Great Times," Chapter 10

Copyright 2006, Terry F. Phillips Sr.

All rights reserved

Chapter 10

Back in Chicago, the next morning dawned mostly sunny with a few clouds over Lake Michigan. The wind in that Windy City was cold, even in springtime, but Ted Lane didn’t care. He was now an announcer on a big-city radio station, one of Chicago’s foremost radio stations. The world was his oyster. He was in control and nothing could go wrong.

Ted made his way through the brass doors at the radio station’s business entrance. The receptionist flashed a brilliant white smile at him.

‘I’m here to see Mr. Howard,” Ted said, returning her smile. “I’m a new announcer.”

“Oh, you must be Mr. Lane,” she said, shuffling some papers, as if stalling while she recalled the details. “Mr. Howard said you were to tour the building and he will see you in about an hour. You can’t miss his office. It’s on the second floor.”

Ted made his way down the stairs, choosing them over the elevator, so he could have a moment to savor his new surroundings.

Even the stairs leading to the basement where beginning announcers found their office was exciting to him.

As he made his way down the last landing, he could hear the clink of dishes and guessed the station’s commissary was located in the basement.

It was still early, so he thought a cup of coffee might be in order.

After going through the line and filling his white, china cup from a gleaming silver urn, he carried it to a nearby table.

He stirred in sugar and was wagging the spoon through the cup when more than his coffee was stirred.

He looked up to see the most gorgeous woman he had ever beheld. Well, perhaps not the most gorgeous, but she was stunning.

She wore a red dress, matching shoes and a white blouse. Her hair was blonde and cascaded down her back.

His greeting came involuntarily. He must meet her, he thought.

“Excuse me.”

She glanced his way and smiled.

“Excuse me,” he repeated. “C-c-can I b-buy you a cup of coffee?”

“You must be the new announcer,” she teased.

“As a m-m-m-matter of f-f-f-fact …”

“Oh, really!” she smiled the brightest smile he had ever seen.

Perhaps she was a movie starlet, though he couldn’t place her face and didn’t know why should be in the building at that hour of the morning.

“Ted Lane,” he said, standing. “I am a new announcer, as a matter of fact.”

She was just about his height and a look into her eyes said she would at least be his intellectual match as well.

“Connie Collins,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “Do I know you?”

“I-I-I don’t think so,” he said, feeling as if he were fumbling for the right words. “I’m new here and you looked like someone I know.”

“Ouch!” he thought. “That’s an old line.”

She smiled again. This time it looked as if she were going to laugh at him.

“It’s the hair,” she said. “Everyone tells me it reminds them of the way Veronica Lake wore her hair in ‘The Blue Dahlia.’”

“And, w-w-w-what do you do around here?” Ted asked. He was beginning to get back his nerve and, he hoped, his charm.

She tossed her hair and looked at him askance.

“I’m a singer,” she said. “You don’t listen to the radio station much, do you?”

Her accusation made him uncomfortable. After all, this was his first day on the job.

“People who work for a radio station should listen to the radio station,” she said.

“G-g-good point,” he said, not wanting to get defensive with this exquisite creature. She could find out his weak points later. And he hoped there would be a later for them.

“I must be moving on,” he said, rising, not noticing that he spilled some of his coffee and that the spoon was rattling in the cup. He grabbed his writ with his other hand to stop the tremors.

“Wait,” she said. “What do you do here?”

“I’m an announcer,” he said. “Really. Newest one.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Ted,” he said. “Ted Lane. Remember it, you’ll hear it often.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Lane,” she said. “But, if I can be so forward; most announcers don’t have - ah, um -“

“S-s-s-speech impediment,” he said, finishing the sentence for her. “It’s from the war. When I get nervous, it comes back.”

“Sit down,” she invited him, returning to her own seat.

He obliged and smiled, thinking he may have found someone who would understand.

“I helped out in a veterans hospital,” she said. “It’s all right. I saw many men who came home with physical and - other problems.”

“I - mine started when I saw a buddy killed,” Ted explained. “Everyone says there was nothing I could do, but the next day I started having trouble talking when we heard distant bombs or received word of the enemy on the march.”

“So, how did you - why did you decide to go into announcing?” she asked.

“Therapy,” he said. “The psychologist who worked with me suggested I practice reading aloud. Somebody said I had a nice voice and I decided to audition for a radio station at home. That and this gimpy leg of mine led to my decision.”

“Did you receive the bad leg in the war?”

“Yes, they sent me home after I was hit. They saved the leg, but I don’t know if it will ever heal properly or not.”

She thought a moment before speaking.

“Where is home?” she asked, sipping her own coffee.

“South Bend,” he said. “I got on at the CBS station and eventually heard about the opening at WXBR. I auditioned and - here I am.”

“Oh, look at the time!” Connie said, glancing at the Bulova that adorned her wrist. “It’s been nice chatting with you, --“

“Ted.”

“Right, Ted.” She got up and pushed her chair under the table. “See you around the building!”

And she was gone. Ted hoped she wasn’t gone out of his life.

Sack races have been held for 31 years on the 4th of July

By FRANK PHILLIPS
frankphi@hotmail.com
What would the 4th of July be without sack races? Thanks to John Thomas, Clay County residents haven’t had to face a sack race-less 4th of July for decades.
For the 31st year, Thomas sponsored sack races on the 4th of July at Forest Park. Each year he supplies cash prizes as an incentive to the participants.
A total of $77 was awarded in various races this year:
• Ages 7 and younger: 1st-Taylor Phillippe, Terre Haute, 2nd-Briana Steadman, Brazil, 3rd- Callie Steadman, Brazil
• Ages 9 and younger: 1st-Grace Geswein, Carbon, 2nd-Matthew Phegley, Brazil and 3rd-Gabi Sappington, Terre Haute
• Ages 11 and younger: 1st-Kayla Harrington, Brazil, 2nd-McKenzi Kumpf, Brazil, 3rd-Madalyn Hayes, Avon, Ind.
• Ages 13 and younger: 1st-Whitney Dickison, Brazil, 2nd-Justin Tallman, Brazil, 3rd-Loren Anderson, Brazil
• Ages 15 and younger (two races): (1st race) 1st-Jordan Nelson, Brazil, 2nd-Josh Hoskins, Brazil, 3rd-Travis Thompson, Brazil; (2nd race) 1st-Jessica Tallman-Brazil, 2nd-Taylor Mikles-Brazil and 3rd-Brett Maesch-Brazil.
John’s special helpers were Nick and Jennifer French.

Graybeard says, 'Good-bye, Mitch'

By FRANK PHILLIPS
frankphi@hotmail.com
Hundreds of people packed the Forest Park Pavilion Tuesday night to hear Graybeard’s last performance with its current personnel. One reason for the hundreds to attend may have been to say good-bye to the group’s harmonica and bass guitar player and vocalist Mitch Chalos.
Mitch and Kim Chalos are moving to Nashville, Tenn., to be near their son who works in sales for a computer company.
The concert was entirely upbeat, without any sad parting comments that could have been made.
Gary Scroggins told one story about Mitch from several years ago.
It seems Graybeard was performing for an Emmaus Walk. As part of the program, the group played an instrumental over and over. It was an upbeat song and the guitarists and other musicians were playing as fast and hard as they could, Scroggins said. The song only required Mitch to play a single note on his harmonica at the prescribed time.
So, Mitch would get up, walk to the microphone, play his note and then go visit with people until the song was repeated.
“After the concert — and this is the truth,” Scroggins said, raising his hand. “People thanked the group and said, ‘Wasn’t the harmonica wonderful!’
“Since then, he has been known as One-note Chalos!”
The new members of the group were introduced for the first time. They are Jay Slater and Dave Boyd.
“It’s taking two guys to replace Mitch and we’ll never hear the end of it,” Scroggins said.
At the end of the concert, the group asked the audience to be seated while they carried out some “other business.”
That business was to sing a song written by Kevin McCrea to honor Mitch and Kim on their departure.
“We’re paying tribute tonight to Mitch and Kim for their service,” Scroggins said.
He asked the audience to raise their hands if their lives had been touched by Mitch and Kim’s lives through their church and as Mitch served as a county commissioner and in business. Many did raise their hands.
A few lines from the song included,
“A friend will be with you in the end,” and,
“Now you’re moving on to see what’s down the road ...
“It’s sad to say good-bye ...
“Take this with you when you go ...
“Good-bye, old friend.”
Following the song, Mitch and Kim were invited back to the stage where they hugged their old friends and were greeted by many well-wishers from the audience.
Members of Graybeard now include Rod Clarke, Lee Reberger, Scroggins, Slater, Boyd, and McCrea.
The concert was part of the entertainment during the 71st annual Brazil Rotary Club 4th of July Celebration.

"Great Times," Chapter 9

Copyright 2006, Terry F. Phillips Sr.

All rights reserved

Chapter 9

He awoke in a little-used tool shed far from any other buildings.

“Hello, there, little fellow,” said a voice next to him.

Eddie turned to see a figure sitting in an old kitchen chair next to his head. He struggled to sit up and found himself secured bound by what appeared to be yellow twine used to bundle packages.

“Looks like we have some talking to do,” the voice said.

Suddenly there was a buzzing sound accompanied by the smell of burning ozone followed by the eye-watering, stifling fragrance of cinnamon candy cooking on a stove.

Eddie knew the smell well. Not only had he smelled it at Christmas time during his travels, but it was an odor he also associated with time travel.

There was a brief wave before him, much as one would see above cement on a hot summer day.

Then a second being was lying on the floor next to his cot.

“Hello, Eddie,” the voice said. “Remember us?”

Then Eddie realized the pair as the same two who accosted him on the train.

“It looks like we have something in common.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“I think you know,” the new arrival said. “You’ve smelled the burning ozone and, what your people call the ‘cinnamon smell’ before, haven’t you?”

Eddie struggled against his bonds, managing to stretch the twine a bit.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Sure you do, Eddie. We know all about you, about your time travel exploits.

“You people think you are so clever, that human achievement has to be the pinnacle of what has been done in what you call the universe.

“Now,” the being said, doing his own Bogart imitation. “Less have you come clean or we’ll get ruff wit’ ya.”

“Cute,” was all Eddie could say. He found the knot in the cord that tied his hands together and began working on it.

“You seem uncomfortable,” the first being said. “This climate doesn’t agree with you, does it?”

“OK,” Eddie said, deciding to trade information with the pair. “No, I don’t do well when I’m on one of these – uh, visits. I don’t know why, do you? Is it climatological? Magnetic? Does it have to do with air quality? Do you know? You seem to have all the answers.”

“Now, we’re getting some place,” the second one said, pacing the small room as his partner remained seated.

“Eddie, your little escapade, coming to New Mexico at this particular time has endangered us.”

“Who are you?” Eddie interrupted his captors. “And, what did I do?”

“We had covered up the Roswell incident very well, until your tour of Roswell began,” the second one said. “For centuries we had covered up the crash of a certain space craft on his ranch. But, then, inexplicably, history books began reporting a UFO crash at the Mac Brazel ranch outside Roswell, New Mexico, in July 1947. Motion pictures were made about the crash. The United State government not only told everyone it was a weather balloon found on the ranch, but more than 50 years later, there were conspiracy theorists objecting to the government’s explanation.”

“So, you’re time travelers – too,” Eddie said, seeming to capitulate.

“Ah, now, we’re getting somewhere, “ Number 2 said.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around the Project,” Eddie continued. “Are you working on another project? In the United States? From when do you come?”

“Let’s just say it is in our best interest that we reverse those reports of a UFO crash – for your people’s sake as well as ours.”

“You were involved – will be involved in that crash?”

“As you have probably guessed, it was our people who crashed,” Number 1 said, receiving a withering look from his partner.

“We lost some good people,” Number 2 said. “You have been given clearance, because even if we succeed in tidying up the mess that is going to erupt this week, we can erase your memory and you will never tell anyone – in any year – about the Roswell incident.”

Number 2 proceeded to relate the story of his friends’ crash on the Mac Brazel ranch in July 1947.

“It was an accident, a technical malfunction, pure and simple,” Number 2 said. “But we lost some good people and endangered ourselves and your people when they crashed.

“But we managed to erase all record of it, until the record began showing up in your year of 2147.”

“So, what are you going to do to me now?” Eddie said, though he guessed.

“Just watch you until after the crash is cleaned up again and we know the secret is safe,” said Number 1.

“Then kill me?”

“Probably not,” said Number 2.

Eddie continued to work on his twine bonds, finding them loosening gradually. By tightening and loosening his leg muscles, he found his ankles seemed to be tied less tightly as well.

While his captors napped that night, Eddie worked on his bonds.

At about 3 a.m., nearly 24 hours after his captivity, Eddie was loose.

Evidently, his captors we sleeping more soundly than he thought, for he was able to slip out of the shed and into the night without being caught.

“Next stop, California,” he thought. “I can’t do anything here.”

"Great Times," Chapter 8

Copyright 2006, Terry F. Phillips Sr.
All rights reserved

Chapter 8

“What do you think that is?” one of the ranch hands asked another hand standing near the office door.

“You don’t think the boss would hire something like that, do you?” the second one asked.

“Hey boy,” the first hand asked. “Whatcha doin’ here, anyway?”

Eddie walked over to them, sized up the situation and decided to not try and bluff these two the way he had bluffed the bums in the railroad car.

“I’m just looking to pick up a few bucks so I can go on,” Eddie said, looking up at the first one. “I was told to show up this morning and I might be able to get some work. You know, washing dishes, taking out the trash, nothing important.”

The two hands looked at each other and grinned.

“Just stay out of our way, boy,” the first hand said.

“Yeah, you might get stomped by a calf!” and the second one laughed.

The two decided Eddie not only posed no threat, but with his lisp, wasn’t worth their time - especially if he planned to leave in a few days. He was obviously a sissy and they didn’t want to be seen with him.

Eddie was assigned to help with the kitchen chores, which suited him fine.

One day, he left the bunkhouse before dawn to help the cook prepare breakfast. He didn’t make it to the kitchen.

In the dark, he was overpowered by two beings. Struggle as he might, they were too much for him.

He felt a cold, metallic item placed to his neck, felt a quiver through his body, accompanied by a bright flash that seemed to come from within. Then he went out.

"Great Times," Chapter 7

Copyright 2006, Terry F. Phillips Sr.

All rights reserved

Chapter 7

July can be hot anywhere. It is doubly so on a secluded ranch in New Mexico.

Eddie was used to the easy life. He liked living in Chicago. Though it gave him the creeps, he liked having a beautiful girl like Barbara admire him - even if she were so many years his senior- and was in fact - his ancient relative.

“That is one feeling that Freud would have a field day with,” Eddie thought.

Watching the newspaper classified ads and talking to various people around town, Eddie learned that the Brazel ranch might hire temporary help. Mr. Brazel was a nice guy and he was known to be a good citizen. Perhaps if Eddie worked on his sympathy, he might at least be able to stay with the other hands until he rendezvoused with the time ship.

He didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary on the ranch, so he waited until July 1, 1947, to talk to the ranch foreman.

The foreman looked him over, acted as if he were disgusted, and didn’t say anything.

“I really need this job,” Eddie told him. “I’m on my way to California. I have a job waiting for me in a nightclub there and I don’t have the money to make it the rest of the way. Please, give me a chance. Just for a week or so, then, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll take my pay and be on my way.”

“Well, I guess I can’t expect a dandy like you to ride the rails, can I? You wouldn’t last eight hours on the rails with them ‘bos, would you?

“All right. You know where the ranch is? Good. Show up at the office at 6 a.m. tomorrow and we’ll see if there is anything you can do - besides sing.”

With that, he spat a long string of brown tobacco juice, not far from Eddie’s shoes.