Western Daze

Today's blog entry is a chapter from "Western Daze," one of my numerous books that may never get published, or even finished. The book is a (fictional) historical account of my hometowns of Kennewick, Pasco, and Richland WA - commonly known as the Tri-Cities.

Fictional, as the stories take place in the later part of the 1800s - twenty years before the town(s) were actually founded.

This chapter, entitled "The Nomination," takes place in May of 1889. In November, the Territory of Washington will be granted statehood, at which time the people of Washington will be allowed to send representatives to congress. Both political parties are meeting to select their candidate to run for congress.

Our story covers the local Democratic Party committee.

Dramatis Personae

• Arthur "Art" Coffey - town Sheriff
• Herbert "Herb" Miller - owner and operator (along with Mrs Miller) of the Miller's Mercantile (The town's General Store)
• Julius "Jay" McMinn - One of the town's attorneys
• Leonard "Lee" Johnson - Blacksmith
• Milton Freeman - Banker
• Robert "Bob" Green - Town's Magistrate and owner of The Silver Dollar Saloon

Members of the local Democratic party are meeting at The Silver Dollar Saloon, sitting at a table in the back room, chatting, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey.

The door opens, and Herb Miller enters.

HERB: Sorry I'm late.

BOB: Your right on time.

Herb seats himself in the vacant chair.

ART: How was your vacation?

HERB: Very nice, thank-you.

LEE: You were gone almost a month. Where did you go?

HERB: San Francisco. We were visiting with Ida's sister and her husband.

Bob pours him a shot of whiskey. Herb takes a drink.

HERB: Hey! This is some good whiskey.

LEE: It is good, isn't it?

HERB: Is it local?

BOB: No, It comes from Tennessee. It's made by a man by the name of Jack Daniels.

HERB: I've had jack Daniels whiskey before, and it didn't taste as good as this.

BOB: You probably had his old Number Six. This is his newest creation, Number 7.

HERB: It's very smooth.

LEE: I heard that he uses charcoal filtering.

ART: I heard that too.

MILT: Well, whatever he does, It is very good.

JAY: Hey, wait a minute! Milton, what are you doing drinking?

LEE: Yeah! Your a Baptist.

MILT: Only when my wife is watching.

BOB: So, I call this meeting to order. We only have one piece of business, and that's to nominate our party's candidate to run for congress for this district. Now, since this is the first time we will be directly represented in Washington D.C. we should nominate an upstanding member of our community with good morals and impeccable character.

LEE: Should he be a church goer?

BOB: That would help.

LEE: That rules me out, I guess.

ART: We rules you out at "good morals."

LEE: Funny, Art.

MILT: You know who would make a good candidate is Eli Peterson.

HERB: There's an idea.

JAY: Won't work.

MILT: Why not? Eli has been a good upstanding member of our community for as long as any of us can remember. He's trustworthy. He's friendly. He's courteous.

BOB: Sounds like your describing a boy scout.

MILT: He's perfect.

JAY: He's a Republican.

MILT: He is?

JAY: Yes, he is.

LEE: I've heard that the Republicans are planning to nominate him.

ART: I've heard that too.

MILT: Damn. He'll be hard to beat.



HERB: What about Tom Jenkins? He got a lot of good qualities, I think he'd make a great choice.

JAY: Won't work.

HERB: Why not? He practically founded this town. He a virtuous pillar of our community, a devout church goes, and he's a Democrat.

JAY: He's also dead.

HERB: He is?

JAY: Yep.

HERB: When did he die?

JAY: About three weeks ago.

LEE: While you were in San Francisco.

HERB: That's too bad.

BOB: It was a nice funeral

MILT: One of Reverend Jackson's best eulogies.

LEE : It was nice.

JAY: His whole family showed up.

LEE: Must have been four or five dozen of 'em

ART: I thought the widow looked very lovely.

HERB: Widow? What widow? Claire died in '78.

JAY: That was his first wife.

HERB: He got marries again?

JAY: Yeah, about three weeks ago.

LEE: While you were in San Francisco.

HERB: Who did he marry?

BOB: Catherine O'Conner.

HERB: That name seems familiar... Wait a minute! Do you mean Kitty O'Conner? The saloon girl at Miss Anita's?

BOB: That's her.

HERB: That old goat!

JAY: A moment ago he was a "pillar of our community."

LEE: And now he's an "old goat."

HERB: Tom was at least 60 years old ---

ART: Sixty-four.

HERB: --- and Kitty was twenty.

ART: Nineteen.

HERB: That old goat. So, what did he die of?

JAY: Weren't you listening? He got marries again, about three weeks ago.

LEE: While you were in San Francisco.

HERB: I heard that, but how did he... Oh. No kidding?

JAY: Yep.

ART: I rode out with Doc Thompson the next morning bring the body back for the funeral.

LEE: He died with his boots off.

MILT: The undertaker did an excellent job on him. The smile on his face was priceless.

ART: He had that smile on his face when we found him.

LEE: I bet he did.

HERB:Well, I suppose I should ride to the Jenkins place and give my personal regards to the widow.

"Miss" Anita
(c.1890)

ART: You don't need to ride out there. You can find her at Miss Anita's.

HERB: Why is she there? Tom had a lot of money, didn't she get any of it?

JAY: She got all of it.

HERB: Then why is she still working for Miss Anita?

JAY: She isn't working for Miss Anita. She bought her out.

HERB: No kidding.

JAY: Yep.

HERB: So, what is Miss Anita going to do now that she sold her business?

JAY: She's moving to Nevada

LEE: She's going to raise horses.

HERB: Horses?

JAY: That's what she was telling folks before she left.

LEE: Yeah, I heard her say that she was going to open a Mustang Ranch in Nevada.

ART: I heard that too.

HERB: Must be true then. Well, as successful as she was here, I'm sure her Mustang Ranch will be just as successful as her old business.

MILT: What about Nathan Burnside?

JAY: Won't work. He's a racist.

MILT: So is most of the district.

JAY: But he's extreme.

LEE: I heard he once refused to do business with a man because his last name was "Black"

ART: I heard that too.

JAY: We don't want to offend the colored folk.

MILT: And since when are we worried about that?

JAY: Since the got registered to vote.

MILT: They're registered?

JAY: Yep. Someone went around the district and talked them into it.

HERB: Must have happened while I was in San Francisco.

MILT: Who went and done that?

JAY: Reuben Goldbloom.

MILT: That @#$% Yankee carpet-bagger!

JAY: So we have to be nice to them.

MILT: For how long?

JAY: Just until the elections are over.

The 14th Amendment of the United

States prohibited any person who

"engaged in insurrection or rebellion"

from holding "any office, civil or

military, under the United States."

LEE: Jay, why don't you run?

JAY: I can't. I served in the Confederate army

LEE: Oh, yeah. I forgot.

BOB: That's going to disqualify quite a few possible candidates.

BOB: What about Myron Fankel?

Silence descended upon the meeting.

JAY: Bob, have you lost your mind?

To understand Jay and the rest of the committees reaction to Judge Green's suggestion, I need to explain who Myron Fankel is, or rather was.

Myron Fankel was the only child of Elmer Fankel, attorney at law, and his lovely wife Ethyl. As a child, Myron suffered from poor health, malaises and maladies (the result of a copy of Galen's Dictionary of Common Ailments and Ethyl's overly active imagination) and thus spent a good deal of time inside, engaged in reading and other structured activities devised by his protective mother, as oppose to going outside playing with other children. As a result, he became overly educated.

And an obnoxious know it all.

As a teenager, Myron managed to inject his presence (and his knowledge) into the business of everyone in town. Townsfolk dreaded his approach they way they would dread a crazed coyote.

They would have preferred the crazed coyote.

When he turned eighteen, his parents sent him to school back east for a few years (much to the delight of the town). It was hoped that this time away from his mother would help develop a more positive (less obnoxious) character. Sadly it did not, and Myron returned a much worse know-it-all.

And it got even worse when he passed the bar and began to practice law with his father.

JAY: Bob, have you lost your mind.

LEE: You're kidding right?

BOB: No, I am completely serious.

JAY: If we nominate Myron, we'll be the laughing stock of the district.

MILT: If we get him elected, we'll be the laughing stock of the country.

HERB: I'd rather nominate the dead guy.

ART: Can a dead person run for congress?

LEE: They vote in Chicago.

ART: I've heard that.

BOB: You are not considering the positive reasons for getting him elected.

LEE: Positive reasons?

HERB: What possible reason could you have for wanting that boy elected to congress?

BOB: Have you considered the fact that if he was elected to congress, he would be spending quite a bit of time in Washington D.C.?

Silence descended upon the room.

BOB: Instead of her in town, annoying us?

On November 5th, 1889, Myron T Fankel (D-WA) was elected by on overwhelming majority of voters in his district... which included 42 dead people ...to serve in the U.S. House of Representatives, a position he held until his death in 1923.

Gambling, Hunting, Guns and Nudity (Part 3)

Me and my dogs had an enjoyable 4th of July. A neighbor decided to have a barbecue, to which we were invited.

We accepted the invitation. As fans of this blog are no doubt aware: my dogs ♥ barbecue.

I had a burger and a variety of tasty potato and macaroni salads (and Mt. Dew), and the dogs ate wieners (and whatever else they were able to mooch of the other attendees of the cookout).

As the afternoon became evening, me and my dogs thanked our gracious hosts, and returned to our humble abode, as the sun had gone below the horizon and as the darkness increased, so did the bottle rockets.

Ever year, the media warns all to keep their pets inside during the 4th, as fear of the fireworks may cause them to run off. My dogs are fairly brave souls, and the have never shown fear of the fireworks, but the continual boom! boom! agitates them a bit, so we go inside, turn on the radio and listen to some music.

As the evening grew later, the dogs went to their accustom evening spots to go to sleep. However, some of our neighbors (not the nice ones who invited us to barbecue) returned from where ever and began to set of some firecrackers.

Sarah (my female who had, up until that point, been asleep) woke up at the pop! pop! pop! going on outside. She got up, climbed onto the back of the sofa, and looked out the window in order to investigate.

As she investigated, the neighbors lit another pack of firecrackers, which cause Sarah to start barking. But it was not a bark of fear, it was a bark of anger, as if to say Will you people knock it off? We're trying to sleep in here!

What does this have to do with the subject of todays blog entry? Nothing. I just wanted to share that story with everyone.

---

Warning: This blog entry contains a light hearted discussion of nudity, a subject that many people find offensive. If you are offended by nudity, discussions of guns, nudity, gambling, hunting, or free speech, you may not want to continue reading.

However, if you like nudity(or guns), or at least discussions of nudity (or guns), or just want to find out what bizarre and off the wall things I have to say, then by all means continue reading.

---

If you missed the story of Keith, slot
machines, and the Indians, it can be
found at Gambling (part 1)

If you want information on how to
play Roulette, go to wikipedia.org

My friend Keith and I went to a casino awhile back.

Yes, the same Keith I taught to gamble.

And yes, the same casino with Pocahontas and the advance surveillance system.

By this time, the casino had been completed completely, and had a full range of games that weren't there when I (with Keith) originally visited the casino about a year prior.

One of the games was roulette.

Roulette is kind of an interesting game, mainly because of the little marble that goes around and around making the clickity-clickity noise that is beckons to people "come play! come play!"

As we were playing, a rather attractive young woman came up to the table, opened her purse and remove five 100-dollar bills, which were quickly exchanged for chips by the croupier. She requested all black, and was give five $100 black chips.

"Can I bet all of them on the same spot?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the pit boss said "but the table limit is $100."

"Where can I place a $500 bet?" she asked

"All the tables in this casino have a $100 limit, unless special permission is granted."

"Who can grant that?"

"The floor manager."

The floor manager was called, and it was explained to him that the woman wanted to pace a single numbers bet with $500. He glanced over at the women, then agreed to allow the $500 bet.

"Place your bets!" the croupier called out.

"I have one more request" the woman said. "May I play naked?"

You could feel the silence descend upon the table.

"Seriously?" the floor manager asked.

"Yeah" she answered "I have better luck when I wear less clothing"

All eyes fell on the manager, who appeared to be either contemplating the request, or trying to determine if the woman was serious.

"Are you talking completely naked?" he asked.

"Nothing but what I was born with" she replied.

A moment passed. Two, then three. Finally he spoke again.

"Oh, what the hell."

The woman, having been given the go-ahead, proceeded to remove every stitch of clothing she had on. You could feel the silence descend on the entire casino floor.

Finally, when she had reached the state of full nakedness, she leaned over the table, chips in hand, and contemplated the layout.

All eyes fell on her... Well, you know where.

She finally selected a number by placing the chips on the appropriate number.

"Betting is closed!" the manager said before anyone else could place a bet, not that anyone at the table was planning to.

All eyes fell on the croupier, who looked confused, momentarily unaware of why everyone was staring at him until he suddenly remembered it was his job to spin the wheel. He started the wheel, then released the ball. The ball zipped around the bowl, bouncing from slot to slot (to slot) until it finally settled into one of the slots.

"Woo Hoo!" the woman yelled, jumping up and down (female parts jiggling with her). "I won! I won! I won!"

The croupier shook off his daze and began to count out 175 black $100 chips, which was an amazing feat of concentration considering the woman (and her parts) were bouncing the entire time, but he accomplished the task quickly and accurately, then slide the chips across the table next to her original $500 bet.

The woman then gathered her chips, blew everyone a kiss, then gathered her clothing and was escorted by a casino security guard to the cashier's cage. It was there, while the cashier counted out $18,000, that she finally began to redress (much to our disappointment), collected her money, and after blowing everyone kisses again headed out of the casino (still under escort), presumably to her car.

It wasn't until she had vanished from sight that anyone spoke or gaming resumed.

"That was unusual" the manager commented.

"I'll say" croupier confirmed.

"I can't wait to start telling this story" the manager said. "By the way, what number did she bet on?"

The croupier suddenly looked somewhat nervous.

"I thought you were watching that." 

Now that I told a nudity story, I need to tell a gun story. Since the name of this blog entry is "Guns and nudity (part 3)," if I don't tell a gun story I would only be able to call this blog entry "and Nudity (part 3)," which wouldn't make as much sense.

I don't hunt.
I realize that in our culture there was, at one time, a need to hunt in order to provide food for one's family. But that was before grocery stores.

I don't see hunting as a sport. Maybe I should say that I don't see hunting as "sporting."

How many points do the deer get?

The dictionary definition of sporting, as in a sporting chance is defined as "an even or fair opportunity for a favorable outcome in an enterprise, as winning in a game of chance or in any kind of contest." When the deer are armed, and a few hunter's heads are mounted on the wall of Bambi's den, then we will call hunting a sport.

		Speaking of Bambi, ever heard about Hunting for Bambi? The premise is that (male) hunters pay $5000-10,000 for the privilege of hunting "Bambis" (semi-naked women wearing nothing but a thong and tennis shoes) in the deserts of Las Vegas by picking them off with paintballs powerful enough to draw blood. The Bambis are paid $2,500 if they avoid getting hit and $1,000 even if they do get hit. But I digress

Theodore J. Barnes

This story was told to me by my Uncle Theo.

The story takes place when My Uncle was courting Aunt Helen, which means it took place somewhere between 1953 (when Uncle Theo returned from Korea) and 1957 (when he finally married Aunt Helen).

Theo and his friend, Wilbur, decided to do a little hunting up around Moose Lake. There was talk of a grizzly around there, and neither of them had ever shot a bear.

Uncle Theo and Wilbur asked their girlfriends/fiancées if they wanted to spend a weekend hunting bear, and the agreed

Being country girls, they actually did want to go hunting.

The drove up to the cabin on Moose lake, and spent the evening doing redneck stuff - like drinking beer and telling stories. It got late, so everyone decided to go to bed.

There own bed. This was the 1950s, people didn't do immoral stuff back then.

They all got up at the crack of dawn (and dawn cracks early in the mountains). Uncle Theo and Wilbur were up and dressed first, which meant they had to start the fire in the stove, and make the coffee. Later, when Aunt Helen and Lorraine emerged from there rooms, they cooked breakfast.

Now, a lot of you are thinking that it was sexist for My Uncle and his friend to expect the women to cook. Keep in mind, this was the 1950s - that's the way it worked back then.

And if you ever tasted Uncle Theo's cooking, you would wanted Aunt Helen to do the cooking.

After breakfast was eaten, everyone went to put on there coats, hats, and other hunting apparel, and then everyone met out in front of the cabin. Uncle Theo and Wilbur were out first.

To this day, scientists are baffled as to why it always takes women longer to get ready.

Aunt Helen emerge after the boys. And the three of them waited on Lorraine.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally Lorraine emerged from the cabin, and Uncle Theo, Aunt Helen, and Wilbur gasped

Lorraine had come out of the cabin wearing only a pair of hunting boots, holding her 30-06 Winchester in her arms.

And a hunting hat. Aunt Helen remembers the plaid hunting hat with the big ear flaps.

Nobody spoke at first. Everyone was speechless. I mean, what do you say to a naked ladies with a 30-06 Winchester?

---

"You know, I can't think of nothing finer than a fine naked woman holding a gun. You know you're just all kinds of fine, don't you?"
~ Frankie Figs (Micheal Clark Duncan),
The Whole Nine Yards (2000)

---

"Lorraine!" Wilbur hollered. "Where are you clothes?"

A logical question.

"There in the cabin." She answered.

"Why aren't you wearing them?"

Also a good question.

"You said we were coming up here to hunt bare."

Aunt Helen mentioned at this point in the story that she now knew for sure that Lorraine was indeed a natural blond, because of.. well, you know, down there.

The carpet matched the curtains.

"She never had the sense the Good Lord gave a goose" my Aunt said. "She still doesn't."

When Aunt Helen said this, I realized that Lorraine in the story had to be Mrs. Breckenridge (and Wilbur was the late Mr. Breckenridge) which was something that I did not want to know.

And the reason I did not want to know this was because Mrs. Breckenridge taught Sunday School at the local church, and the one image that you do not want is one of your Sunday school teacher buck naked carrying a Winchester 30-06!

My Aunt said "I can't think of anyone dumber than Lorraine."

I can.

What about the Genius that gave her the 30-06 in the first place?