Читать книгу Dateline Smileyville - Markus Jr. Pell - Страница 8

DATELINE SMILEYVILLE - I am sure, Americans, that you've all heard of the Devlin twins. They are (until now, ahem) the most famous people ever to hail from Smileyville. After having established themselves as the hottest songwriting duo to hit country music in many a year, most everyone around these parts assumed they'd up and move to Nashville. But, no, they still live here, albeit in much, much larger houses than they lived in before discovering the career that made them wealthy. In fact, I was there the very moment that career was launched:

We rarely play cards these days, everyone is just too busy, but a number of years ago we had a regular weekly euchre game. I would partner up with my cousin, Quentin 'Quiet' Riott, and we'd square off against JimJerry, the Devlin twins. They nearly always beat us. I don't believe they cheated; I think they had some kind of 'twin telepathy' thing going on. Maybe. My cousin grew up with them and I had met them a few times over the years, but I did not really get to know the twins until after I moved to Smileyville. I have always had a devil of a time telling them apart, but it was easier to do so when we played euchre, because JimJerry were forever arguing with theirself over what radio station to listen to as background music for the card game. Jim was a big fan of country music, which Jerry despised. Jerry craved his classic rock, which Jim abhorred. On the night when Devlin Twins Music was born, Jim had commandeered the radio. Which radio station we listened to mattered not to my cousin, Quiet; he enjoys both country music and classic rock. And I enjoy all kinds of music, as long as it does not yell at me; that stuff, Americans, I can live without.

The game on this particular night was being played in the rec room in the basement of Quiet's house; back then Quiet had been married for a couple years, and his wife Lotta had given birth to their son, Stuart A. Riott, a few months previous to the card game that night. Before becoming Lotta Riott, Quiet's wife's name had been Lotta Smiley. Yes. Those Smileys. Unbeknownst to the mayor (and nearly everyone else in the village and township), his eldest daughter had been seeing Quiet Riott on the sly for about a year before the news of their elopement rocked the community. The Riotts and Smileys are not exactly the Hatfields and McCoys, but they are the closest we come to it in these parts. The Riott menfolk tend to 'marry late.' Uncle Pat did. And so did Quiet. So not only did Mayor Smiley's eldest daughter marry a Riott, but she married a Riott several months older than the mayor himself. And to top it all off, she had gone and married a Riott who is the son of the patriarch of the entire extended Riott clan, and Mayor Smiley's arch political enemy, to boot.

Well, Americans - it was simply delicious, and I freely admit to having enjoyed the mayor's discomfiture and chagrin in full measure, in the days and weeks following the marriage. And in these epages, I know I've already made clear that I am no particular fan of Mayor Smiley. But even I began to worry about the mayor and to feel sorry for him when, several months after the wedding, he still hadn't recovered. The mayor has a garrulous personality by nature, but that personality had gone fishin'. He went from being mayor of Smileyville 24/7 and proud of it (he is not a bad mayor, Americans, to be fair to him), to doing no more than the barest minimum of work incidental to his position. And the word quickly got around that Mrs. Smiley was now running the weekly paper, The Smileyville Grimace. Mostly what the mayor did, and for a very long while, was to stay home just as much as he possibly could.

And his daughter? Lotta did all she could to build a bridge back to her father, assisted by her mother, who was doing what she could to put the best face on the situation, although there wasn't much of a 'best face' to be found. The mayor was not mean or nasty to Lotta. Quite the contrary. Although he did not visit the home of his daughter and her husband, he was always glad to see her when she came to visit him, was always kind and gentle toward her, and was even polite to Quiet, on the few occasions when he accompanied Lotta on her visits to the home where she'd grown up. But none of it was any good, and by the time Quiet and Lotta were celebrating their first anniversary, the truth was clear to everyone in Smileyville: Mayor George Wilburforce Smiley V was a broken man, and Lotta's mom was showing the strain as well. And Lotta Riott found herself as worried and heartsick as a loving daughter can be. She had not set out to destroy her parents. She just loved Quentin 'Quiet' Riott, was all. But there you go, and there it was.

Just a couple weeks after their first anniversary, Lotta and Quiet announced to family and friends that they were expecting their first child. Naturally, during the months of her pregnancy, the number one topic in Smileyville was the question of how Mayor Smiley would react to his daughter giving birth to a Riott, to his becoming the (insert gasp of horror here) grandfather of a Riott. No one was encouraged by the fact that the mayor betrayed no particular reaction to his daughter's pregnancy and the impending birth of his first grandchild. He'd just spent the past year as the human equivalent of a lump, and Mayor Smiley continued to lump away during the months of Lotta's pregnancy. And while everyone involved tried to remain hopeful that, once his grandchild was born, the mayor would snap out of his long, long funk, no one really believed it would make any difference.

It happened that Mayor Smiley was up for reelection as mayor during the autumn when Stuart A. Riott was up for being born. The mayor almost didn't run; he filed his papers ten minutes before the filing deadline, and then failed to do any campaigning whatsoever - with a month to go before the election, he had not put out so much as a single yard sign, that staple of village and township political advertising. And then, a month before the election, Stuart A. Riott was born. Quiet and Lotta had not known the sex of their child beforehand, having decided that they wanted to be surprised. Assorted Riotts and Smileys were at the hospital awaiting the birth, including Lotta's mother, but the mayor was not in attendance. The baby was born, cleaned up, checked over - baby fine, mom fine - and then was placed on display for his relatives to see. At first there was silence; then a giggle, and then several giggles. And then Pat Riott, staring at his newborn grandson, exclaimed "Great God in Heaven!" and everyone burst into full blown laughter, including Uncle Pat.

Lotta's mom returned home from the hospital and told her husband he needed to come see his first grandchild. When the mayor feigned disinterest, she informed him, feigning nothing, that he would either get up and go with her to welcome his grandson into the world, or she would divorce him. Mayor Smiley went to the hospital. A nurse held Stuart up to the nursery window so his grandfather could see him. Mayor Smiley stood passive for a moment, and then smiled his first genuine smile in nearly two years. And then, just as Stuart's paternal grandfather had done, the maternal grandfather burst out laughing. And Mayor Smiley said precisely the same thing Pat Riott had said: "Great God in Heaven!" But then the mayor added to his own exclamation the following: "He looks just like me! He's beautiful!"

Mayor Smiley then visited his daughter for a few minutes. And, if nearly two years of heartache can be obliterated by two minutes of sublime and perfect joy - and I for one, Americans, believe that on occasion it can be - then in those couple of minutes the mayor accomplished that wonderful thing for his daughter, and for himself.

The next morning, Mayor Smiley was up and out early, putting up yard signs and campaigning for the mayoralty of the village of Smileyville, before heading to work at the building where, once a week, The Smileyville Grimace is put to bed. What's that? The election? Why, he won the election in a landslide. Heck, Americans, even I'd have voted for him that year - if I'd thought he needed my vote to win. But he didn't. Heh.

__________

Americans, I feel this would be an opportune moment to interrupt the interruption of my story about Devlin Twins Music, just long enough to explain a thing or two. I know you think I don't hear you out there, but I think I do. Many of you, for example, are wondering why each of these 'chapters' starts out like this:

DATELINE SMILEYVILLE - As if these were not chapters at all, but newspaper columns.

The short answer is that these are not chapters. These are columns, just not newspaper columns. I did not graduate from college, you Americans, and that is perhaps unfortunate, but no one could fairly say that I received no education at Middle Mitten University, in the good ol' hometown of Greening. I received, as far as I'm concerned, a truly marvelous education there. I could not have asked for a better, to be honest, and I imagine this 'Ojibwa' would have graduated Magna Cum Laude, if only I could have majored in organization-building and minored in newspaper column writing. Organization-building is something we'll save for another day. As for the writing of newspaper columns, I had a notable one on the college paper - notable indeed, heh - and another one, many years later, on the local tri-county daily, where I was hired by a nice fellow about whom it may fairly be said that he did not, perhaps, quite realize what he was getting. Double heh. And that newspaper column was known as DATELINE SMILEYVILLE.

This ebook shares that same title, and is being written by me in the form of columns because it is a form with which I am comfortable, and also because it is a form I consider to be particularly conducive to the dissemination of information and opinion. So I guess you could say these are 'ebook columns' and I am conducting my 2012 presidential campaign by means of two 'collections' of ebook columns. Of course, it may be that there is no difference whatsoever between an ebook 'column' and an ebook 'chapter,' except in my head. Or maybe I have an ulterior motive and desire to keep the book title in your head so you cannot stop thinking about it. The one thing I do know for certain is that writing these columns or chapters here, Americans, in this ebook, gives me something I never had for a moment during the years I spent writing those old newspaper columns.

Here, Americans, I have freedom.

__________

There's another thing I hear quite a few of you yammering about, and how should I put it? Oh yes, let's put it like this: you believe I am already totally messing up my presidential campaign. Not enough meat and potatoes. Too much meandering, too much personal anecdote. Too much... freedom.

Well, we've talked it over, the esteemed members of my kitchen cabinet and I. We don't think I have it all wrong. We think I have it all right. Cool, Americans? Still with me, you young pups? Good, good. I'm still with you, too. Let's proceed.

__________

Before Stuart was born, on those evenings when our euchre game was at Quiet and Lotta's house, we played at the kitchen table. After Stuart came along, Lotta relegated us to the basement. Even then, she admonished us to keep our "mayhem to a minimum" and to keep the music down. On the plus side, she continued to keep us well-supplied with munchies both delightful and delectable, just as she'd done when we'd played cards in the kitchen.

We'd been playing for a couple hours or so that night, and Jim's country music station had been on the entire time. The music, combined with the fact that it was one of those rare evenings when Quiet and I had been steadily beating JimJerry at euchre, had put Jerry in a particularly sour disposition. Next thing you know, JimJerry is bickering back and forth across the table about the music.

"Can we puh-leeeeze change the radio station?" asked Jerry. "I know these songs seem to hold meaning for you, Jim, but it's hard for me to get excited about a fellow who leaves his wife for his Ford pickup and the basset hound named Cliff that his daddy (may he rest in peace) gave him when he was just a boy, a dog who is old and on his last stubby legs and the wife doesn't understand but the girlfriend does, and he and the basset stray but in the end he remembers that he is a dad himself because the picture of little Susie in his wallet, that fell out when he was searching for the phone number of Cliff's veterinarian, wrinkled and creased though it may be, reminds him of his daddyhood, and meanwhile the wife has been remembering some things, too, such as that the grass is always greener right at home even if Cliff does yellow it on occasion and in the end they are all back together again except for Cliff, who has gone to that Great Doghouse in the Sky, while the new basset puppy, Little Cliff, licks Susie's tears away... this stuff just isn't working for me, Jim."

JimJerry stared at theirself for a moment before Jim replied. "Well, Jerry, I know you'd rather listen to meaningful songs about killers on roads and squirming toads and yellow submarines... yellow submarines... yellow submarines... and about how first there are mountains but then there aren't mountains but then there are mountains and all that groovy esoteric sort of thing. Yes, Jerry, what I'd not give if only my musical tastes could be so refined as your own."

While JimJerry was arguing back and forth, my cousin, who had no clue he was about to become business manager of Devlin Twins Music, was busy writing on the notepad we use to keep score when we play euchre with JimJerry. Normally in euchre each team keeps score with a pair of fives from the deck, but Quiet and I find that, when playing euchre against JimJerry, a pen and notepad provides for a more accurate tally of JimJerry's points.

"Hey, Jerry." Quiet was staring at the notepad. "What was that part about little Susie's picture in the wallet? All mangled and beat up, or something?"

"Wrinkled and creased," JimJerry replied in stereo.

Well. The next thing I know, the cards and grudges have been set aside, Quiet has provided pens and notepads for all, and JimJerry has his heads together and is turning Jerry's rant into an actual country music song. I contributed the title, and they finished 'The Ballad of Little Cliff' that very night. And danged if they didn't sell it! And ol' Jersey Jefferson sang it and took it to number seven on the charts. JimJerry never looked back. As for me, well, I never did quite get the hang of the songwriting gig, but JimJerry, upon the wise counsel of their business manager, Quiet, pay me a fair stipend for creating song titles. That, it seems, is something for which I do have a certain flair. I came up with the title for the love song that was their first number one hit: 'Tool Shed.' And I also came up with the title of the song that won Devlin Twins Music its very first slew of awards: 'If You Really Loved Me You'd Have Married My Brother.' When the ol' fellow who smokes pot and everyone adores recorded it and it became the title song of his latest platinum album, well, that's when the Devlin twins knew they'd arrived.

__________

The Devlin twins wanted to create a 'theme song' for my presidential campaign. We at the CDP all agree that it isn't hip, when presidential candidates use songs without payment or permission. We at the CDP also agree, that the odds of an artist with a song we like being willing to see it used to support a conservative presidential candidate are slim and none. So JimJerry went to work. I hated to disappoint them - they created five different theme songs for me to choose from - but none of the songs was doing it for me. Three of them - 'Onward Conservative Constitutionalist Non-belligerent Faith-based Soldiers' and 'The Man from Smileyville' and 'Dogs and Children Love Him, so How Bad Can He Be?' - did not get a second listen. The first was rejected for the myriad of good reasons you Americans can see for yourselves; the second was something out of a 'spaghetti western' and much as I might like to be a cowboy, I understand that I am not one. And to be frank, Americans, that third song kind of creeped me out.

The fourth tune was 'The Ballad of Packy the Mule.' I actually liked the tune and the lyrics were, I guess, fairly tolerable. The republicans have their elephant and the democrats their donkey. We have a pack mule, Packy. He carries a heavy burden. I listened to this one three times before rejecting it. I kept seeing old black-and-white 20-Mule-Team Borax commercials in my head. When the Bright White Light Entertainment Engine is up and running and we create a good ol' western television show in the classic tradition, this would be the tune to have as its intro.

The fifth tune was the best of the bunch but, well, I don't know. I listened to it half a dozen times and never did figure out what bugged me about it, but when the long day was done I'd rejected 'Why Do All the Hotties Love the CDP?' too.

__________

"I don't think you should ask for our opinion, Dad, and then get all bent out of shape when it's not the opinion you want to hear." Daughter Mell. God love her.

"I'm not all bent out of shape!" I turned from Mell to Ellie. "Do I seem all bent out of shape to you?"

"Well." Ellie Belle O'Dell, the woman I love and aim to marry. God love her.

"I just don't think you two get it, is all."

"Dad! I think you are the one who doesn't get it... is your name Harry?"

"Well no, but -"

"Is your last name Truman?"

"Of course not, but -"

"Is this 1948?"

"No! And you are missing the point! Everybody knows that if Harry Truman were alive today - and you know what I mean - the Democratic Party would shun him, would consider him an embarrassment, would probably call for him to be tried for 'war crimes' and 'crimes against humanity.' After all, Harry fought a war and used something stronger than beanbags. But the CDP and the people it seeks to represent hold a different opinion, and revere him as the last great president this nation has had. He was not perfect, not by any means. But he was - and is - a great man, and was in many ways a great`president. And the song will remind people of that, remind them of the type of man and politician and president he was, and of the ideals to which the CDP, and I, aspire. Sheesh!"

"Well sheesh, Dad, how can -"

"Mell," Ellie gently interrupted my daughter, "just never mind. I don't know why he asks our opinion, either, but it's obvious that he has his mind made up, so let's just let it go. Besides, we need to get a move on if we don't want to miss the start of the show." In short order they were off to Greening to watch some chick flick I had no interest in seeing. I was already chicked right out, for one day.

I hate when they accuse me of being all bent out of shape, Americans, when I am not. Because when that happens, then I really do get all bent out of shape, and it isn't even my fault! But I did a little reading - some good ol' Bradbury and some good ol' 'Dandelion Wine' - and soon mostly forgot all about them.

__________

I take a morning stroll whenever I can, and an evening one as well; a stroll, or a bike ride. Harry S Truman often joins me for a 'morning constitutional,' as he did on the morning after my little chat with Mell and Ellie.

"And you've made your decision."

"I have, Harry."

"And you're comfortable with your decision?"

"Yep. Frankly, I think it's inspired."

"Well then; that's that, isn't it?" We continued walking along the streets of the village, silent for a time, enjoying the birdsong. But I had to ask him:

"What do you think, Harry?"

We walked a ways further. I was starting to wonder if he was going to reply, when he tugged at my sleeve to stop me. He stared into my eyes, still holding onto my sleeve, and smiled that most brilliant of smiles. "I think it's inspired, too, Markus. I had pretty good luck with it, you know."

"Yes, I know," I said, returning his smile.

Hooking his arm in my own, Harry Truman and I continued our morning stroll, again quietly listening to the birds and enjoying one another's company. Then he softly began to whistle a tune. I cannot whistle, but I can carry a tune, so I joined in and hummed along to the theme song of my campaign: 'I'm Just Wild About Harry.' As, indeed, I am.