Now Available: Bad Lies: A Novel

HISTORICAL MYSTERY SPOTLIGHTS 1940s SEGREGATION AND PROFESSIONAL GOLF

An African American golfer and a washed-up, St. Paul Saints’ pitcher, caught in a dangerous post-World War II mix of racial tension, anxious social change, and anti-Communist paranoia, struggle to find a common ground of trust as they mount a challenge to segregation in professional golf.

It’s the late 1940s, and the Professional Golf Association’s “Caucasian only” rule is in force for almost every major tournament. Flash Dawkins knows he’s good enough to win as a pro golfer, but his attempt to qualify for the St. Paul Open makes him a marked man with a growing list of enemies ready to short-circuit his dream of becoming golf’s Jackie Robinson

Bad Lies: A Novel is rooted in the racial and political conflicts of the late 1940s and the history of segregation in professional golf. The story is based on the unsuccessful attempts of African American golfers to enter the 1948 St. Paul Open.

Book Information

Publication Date: September 15, 2014  

IBSN: 978-087839-752-5

Price: $14.95  (e-book available early October, 2014)                                        

  
(Read a sample chapter) Amazon  http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Lies-Thomas-B-Jones-ebook/dp/B00NCA91DC/ref=sr_1_3_twi_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1419179728&sr=1-3&keywords=bad+lies                                

Barnes&Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bad-lies-t-b-jones/1030006633?ean=9780878397525

North Star Press http://www.northstarpress.com/collections/2014-titles 

Golf-Babble

By

The Missing Professor

“Run like a thief”

“Be the ball!”

“Nice putt, Alice”

Tired of that cliché a minute, non-stop, mindless jabber you suffer through every round of golf with your buddies? Ready to slam your putter into Vinny’s shin the next time he comes out with the “Never up, never in” thing? Bewildered as to why the hours spent in a relaxed, natural setting yield nothing more elevated than . . . “There’s a little meat left on that bone”?

Is “golf-babble” about to drive you knee-walking nuts? Well, breath easy. Your friendly college professor has the answer.

The next time you and the gang are finishing out on the first hole--seize the moment! Get in touch with your inner Aristotle, and try out this guaranteed, golf-babble muzzler: “Guys . . . tell me. Does golf has philosophical meaning for our lives? I mean, when we’re out here, do we find a greater sense of what is ultimately good?”

Was ever a metaphysical gambit guaranteed to elicit nothing but stunned silence from your companions? Build on it, Plato-man.

As the boys“haul out the lumber” for the second hole to “let the big dog hunt,” you stand in the tee box and stare down the fairway at the distant green with a look of innocent wonderment. “Can you feel it?” you ask. “Our time together . . . this ‘being as one’ with the natural environment. It gives us such a needed escape from our daily lives—the isolation, the regimentation, the worries—not to mention the burden of our technologies. Don’t you think Thoreau would have liked golf?”

Now it’s quite possible at that instant an ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” ringtone will sound on someone’s cell phone, and Fred, retired for ten years now, will hustle over to his golf cart. “I gotta get that, guys,” he’ll call out over his shoulder. This is a good thing. Fred’s urgent retreat helps prove your point.

Meanwhile, you pretend to examine your new driver--that anti-slice, multi-lofted, power-slotted, Bluetooth-enabled, calorie-counting, web-browsing, golfing miracle. With a deep sigh, you comment to no one in particular, “As did the yeoman framer--those rugged individualists of the American frontier--I shall conquer the wilderness before me. Self-reliance and this extraordinary product of American know-how are all I’ll need.” (Don’t worry, it’s doubtful any of your partners will note the irony and ask, “But what would Thoreau think?”)

After duck-hooking your ball out-of-bounds, smacking it into the wall of the townhomes lining the left side of the fairway, your golfing partners will start with the “Quack, quack” thing.  You smile and offer this bit in return, “In an age of suspect ethical behavior and callow pursuit of riches, is it not so that our game still demands honor? Therefore, I gladly accept a two-stroke penalty for my miscue.”

You’ve got your mojo going! It’s par-city, baby. No mulligans. Your playing partners are silenced like the lambs.

But before we go any further, let the old professor give you a teaching tip guaranteed to produce a verbal blackout. It works without fail in all but the most elite college classrooms (and Vinny, Fred, and “Boomer” sure as hell never qualified for one of those). Here’s the time-tested strategy: ask open-ended questions designed to stimulate discussion. Ha! As with nine of ten college students, your buddies will embrace the advice given by that revered scholar, Muhammad Ali. “Silence is golden when you can’t think of an answer.”

So at an opportune moment, maybe when everyone is searching in vain for a banana ball tagged into the tall stuff, try out my teaching tip. Here’s how.

“No matter how you . . . um . . . slice it, guys, the game we play seems to have meaning more deeply buried than Boomer’s drive. Imagine now. We are like the pioneers trekking through the western frontier. What sorts of know-how would we need to survive? How would those skills connect with today’s golf adventure?”

Believe me, your on-course teaching technique will bomb just as it does in 99 percent of college classrooms. Instead of checking Facebook, texting, dosing off, or staring blankly into space like most college students . . . your golf pals will intensify their search for the lost ball, shaking their heads in dismay at your new on-course persona. Whatever path taken, handy golf clichés will pretty much lie stillborn. But, don’t waste a second. Drive home your advantage.

“Think about it,” you urge the guys. “Daniel Boone would have been a hell of a golfer, don’t you agree? Great hand-eye coordination to shoot all those bears and rabbits, no fear about what’s over the next hill, patience when things didn’t work out right . . . stuff like that. And he was at home in the wilderness.”

You now have the upper hand. You’ve thrown a stranglehold over golf-babble, that noxious threat to the game’s enjoyment. Of course, you can’t expect that such verbal habits are easily cast aside. Continued application of the academic ointment will, no doubt, be required. But enjoy the moment. As you line up a birdie putt --ready to close the deal on the eighteen holes, and sure to walk off with all the money--it’s time for a denouement (i.e., the academic’s version of golf-babble). So go with the discussion question gambit again. It’s been a winner.

“Guys. I’ve felt an almost spiritual dimension to our play today. Haven’t you?” At this point, you could probably say not a word more. But what the hell? Forge ahead. “Can we see today’s golf as a reflection of religious practice and spirituality? I’m not talking just about the beginning of life, the fullness of possibility at the first tee, or some end of life on earth reckoning at the 18th -- that ‘final scorecard’ thing. Maybe there’s more?” You place your marker on the green for a tap-in putt. The dazed looks around you signal that a biblical flood of three putts is forthcoming.

“Remember when Boomer drove his ball into the rough? We all said ‘it’s dead; that’s history’. But then Boomer yelled out ‘Jesus Christ!” And low and behold, he found his ball. It was like a rebirth. Right?”

“I get ‘ya,” Boomer says. “It’s like the clubhouse grill is a church, and Jake behind the bar . . .  he’s doing a sacramental wine thing.”

“Wow!” Freddie throws his arms wide, real enthusiasm on his voice. “I like that, Boomster. Beats the heck out of the cranberry juice at my church.”

“Well, God bless us all.” Vinny rolls his eyes and whacks his golf ball off the putting surface in disgust. He’s just missed a two-footer to lose the hole. “Guess I need some New Testament clubs.”

Vinny’s biblical allusion will require some thought by his fellow golfers, but their silence may be only momentary. How long before one of them pipes up with “Only God can hit a one iron”?

But the future still looks bright. Perhaps in Vinny, you’ve found a partner, an acolyte for your ongoing crusade against golf-babble.

“Hey, Vinny.” You pick up the wedge he’s left on the green. “Lemme buy you a beer.”

The Educated Person and Graduation Requirements

“Eat your vegetables.”

“Why, Mommy?”

“Because . . . Mommy says they’re good for you.”

Every college and university sets up graduation requirements students must satisfy to receive a diploma. Graduation requirements come in many shapes and sizes; typically, but not in every instance, students must complete 120 semester credits, maintain a grade point average of 2.00, pass a writing assessment, complete a major and a minor, and be in residence on campus while completing a designated number of credits. In addition, graduation requirements include completing study in areas labeled variously as “liberal education,” “liberal learning,” “general education,” and “core curriculum.” It’s this aspect of the graduation requirements that is most closely connected to the ideal of the educated person.

To avoid mix-ups and confusion right from the start, it helps to boil down the labels (e. g., “liberal education,” “liberal learning,”) into what I’ll call educated-person requirements.[1] 

Who thinks up these educated-person requirements in the first place? At some point, and revisited every so often, colleges and universities discuss questions such as: “What is an educated person?” “What understanding, abilities, and values should graduates of this college possess?” and “What are the essential learning outcomes necessary for our students to meet the demands of complexity, diversity, and change?” Faculty members at each institution usually take the primary role in discussing such questions and providing answers. Ideally, these answers represent the heart and soul of what professors on each campus believe about the educated person. Some schools will sponsor learning experiences (for example, first-year seminars and orientations) to help students understand the thinking behind educated-person requirements and prepare them to take advantage of the promised knowledge, skills, and traits. At too many campuses, however, students receive little guidance other than a brief background explanation and a listing of the requirements in the college or university catalog. Here’s a hypothetical example of general education requirements:

General Education at “Middle of the Road” College

The General Education requirements ensure that students develop a core of liberal arts abilities and experience a range of liberal arts perspectives—social, scientific, humanistic, and artistic—as determined by the faculty. These requirements also expose students to a diversity of perspectives necessary for living and working in an increasingly interdependent world. The General Education program seeks to accomplish three goals: 1) development of important abilities and skills drawn from study in the liberal arts; 2) exposure to a broad variety of disciplines; and 3) a developing global perspective.

General Education: A Summary of Requirements

Two courses from the Social Sciences

Two courses from the Fine Arts

Two courses from the Sciences (one fulfilling a lab requirement)

Two courses from the Humanities

One course in Mathematical/Symbolic Reasoning

One course in Interdisciplinary Issues

One course in Global Perspectives

One course in College Writing

Foreign Language¾each student must complete an introductory year’s study of a foreign language at the college level.

At almost any four-year college or university, throw in the number of credits required for a major (and a minor), some for electives, a minimum number to be completed at the junior–senior level, and voila! . . . supposedly, you have an educated person.

As you might have noticed, the main flaw in most programs of educated-person requirements is this: students are rarely given a chance to fully understand and appreciate the reasoning that lies behind the requirements. Why wouldn’t a college or university want its students to launch their quest to become educated persons with eyes wide open, ready to take best advantage of their learning? What takes place at most schools reminds me of this familiar conversation.

“Eat your vegetables.”

“Why, Mommy?”

“Because . . . Mommy says they’re good for you.”

This sort of an approach hardly leads to the ideal of the educated person. It’s too easy for all concerned to fall into the trap of thinking that educated-person requirements only match up with specific courses and academic disciplines (history, computer science, sociology, and so on). The understandable (but regrettable) response of most students is to trudge through these sets of required courses and to jump through the hoops without much deep thought about the educated person. I don’t want this to be your fate.

I urge you carefully analyze and measure the value of educated-person requirements at the college or university you have chosen to attend. You must work within a specific system and listing of requirements, but take as much control and responsibility as possible to develop your ideal of the educated person. Here’s a way to do just that.

Take a trip to your local library or do some background research. Examine a variety of catalogs from private, public, and community colleges, focusing your attention on “graduation requirements” and, in particular, those listed as “liberal education,” “general education,” and “core curriculum.” Read any introductory background explanations and rationales the schools advance. (Would you believe a number of colleges and universities don’t have such a section and launch right into their lists of requirements?) Take a good look at the required subject areas/categories (sometimes these are identified as “core” or “theme” areas; for example, humanities, cultural diversity, natural sciences). Take note of exactly how students are supposed to satisfy these required subject areas.

Try to answer these questions:

1. What were the strongest arguments made for completing these types of educated-person requirements?

2. What are the similarities and differences among these requirements? What is confusing or unclear?

3. Which background statements and explanations for requirements seemed most persuasive?

4. Did any of the supporting arguments and discussions connect with your ideal of the educated person? How so? According to your emerging views on the educated person, what is missing in these requirements and explanations? What seems unnecessary? What would you add? Why would you make these additions?

5. Were most of the requirements geared to the completion of specific courses? How much leeway is allowed for students to pursue individual paths and ways of satisfying the requirements?

6. Do you think it’s possible to attain the educated-person outcomes (i.e., cultural diversity, critical thinking, ethical reasoning, communication skills) by completing the requirements?

Now that you’ve had a chance to sort through educated-person requirements from a range of colleges and universities, let me suggest some things about the learning process that will help you make any choices allowed and to assess the value of the requirements.

First of all, watch out for learning experiences that exclude the exercise of individual reasoning powers and judgments. If you are not taking an active and questioning role in learning, and if your individual powers of judgment are rarely involved, then the subject or course studied is technical and limited in regard to the educated person ideal. This questioning and judging, or what might be termed a “critical component,”[2] helps define “educated-person learning,” whether gained in classrooms, on the job, or through experiential/life learning (such as travel, independent reading, community-based study). Yes, and don’t get me wrong, I agree that technical know-how and skill development for specifically defined occupational tasks are important, but they don’t qualify in the realm of educated-person requirements. Data processing, inventory control, accounting—no matter how valuable or difficult to learn—are not examples of educated-person requirements and what best forms an educated person.

The learning best matched to educated-person requirements, in my opinion, is non-technical, broadly applicable, and stresses individual reasoning, questioning, and judgment. For the most part, such learning is located in what we call the liberal arts areas of the curriculum—the humanities, the fine arts, the natural and physical sciences, and the social sciences. But why is this?

The liberal arts help students learn how to ask good questions, to exercise judgments based on both facts and values, and to analyze problems (and if you can do these three things reasonably well, you’ll be a student any college or university would be proud to claim). Indeed, without attention to these learning objectives, most areas of the liberal arts cannot be taught or researched. While a course in modern art might try to teach only about the artists and what they create, it’s unlikely that students will go far without asking some of these essential questions: “What is good art?” “Who is an artist as opposed to a technician?” “Why do cultures develop and need art?” In contrast, most (but not all) courses in business administration and similar areas necessarily concentrate on “how” to do something—better, more quickly, more cheaply. Questions like “Is it right to . . . ?” or “What are the human implications of doing . . . ?” are not the first in mind for such branches of study.

But alas, study in the liberal arts disciplines can fall well short of the ideal. Courses in history, psychology, and other liberal arts areas can be narrow and technical (depending on the subject and who is doing the teaching). Liberal arts courses don’t automatically guarantee learning results that meet the ideal standards. So, for example, someone teaching a history course who sticks to an endless narrative of names, dates, and facts contributes no more to an educated-person ideal than the instructor of advanced widget sales.

Learning experiences that are soon outdated and inflexible in application are hardly the best for building the educated person. But, the understanding, abilities, and traits derived from a well-formulated set of educated-person requirements are seldom swept aside by technological change or unpredictable future trends. Educated-person learning allows students to be flexible, confident in the face of change.

To sum up, you need to do some thinking and digging around within a system of educated-person requirements to find appropriate subjects of study, good teachers, and stimulating learning strategies. Don’t be afraid to find out if your school will allow learning outside the classroom as a strategy to fulfill requirements. Overseas study, internships, community service, and independent study may be excellent options for you to pursue.

---

[1] Definitions supplied by the American Association of Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) are helpful. But, as you will see, the use of the terms “liberal education,” “general education,” “liberal learning,” and “core curriculum” is not uniform across higher education. That’s why I prefer to concentrate on the ideal of the educated person and how these variously labeled requirements fit with that ideal. Here’s how the AAC&U defines liberal education and general education:

“Liberal Education—Liberal Education is an approach to learning that empowers individuals and prepares them to deal with complexity, diversity, and change. It provides students with broad knowledge of the wider world (e.g., science, culture, and society) as well as in-depth study in a specific area of interest. A liberal education helps students develop a sense of social responsibility, as well as strong and transferable intellectual and practical skills such as communication, analytical and problem-solving skills, and a demonstrated ability to apply knowledge and skills in a real-world setting. General Education—The part of a liberal education curriculum shared by all students. It provides broad exposure to multiple disciplines and forms the basis for developing important intellectual and civic capacities. General Education may also be called ‘the core curriculum’ or ‘liberal studies.’”

[2] The critical component of education, in contrast to the technical, attempts to expose students to multiple and conflicting perspectives on themselves and their society to test previously unexamined assumptions. It strives to create conditions that stimulate students’ intellectual, moral, and personal development. Critical education deliberately tries to stimulate students to formulate goals, develop their cognitive map of the world, and construct viewpoints about their roles in society.

How 'Bout Them Cowboys

The parrot would come later.

Right now, Bobby “Bear” Davis had two "Cowboys” saddled up . . . ready to ride.

“Gin!” Bear slammed down a winning pair of kings. “How ‘bout them Cowboys!”

For Bear and his buddies, in the midst of their 20^th annual reunion trip to Las Vegas, gin games topped off long days of golf and nights out on the town drinking, gambling, and lusting after just about anything that looked like a woman (and, as some found out, what looked like a woman in Vegas wasn’t necessarily so). The guys from the Clinton, Missouri high school class of 1970, now edging uncomfortably into an AARP sunset, had endured Bear’s ear-splitting victory cry way too many times. The “How ‘bout them Cowboys” thing got damn old – especially when some of the gin players had forked over hundreds of bucks that weekend. What’s more, the boys still had one long day and night left.

Bear’s pleadings for a couple more hands of gin failed to arouse any enthusiasm. After a few minutes, only his lifelong pals, Ronnie Olletree and Harley Tucker, remained in the card room. Bear slurped down the rest of his Coor’s Light and attended to his night’s winnings, making sure to separate the denominations into painfully obvious piles in front of him.

“Where the hell did you ever come up with that stupid ‘Cowboys’ thing?”

“Come on, Ronnie. You don’t remember Jimmy Johnson from Dallas? 1992? NFL Championship year? He’s the one that said it.”

 “Ronnie, just get ready for tomorrow night’s game,” Harley advised. “If I know Bear, it’s gonna be dejavu all over again tomorrow night.”

Ronnie’s forehead crinkled up like dried prune. “What’s a day jaw voo?”

 Harley pointed toward the door. “Say goodnight, putz.”

“Daggone it, Harley. You said the exact damn thing last night.”

                                           -----------------------

The following day, the group played golf at a local course, followed by dinner at a Mexican Restaurant with plenty of Margaritas and tequila shots to go around. Well-fed and well-oiled, the crew of small town Missourians set off for another night out, albeit with less energy and goodwill than in the days gone by. The evening ended early. Too many drinks. Not enough sleep. Empty wallets. With only minor dissent, the dog-weary, droopy group headed back to their hotel.

Ronnie leaned up against a pillar in the all-night shopping mall attached to the hotel building. “Are we playing gin again?”

“Hell, yes,” said Bear. “It’s what we do.”

Don Fender, who predictably owned the auto repair shop in Clinton, groaned and informed a nearby Vince Palmieri. “I’m staying the hell home next year.”

“You go ahead and do that, Bender-Fender,” Vince said. “I’m for playing. Damn if I’ll let Bear keep all my cash.”

One of the few Italian Americans living in Clinton and, for that matter, in the whole of Henry County, Vince usually took home the most money of all the card players. The others had long teased him for being part of some backwoods, “redneck Mafia.” In turn, Vince cultivated an inexhaustible supply of redneck one-liners to shut up his buddies. In a self-referential vein, he often warned them, “Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.”

“And Bear, if I hear that damn ‘Cowboys’ thing again,” Vince said. “I cannot promise that a certain someone will make it home.”

“Yeah, yeah. You guys go along and discuss strategy,” Bear said. “I’m checking out that novelty store and see if I can find the wife something.”

“You do that.” Vince stalked away towards the hotel entrance. “Showdown’s coming.”

* * * * *

As that night’s gin game edged to an end, Bear couldn’t wait to pull what he thought would be his greatest gag. His stop at the novelty store had turned up nothing for the wife. But no problem. He’d scored perfect item for the night’s card playing—a talking parrot toy.

The parrot, a wooden, oversized replica of an Australian King species, with a gaudy mixture of red, green, and blue colors, came equipped with a button-activated recording device. As the nice young lady at the novelty store demonstrated, all Bear had to do was twice press a button on the parrot’s breast to record whatever he wanted to say.

“It’s really simple,” the shop clerk assured him. “When you want to play it back, then press the button once.”

After some practice, Bear had it down.

Bear smuggled the parrot into card room before the others arrived. With scotch tape borrowed from the hotel’s business center, he fastened the bogus bird out of sight, under his chair. As the gin game commenced, Bear looked forward to a moment when he could instigate his prank. He hadn’t put together anything this good since he and Harley shaved off Ronnie’s eyebrows at Boy Scout camp.

Not more than a half hour into the card playing, Bear had his two kings in hand.

He extracted the parrot from its hiding place, and raised it up for display.

“Guess what, little buddy?” Bear whispered in the parrot’s ear. “Yes. That’s right. We’ve got an announcement.”

Bear fingered the yellow button on the parrot’s breast, pressing twice, triumphantly announcing to the others, “Gin!”

“How ‘bout them Cowboys,” bawled the parrot in voice familiar to all. For good measure, Bear engineered an encore of the bird’s chant.

Bear cackled loudly at his joke, but scant few of the card players in the room joined in. Sitting at an adjacent table, Vince summed up the overwhelming sentiment as he lurched to his feet and shouted, “Damn it, Bear. That’s one time too many. Hand over that damn parrot. Now.”

Vince further threatened “to open a can of whoop-ass” on Bear, but calmer heads prevailed. The two belligerents retreated and all agreed on a last, peaceful drink before calling it a night. But a dramatic turn of events lay in the offing.

* * * * *

The next morning, the hotel telephone’s shrill ring cut into Bear’s eardrums like a buzz saw.

“We’ve got the parrot, pal,” a low voice drawled, “and it’ll cost you plenty.” 

Bear cast a hurried look at the bedside table where he’d placed the parrot and his cash winnings from the previous night. “How the hell did you guys get in my room? I’m calling management.”

“Oh . . . we are shakin’ and quakin’. Have a listen to this.”

“Please, Bear. Save me.” The high-pitched, squealing, somewhat birdlike wail cut deeply into Bear’s heart.  

* * * * *

Despite the trauma of his missing, imperiled parrot, Bear showed up for his tee time at the Yawning Canyon Golf Course the next morning.

“Mr. Brent Davis . . . Please report to the golf shop. You have an urgent telephone message.”

“What the hell?” Bear backed off from his tee shot on the opening hole. “Go ahead guys. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Back at the golf shop, the assistant pro directed Bear to a house phone located in the neighborhood of two bulbous women eying a stack of brightly colored, argyle sweater outfits, complete with mini golf “skorts”.

“Help me, Bear. Save me, please,” the parrot screaked in Bear’s ear. “Ooooooo. They’ve got me.”

“Who’s got you, little buddy?” But no answer; only a dial tone.

 “A gentleman dropped this off for you this morning, sir.” The assistant pro handed Bear a crumply paper bag.

The women gasped and retreated behind a glass case filled with assorted golf trinkets, their eyes fixed on what Bear cuddled in his hands -- a ketchup smeared, ghastly fractured parrot wing. Bear accelerated the shoppers’ exodus by waving about the little fellow’s severed body part.

Bear hightailed it out of the golf shop parrot’s wing in hand. Midway down the second fairway, Bear caught up with his golfing partners and filled them in on his adventure. Even allowing himself a birdie on the first hole he’d missed playing, Bear ended the golf outing shooting a 110 and losing ninety dollars in bets.

Back in Clinton a few days later, Bear paid out a hefty ransom equivalent of his gin winnings to regain the one-armed parrot. Despite a surgical procedure to re-attach its wing, needless to say, the incident had deeply traumatized the bird.

*********

The parrot’s post-traumatic mental state lay well beyond Bear’s ornithological therapy and counseling abilities. For the next year, the poor Polly preferred privacy, hiding deep in a dresser drawer amongst stinking socks, passing the time analyzing alliterative phraseology. Only after Bear convinced the tormented creature that accompanying him to the to the upcoming Las Vegas class reunion would be restorative did the parrot reluctantly emerge from its P-PSTD.

A return to the bright lights of Vegas had to be carefully orchestrated for maximum security . . .  and surprise. Nonetheless, with Ronnie and Jimmy Hawk standing guard at the first night’s gin game, the parrot made a smashing reappearance in Vegas. The parrot’s “How ‘bout them Cowboys!” echoed repeatedly throughout the card room. Bear ended the evening with a record breaking winning streak – not to mention a wallet bulging with other folk’s hard-earned cash. As part of the security plan, the parrot spent the night in the hotel’s vault, safely protected from several outraged members of the Clinton High class of ’70.

Things didn’t go quite so well the next night. A still-angry crew of gin players over-powered the two-man security detail and grabbed the parrot. They raced downstairs to the outdoor pool and chucked the bird into the deep end, where it sank to the bottom with but a feeble, gasping sound. The head henchman of the chucking syndicate, Vince Palmieri, nearly fell in the water laughing at the look of despair on the faces of what the parrot could only conclude were . . . passionate, but powerless protectors.

No matter what the parrot’s perspective (was he necessarily “all wet”?), Bear dove, fully clothed, into the dark waters for a daring rescue. He retrieved his prize and struggled to the pool’s surface. Harley grabbed the bird and immediately launched CPR as the gin players clustered around to watch. After several chest compressions, the parrot groaned and drew a quavering breath.

Bear pressed the parrot’s button. “Speak to me, little guy.”

“Gluuurrp.”

The parrot was alive, but the physical and mental torture left it without a voice . . . just what Vince and his associates had intended.

* * * * *

Back in Clinton, Bear again stowed the parrot in his sock drawer. The thing looked like a piece of river driftwood, with its once bright, gaily colored body now dulled by the heartless soaking in chlorinated pool water. Most importantly, the parrot had lost its main attribute: the power of speech. No more “How ‘bout them Cowboys” for that bird; no more you know what, figurative language. Nevertheless, Bear couldn’t easily forget the bird’s glorious days of service and asked his mechanically adept son, Stan, to have a look at the parrot’s sorry condition.

“I’ll give a go, Dad,” the son promised. “You’re just wanting him to speak again, right?”

“That’s it. If you can do this thing, I’ll be one proud Dad.”

“What about the wing? You want me to firm it on better than last time?” Years before, Stan had performed the original wing reattachment surgery.

“That would be fantabulous, son. I’ve done raised you right.”

“Damn all. This thing stinks something terrible.”

A week later, Bear had the parrot in hand, miraculously and exceptionally brought back to life (plus a $65 parts and service bill from his son). When he pressed the button and the parrot sounded a full-throated, gin game winning war cry again, Bear thought it all worth the price. But then came a most magical moment. The parrot spoke without mechanical prompting.

“Call those assholes.”

Without missing a beat, Bear grabbed his cell and hit Vince’s number.

“What’s up, loser?” Vince answered.

Bear positioned his cell next to the parrot’s beak.

“THE PARROT LIVES!” roared the remarkable wooden-winged creature, its voice electric (what else?) . . . spirited . . . bold . . . with only a hint of gurgle.

Over the long days and restless nights remaining, the bird reviews what might be said if summoned and button pressed. A taunting challenge to arms? A brief and heart-rending parable? A brutish, foul-mouthed disparagement? Hmmm. All struck the parrot as unworthy of its place in history, and none would completely restore the excitement of those Vegas nights. Only one thing came close . . . “How ‘bout them Cowboys! ”

* * * * *

POSTSCRIPT: Despite the parrot’s miracle resurrection, the bird’s enemies maintained their original threats of fire, concrete entombment, evisceration, and a dip in the community swimming pool. In fear of that vendetta, Bear’s parrot has remained mum, entombed, retirement disturbed only by the incursion of male hosiery into its resting place. Alas, reports are the parrot is aging fast and failing.