully refurbished buildings and spotless landscaping.  Hush Street had returned to it's former glory.

EPILOGUE:
The frail old man walked down the grimy rat-infested streets of Fountain Square.  Only a few years ago, he thought, Fountain Square was the safest place anyone in the country could visit.  Activities abounded on the square year round.  That's all over with now though, he thought.  Ever since they started building that government housing nearby, nothing but trash hangs around.  It was like nobody cared.  People ignored the decline of the Square, being content to go to safer neighborhoods, such as Hush Street.



A couple of interesting things about this story.  I based the name Hush Street after a street named Worth Street  which was off of Kellogg Avenue not to far from downtown Cincinnati.  Unlike Hush Street however, Worth Street was merely a residential street where my Grandparents lived.  When I was growing up the streets and houses were already very old and I often wondered what Worth Street looked like when it was first built.  Officer Pinkerton was based on one of my uncles who was actually on the police force in Cincinnati.  Finally, when you're reading this you will probably be thinking that the character of Felipe Martinez is a terrible stereotype.  At the time I wrote this I had very limited exposure to Latinos.  I am guessing that this character was based only on what I had seen on television and the movies and there was no intent to show any racial bias.


Coming up next, will definitely be a lighter story, one that I reread for the first time last night in more than 30 years.  Even though I wrote it, I still had a pretty good laugh while reading it.  Keep checking back for "How I Conquered Christie Marie" (How Christie Marie Conquered Me).

Please Love Me

UPDATED:  March 1, 2010 -  The complete story is now posted for anyone who visited and read the first part of the story.