The Storyteller
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A story teller has to be versatile in many areas of literature. Some of the best stories are the ones which carry truthful sounding body until the punch line breaks in. One story may be a simple children's ghost story in which the Teller must be gentle with the audience. Another story may carry a historical tone and the audience should be able to pick out the truth from fiction. The stories I like most and have told over the years follows. I hope you enjoy them.
Layton Lake is Burning
By
Jess Parker
The sun was rapidly making its dive to the west. Fading rays were desperately trying to keep the forest lit. Dappled streaks of light and shadow covered the quiet green surroundings and dark waters of the lake. Some birds high in the evergreen trees were cheering the sun—begging it to stay. On the lakeshore a family of frogs were taking the side of the fast approaching darkness. At the last burst of daytime brilliance, a crow flew over cawing a lonely goodnight to the day people
As twilight crept through the trees, the night folks started rustling in the under brush. The observers could see a rabbit make a late, frantic dash to a safe warren. It crossed the path of a family of raccoons making a stealthy trek to the lake—all masks were in place, ready for a night’s work.
Darkness continued to deepen and the human creatures that had built a huge den at the shoreline disturbed a small nocturnal hunter. The nervous trek across the forest open area was interrupted a number of times by noises from the large den. When the small animal reached cover, it turned to inspect the causes of alarm. Two bright eyes could plainly see four large creatures engaged in a mating dance. Interest waned when it was apparent that no threat was intended. With one last look over the shoulder the hunter started the final dash to the lakeshore and the night’s food supply.
The night settled into the common routine of supply and demand. A distant mate answered the ghostly cry of a loon. An owl arrogantly questioned its neighbors. A whip-poor-will heard a number of answers to its plaintive call. Newly hatched mosquitoes rose from the lakeshore and were quickly decimated by a swarm of bats. A rodent squealed in death protest as it was captured. Splashes could be heard as frogs and fish either dodged danger or attack their prey. A cougar lapped water alongside a family of deer. The big cat carefully marked the deer's nightspot before curling up to sleep. Lights from the huge den were abruptly doused. The day people were asleep. The night folks continued their rounds.
Danger. Danger! DANGER!! The cacophony of night’s sounds ended abruptly. A deep eerie silence permeated the area. A black bear lumbered to his feet, reared up to full height, and turned menacingly toward the middle of the lake. A man sat bolt upright with, unexplained fearful emotions. In the next room the female, with terror filled eyes, burrowed closer to the mate’s protective strength. Playful raccoon kits were offered an unexpected teat. Deer scrambled to trembling legs. The flutter of ducks could be heard as the flock attempted a flight to safety.
Danger. Danger! DANGER!! The instinctive warning was too late. A great old lunker, that had escaped hooks and lures for many years, caused an ever-widening ripple as he broke the surface—belly up. The blinding speed of the first duck was not enough to save him. His entire flock fell to the surface of the lake. A shower of insects drifted down like snowflakes. Throughout the lake marine, creatures floated from the depths. A wise old bullfrog made a frantic leap to shore—he did not make dry land. The pair of loons tried to join up over water—both died alone in a rain of falling bats. The mother raccoon came swiftly to her feet with bowed back and fell over her dead babies. A rabbit slid silently back into the nest and moved no more. The big cat’s threatening snarl was cut short, and the family of deer could not make the first jump. One of the human males sprung protectively from the bed and was struck down over his unmoving mate. Across the hall a whimpered cry was choked off.
The silence was complete. All life had ended. An eerie flickering light grew from the depths of the water, and a tongue of flame broke the surface. An ever widening ring of fire consumed all in its path. The lone tongue grew rapidly into a wall of fire as it swept toward the shore.
On a distant tower a ranger was appalled at the sight. Less than ten minutes before he had looked through the long glass at a peaceful glint of water. Now his field of vision was covered with a conflagration of unknown proportions. A telephone fell from the hook, and a radio transmitter was keyed—one voice with pangs of gnawing terror, the other with pangs of gnawing hunger—their messages rang through the lines and ether-- LAYTON LAKE IS BURNING.
The fire and rescue crew chief was suffering from an unexplained sense of foreboding. In all his years, he had never received such a report as the one heard simultaneously over the telephone and radio. An experienced ranger was in a panic as the radio blared—Layton Lake is burning, but please be careful. An unearthly, hollow voice sounded the same message over the telephone except the instructions were to hurry. A glance in the mirror was reassuring to a point. All the squad’s vehicles were in line, and the chief knew that other squads were approaching the lake from all directions.
Foreboding was replaced by out and out fear as the truck crested a ridgeline. The distant wall of flames was solid from the floor of the forest to a point where they appeared to meet the sky. The chief knew that a wild fire of such proportions could not be controlled. He was jolted out of the fear. Impossible! There was no smoke visible when the ridge was traversed. There was no evidence of smoke anywhere—no drifting wisps, no smell. NO WATER!
He straightened in his seat at the last thought. The truck had passed over a creek fed from the lake and no water was running. As the vehicles made the last turn, which offered a clear view of the area, muttered exclamations and curses erupted from the crew. There was no wall of fire. There was not even a flicker of fire anywhere in the ravaged area.
Without orders all vehicles stopped short of the burn. Questioning looks were exchanged. All consumable material had been burned completely. The ground was bare—no stumps—no snags—no hotspots—no smoke—no radiated heat; yet the fire had been so intense not even ashes were left. A look at the lake showed no water and even rocks and boulders had disappeared. From two miles away it appeared that Layton Lake had burned.
The chief took a step over into the blackened area, then another and another. He looked back over shrugging shoulders and walked toward the dry lake. The crew with the trucks spread out and followed. Radios started blaring as three other crews reported their moves toward the lake. The younger men may have sensed the ambush moments before they died. The ranger who had watched from the distant tower was found huddled, under the long glass, babbling in stark terror. Wild eyed and insane he tried to tell about the thing, fire, thing, men gone, thing, men gone, and men dead, THING-G-G-G! Others told of hearing sounds like banshees wailing and a horrible, laughing sound.
In the following weeks investigative teams, at first cautiously, inspected the burned area. No other incidents were reported, and no one could explain the perfectly clean burn. No trace of the house or vehicles was ever found. Some of the trees, which had surrounded the lake had been hundreds of years old. They were completely consumed, and the boulders along the shoreline had disappeared.
Surveys of the area established a two-mile circle from the center of the dry lakebed as the affected area. Fears of possible radiation were unfounded. All the water had disappeared yet the exposed bed offered no evidence of untold heat. Other phenomena were noted. One of the old firs had been half consumed at the outer edge of the fire line. Yet the other side of the tree offered no evidence of heat, no scorching, no wilting, not even a sap run. Branches from other vegetation had burned to the fire line and dropped harmlessly on dry vegetable matter.
Wild life did not cross the fire line for a number of months. One morning a survey crew observed a rabbit making a dash toward the lakeshore closely followed by a female fox. With unerring instinct the rabbit reached safety in a new warren near the lakebed. The fox watched a few minutes and then turned toward a movement down the bank. A grown bullfrog was hindered by dry sand and served as lunch for the soon to be mother vixen. She found a likely spot and started digging. Daintily the mud was shook from her feet before slaking her thirst from a clear stream of water.
The keen ears of the fox picked up bubbling sounds all across the dry expanse. Hunger and thirst satisfied, she picked her way to a hole under a boulder which had recently appeared at the surface. Before entering the birthing suite, she relocated the rabbit nest, listened to a bullfrog, and watched a muskrat approach. Water and food would be plentiful for the litter. With one last look to assure her safety she disappeared beneath the boulder. The recovery of Layton Lake was astonishingly rapid.
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Shortly after sunrise a laboring engine could be heard approaching Layton Lake. The truck loaded with building materials stopped in a clearing near the shoreline. The driver stepped out and shook his head in disbelief. He was amazed at the rate of recovery in the past years. The lake appeared close to capacity. The young forest was alive with animals, birds were singing, and splashes from the lake could be heard. The man squatted and spoke quietly to two bright-eyed fox pups. They watched the human antics for a few minutes—but no way! The tails raised and they ran for the forest—but what is that? The pups stopped to investigate a turtle.
The second vehicle approached and the builder greeted his family. They had brought the tools to build the lakeshore cabin. A moment of sadness struck as he remembered his brothers and their wives had died on this very location. Soon the children were cavorting around the area—begging for permission to go swimming—wanting to eat, and generally having a good time away from the pavements of the city.
The young ones felt it first! The pups ran to their mother—the children to their parents. A fawn tried to balance on unsteady legs. The turtle drew in all appendages and closed the shell. All but one was disturbed by an eerie silence—felt a sense of danger—and trembled because of the evil. The man and woman gathered their children. The vixen growled a warning, and the deer poised for flight. All were at attention.
A sated appetite hooded the malevolent stare from the center of the lake. Knowledge that the storehouse would be full at the next coming created a feeling of satisfaction and only a slight ripple told of a passing. The sense of evil subsided. All shook their heads flexed their shoulders, relaxed and returned to work or play. The hammer striking the first nail sent an echo across the region. Far across the ridge, a ranger smiled as the long glass focused on the cabin being built.
Peace and well being had returned to Layton Lake.
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Mama’s Prayer
The first wave of the landing force was ashore by 0730. The target for the day was to take the first line of hills off the invasion beach. Capturing the high ground was crucial to the success of the operation because if the Marines could not make it off the beach by sundown they would be withdrawn. And retreating troops are always in danger but doubly so if the withdrawal is water borne.
Opposition to the landing was light and sporadic, but as the troops moved inland toward the tree line the enemy fire picked up to a point the attack was stalled with many of the troops and all of the equipment was in the open. The enemy recognizing the good fortune started bringing up the heavy weapons such as mortars and machine guns. The firefight went on and on. The Marines would attack and be driven back; the enemy would attack and be driven back. With a great effort the landing force secured the tree line and retrieved most of the supplies. But then the downhill fire began and the attackers could do little. As the day wore on, with little success, the commanders were beginning to discuss and plan for a withdrawal because the second wave had not disembarked because of any room on the landing beach.
During an officer’s call someone suggested establishing a battle cry with a rally point for the attackers. This was passed around for a while with no ideas being posed. As the officer’s were directed to return to their units one of the more experienced captains stopped and said, “Colonel, if we can put up a flag for the men to see, they will establish their own battle cry.”
At noon this plan was ordered and by 14:30, six men were dead and the flag had not been raised. One company had established position in advance of the other units and the Colonel called the Company Commander and said, “Captain, we have to take that hill in the next couple of hours or be withdrawn from the landing. You and I both know if that happens many of our people are going to be killed and the invasion will have to be aborted. We have to get that flag up and you are the advanced company. George, I am not going to order this because Marines have already been killed trying to get up the hill. I would like for you to call for volunteers, but make them know we only want volunteers.”
The Captain called all the men who were not on the firing line to a safe area behind some boulders. He repeated what the Battalion Commander had said, and it was very quiet for a short time. Then one of the men stood up and stuffed the flag in the front of his shirt and without a word started running up the hill. His comrades attempted to lay down suppression fire but the flag bearer fell only a few yards from the front line. No one spoke but another Marine jumped up and ran to his fallen comrade and retrieved the flag and was brought down as he turned toward the hill. Another man was shot as he reached for the flag. The Captain said, “Hold it for a while. Maybe we will have a better chance later.” The Colonel called and said, “Captain, we have watched your men get killed, so hold them up. We have been ordered to start pulling back at 17:30.”
The Marines gathered again and their officer told them what was being planned and we don’t see how the flag can be raised before then. After a moment of silence one of the younger troopers said slowly, “Cap’n, I can put up that flag.” The Company Commander responded, “You have seen what happened to your buddies, but if you want to volunteer we will try to cover you.” Nothing else was said and the young Marine settled back and did not stand and all of his buddies decided that he had lost his nerve and none of them blamed him. One of the sergeants said, “Don’t worry about it, kid.” Before he could continue the youngster said, “I can’t leave before four o’clock.” The company commander said later that he looked at his watch and it was 1545 and it would be the longest 15 minutes of his life.
At 1600, the young Marine stood and propped his rifle against one of the boulders and removed his jacket. He resettled his helmet and trotted over to where the flag was lying and as he picked it up a shot was fired and knocked the headgear off his head. He didn’t flinch, picked up the flag and trotted up to a pre-selected stanchion, a palm tree stump. The watching Marines watched in amazement and when the flag unfurled into the wind, a shout went up and the entire battalion charged and soon gained their objective, the crest of the hill. From the high ground they would have battle advantage so they dug in and would wait for the second wave to land the next morning.
After things settled the Captain found the young Marine and said, “Son, that was the bravest action that I have ever seen. You will get some medals for that action. But tell me, son, why did you have to wait until four o’clock before you could raise the flag. The Marine dropped his head and shyly said, “When I left home for the Marines, my Mama went with me to the highway and on the way there, I saw my Papa waving his hat. He had been plowing since daybreak and couldn’t come to the bus with us. We watched the bus come around the curve and Mama reached up and hugged me, and whispered, “You be a good Marine and make your Papa proud. And I want you to remember that I will be on my knees praying for you at four o’clock every day.” The youngster lifted his head and smiled at the Captain and continued, “When my Mama prays even Heaven listens.”
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One of my favorite stories is THE DECK OF CARDS by Tex Ritter. It is a story about a soldier in the North Africa Campaign in World War II.
After heavy fighting, the men returned to camp. The next day being Sunday the Chaplain had set up a church service. The men were asked to take out their Bibles or Prayer Books. The Chaplain noticed one soldier looking at a deck of cards. After service, he was taken by the Chaplain to see the Major. The Chaplain explained to the Major what he had seen. The Major told the young soldier that he would be punished if he could not explain himself. The young soldier told the Major that during the battle he had neither a Bible or Prayer Book so he would use his deck of cards to explain:
"You see Sir when I look at the ACE, it tells me that there is one GOD and no other. When I see the 2, it reminds me that there are two parts to the Bible, the OLD TESTAMENT and the NEW TESTAMENT. The 3 tells me of the TRINITY OF GOD THE FATHER, GOD THE SON, and GOD THE HOLY SPIRIT. The 4 reminds me of the FOUR GOSPELS, MATTHEW, MARK, LUKE and JOHN. When I see the 5 it reminds me of the FIVE UNWISE VIRGINS who were lost and the FIVE WISE VIRGINS who were saved. The 6 makes me mindful that GOD CREATED THE EARTH IN JUST SIX DAYS, and GOD said that it was good. GOD RESTED ON THE SEVENTH DAY. As I look at the 8, it reminds me that GOD DESTROYED ALL LIFE BY WATER EXCEPT FOR EIGHT PEOPLE, Noah, his wife, their three sons, and the three son's wives. When I see the 9, I think of the nine lepers that God healed. There were ten lepers in all, but only one stopped to thank HIM. The 10 reminds me of the TEN COMMANDMENTS carved in stone by the hand of GOD. The JACK makes me remember the Prince of Darkness. Like a roaring lion, he devours those that that he can. When I look at the QUEEN, I see the BLESSED VIRGIN MARY, MOTHER OF JESUS. As I LOOK AT THE LAST CARD, the king, IT REMINDS ME THAT JESUS IS LORD OF LORDS and KING OF KINGS.
Major, there are 365 spots on a deck of cards, and that is the number of days in each year. There are 52 cards to a deck and that is the number of weeks in a year. There are 12 picture cards, and that is the number of months in a years. There are 4 different suits in a deck and that is the number of months in a quarter year." And so the young soldier then said to the Major," You see Sir, that my intentions are honorable. My deck of cards serves as my Bible, my PRAYER BOOK, and my ALMANAC."
A deck of cards should most importantly reminds us that we need JESUS 365 days, 52 weeks, and 12 months a year, and that we should PRAY 4 others. May you never look at a deck of cards the same way. If you look to GOD he can make anything happen.
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John 3:16
A policeman was patrolling a beat in one of our large cities. The weather was dreadful; raining, wind blowing, and starting to snow, and the temperature had dropped by eight degrees since the weak winter sun had set—it was now hovering around the freezing point of thirty-two degrees. The policeman observed someone huddle in a doorway. It was a young teen-age boy, and the cop said, “Boy it is to bad to be out here. Why don’t you go home and get out of this weather?” With a quivering chin the boy uttered, “I don’t have a home. I hurt my Dad, and my Mom called the police and I left before I was arrested.” The caring patrolman said, “Son, go up to the next corner and turn left. About a half a block up you will see a large white house. Go ring the bell, and when someone answers just say John 3:16.
The boy didn’t understand but he was so cold and wet that he ran to the big white house. He rang the doorbell and then started to leave when the door did not open. When he got to the steps a voice behind him said, “What do you need?” He turned back and a beautiful lady was smiling at him and he stuttered, “J-J-J John 3:16.” The mile broaden when he walk past the woman. She took him into a sitting room where a big fire was roaring in a fireplace. He sat down in front of the fire and a blanket was draped across his shoulders. The lady left him alone and soon he was to warm. He stood and turned before the fire until his clothes were dry. He thought to himself, “John 3:16, I don’t know what it means but it sure warmed this old boy.
The lady spoke from the door and said, “Now, come with me.” The boy nervously followed and she opened the kitchen door and he felt like he was going to pass out as the delicious odors drifted under his nose. He took a seat and the table and was served a big bowl of stew and two big slices of fresh baked bread. He was so hungry he wolfed down the food. The lady laughed and said, “You must be hungry.” She brought him another bowl of food and more bread. This time he ate slowly and was beginning to feel full until she brought in a big slice of apple pie. He had to resist not grabbing the dessert before he finished the other food. The pie was still warm and sweet and he almost cried when he silently said, “John 3:16, I don’t know what it means but it sure fed this old boy.”
Then the lady come in and said, “You were real hungry.” As he bashfully nodded his head she put her arm around him and took him to a steam filled bathroom. There was a large tub of warm water waiting for him. She laid out some clothes and a towel before leaving. The boy lowered himself into the hot water and remembered that he had not had a bath for a long time. He soaped himself and rinsed, and then soaped himself and rinsed again and again. When the water became cool, he left the tub and wrapped himself in the largest softest towel he had ever seen. The pajamas that were waiting were a little too large but he didn’t mind. He mused, “John 3:16, I don’t know what it means but it sure makes this old boy feel clean.”
The bed that he went to was soft and the covers were thick and warm. He hardly remembered getting under the covers before he was asleep. There were no bad dreaming and the boy slept soundly. So sound that he didn’t hear the lady when she came in to check on him and one time actually pulled the covers up around his chin. The next morning, he awoke with a start and then remembered the evening before. He chuckled as he stretched and thought, “John 3:16, I don’t know what it means but it sure let this old boy get a good rest.”
During breakfast he heard the doorbell ring and thought, “Oh No, the cops are coming for me.” The lady opened the door and there stood his father and mother. He ran to his mother and she folded him into her arms and cried. His father embraced both of them and would not allow his son say he was sorry for the problems he had caused before leaving home. His Dad said, “Son, we have been praying for you to safe and now we have found you so lets forgive each other and go home.” While his father was talking the boy knew that he was safe from all harm. He said silently, “John 3:16, I still don’t know what it means but it makes this old boy feel safe.”
I still don’t know all that it means but if you believe it will keep you: warm; and not let you hunger; it will make you clean; it will give you rest and will keep you safe. I know because it saved this old boy many years ago. And I believe.
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The Prodigal
During the early days of the 20th century the trains were the major source of transportation for people and produce. One Saturday afternoon a circuit preacher boarded a train. He was on the way for Sunday services at one of the three small country churches where he was pastor. The train was crowded and he took a seat alongside a young man who was turned to the window as if he was watching the outside scenery. The preacher soon realized he was not enjoying the scenery around the train yard but, in fact, was crying. After the train left the station and the noises lessened the preacher took the young man by the arm and said, “Son, I am a pastor. Can I help you anyway?” The troubled man shook his head in the negative. “We can talk, or we can pray, or if you would rather you talk and I will listen.” the pastor invited.
In a few moments the young man turned toward the preacher with a tear stained face. He said, “Pastor it is a long story, one that I am ashamed to tell. Almost ten years ago my father was talking to me about the way I was conducting myself. I got mad and hit him many times. I probably would have killed him had my mother not screamed at me. I left my father on the floor bleeding and went to the front porch. I could hear my parents talking with my mother crying. The door open and my father stepped out still bloody and bruised and told me that he had forgiven me. Then he said for me to leave because he feared for my mother if I stayed home.”
The young man stopped talking and the pastor did not say anything. He waited for the story to end but the teller didn’t start speaking for many minutes. Finally he shook his head and continued, “Pastor, I have lived in sin every since I left home. It has not been just casual sin; I have broken the ten Commandants two or three times over. I even killed a man when I went to prison for burglary. We had a fight and I beat him to death, but the prisoners would not answer questions about that night. After a couple of weeks the guards and warden stopped the question. They listed the cause of death as unknown.”
The story was broken for a second time and when it was opened again the young man took a deep breath and started talking again, “I was arrested a few nights ago for a barroom brawl, but there was so many of the judge threw us out for the police to offer corrections. Pastor, they beat me and I thought that I would die, but they picked me up and hauled me to the city limits and told me never to come back again. One of them said that if I did return I would never leave again. I was still drunk from the bar and started staggering down the road. I went into a small store and spent all my money on a bottle of cheap wine. I stood by the road waiting for a ride and got drunker from drinking the wine. No one would stop to give me a ride and I started walking away from the town.”
The story stopped and after some minutes the pastor asked if he wanted to say anything more. The storyteller shook his head but then shrugged his shoulders and started once more. He slowly began to talk, “After I had been walking a while, I thought I was dreaming from the alcohol because I started hearing music. I stopped and looked around and could find no place that the music could be coming from. The music continued and got stronger as I walked down the road. There was a curve in front of me and when the road straightened, I saw that the music was coming from a small country church. I recognized the song that my mother use to sing, the choir in the church was singing ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’” I couldn’t move until the song was over and then something grabbed me and led me into the little church. I tried to take a seat on a back pew, but whatever it was took me to the front of the church. They started singing ‘Amazing Grace,’ and I started crying. The pastor of the church come over and put his hand on my shoulder and started praying. Soon I could feel more hands and hear other voices praying for my salvation.”
The story continued, “After the service was over, I was sick but I felt sober for the first time in months. The preacher and his wife insisted I go with them to their home. While we were waiting for the promised food, I told them the entire story and the lady stopped and asks me if I had called my parents for their forgiveness. I told them that I had not and they insisted that I use their telephone. My parents didn’t have a phone so I called the general store and left a message, ‘If you can forgive me and I am welcome tie a white ribbon in the old pear tree that is between the house and railroad station.’”
The young man looked out of the window and then turned back, “Pastor, my town is just around the next bend and I am afraid to look at the pear tree because I am afraid that the ribbon will not be there. “The preacher stood up and took his position by the window and peered forward. When the train straightened out of the curve. The Man of God sat down and put his arm across the quivering shoulders and said gently, “Son, you don’t have to worry, that old pear tree is in full bloom with white ribbons, and there is a man and woman under the tree branches waving a big white sheet. You run and ask them to forgive you and then be sure to pray for Gods forgiveness and he will lead you to forgiving yourself
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My town is so small that.....
They had to
widen the street, to paint the white line down the middle.
They only had one
yellow page.
Baskin Robbins had only nine flavors.
One lady left her
porch light on in December,
and won first prize for her Christmas
decorations.
They only had a semi-"circle K."
They had to share their
horse with another town.
No One used their turn signals, because everyone
knew where you were going.
All the "City Limit" signs were on one pole.
The same guy got all the Father's Day cards.
They had to close the zoo,
because the chicken died.
Their only traffic light changed weekly.
The
first baby-of-the-year was born in July.
The town hooker is still a virgin.
My town is so small that.... was submitted by Clay Parker of Everett, WA
His address: cp1237.com , Go check him out--it will be worth the trip.
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I grew up in the south and recently went back for a reunion and just to visit family and old friends. Cousin George was the big surprise because he was married. We all expected him to remain a bachelor and no one expected him to get married so I asked him how it happened.
"He said, "Cruz, it is a long story. Last summer while the farm work was slow I decided to make a trip to town. When I got into town, I went shopping. I bought a live pig, a live chicken, a wash tub and an anvil. You can guess that was a big load. About half way home I was wanting a cigarette but could not put everything down to light one."
"After a short time I saw a girl coming up the road, and when we met I asked her to reach in my shirt pocket and get me a smoke. I told her that I had a lighter in my right front britches pocket. She refused and I begged her but she would not budge. Finally I asked her why she wouldn't help me. She said that she was afraid that I would rape her. Cuz, I asked her how I could rape her with the load I was carrying.
She said, 'Well, you could put that pig on the ground and put the wash tub over the pig, and then put the anvil on top of the tub.' She looked me up and down and with a wicked smile she said, 'Then I could hold the chicken."
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Looking Back: The Essence of Childhood
By
Jess Parker
In the time before time had begun, A’ssinnika’, The Great One, ruled his domain with a serenity which created joy for all beings on the land and sea. Life was good and all prospered with never a fear from as far as the eyes could see and then again as far as could be seen, and again, and again, and over again. The fruits from the forests and the harvest from the sea never ceased for those who lived with The Great One. THEN! A resounding cry of joy echoed throughout the domain when a son, Oniyo’de’, came into being and rook his place beside A’ssinnika.’
The domain continued to expand and A’ssinnika’ traveled far and wide—to the North—to the East—to the South and West, all the time forming mountains, cutting valleys, smoothing plains, and leading great rivers to the sea. When help was needed Oniyo’de’ was at his Father’s side and become known by the other beings as the Standing Rock.
One of the tribes of the land rose above all others with the blessings of The Great One, and was helpmates of The Standing Rock. The domain began to take on a new form, function and prosperity as man stepped out of the forest. Joy again resounded across the domain—from the mountains tops, down the river valleys, across Great Plains, over the mighty forest and across the sea, the songs of happiness were resounded. A second son, Simalo’ni’ come into being and took his place beside his brother, The Standing Rock.
Simalo’ni’ was angered for having to stand beside his brother—not beside his father. The serenity of the past was gone. The wrath of jealously caused mountains to explode from within, spewing fire and boulders to the destruction of the surrounding land; caused rivers to fill and over-run their banks and drown all that was near; caused the land to quake and open to swallow every living being; and caused great winds from the east and west which made living for the being stark and dreary. All those that lived come to know Simalo’ni’ as The Wild One.
A’ssinnika’, The Great One, was saddened and troubled by His second son and banished him to the kingdom of the waters while the first son was given all the lands of the domain. In anger Simalo’ni’ grabbed hands full of land and threw it bit by bit into the sea creating a watery bridge to the land which he vowed to reclaim from Oniyo’de’.
Man separated himself and that part which follows The Wild One continues his destruction within the domain. Many have gone into the sea, to be seen no more, and joined the armies of Simalo’ni.’ Others who did not follow, but went to sea for other purposes have been claimed as slaves by the armies of destruction.
The Wild One continues attempts to reclaim his landed birthright by taking those who travel his watery kingdom and sending them against The Standing Rock. When these battles are lost, The Wild One breathes wildly from the east and west—from the underside he causes terror with quaking trembles of the very land. He sends angry rivers of fire to rent the heavens and flow from the earth. In a booming voice he continues the threat against his brother.
Are we seeing
the work of The Wild One when hurricanes blow from the East and typhoons from
the West? Are the violent electrical storms and exploding volcanoes the
headwaters of his rivers of fire? Could those who disappear in the Devil’s
Triangle be his volunteers or slaves for The Wild One’s armies? Is the violent
thunder and the Seneca Guns* the booming voice of Simalo’ni’?
Listen closely, could the Seneca Guns be hurried, angry contractive curses against A’ssinnika’, The Great One?
The School Lunch
By
Jess Parker
I grew up in the south and one of our food items was grits. There is nothing special about this food. It is course ground corn and is eaten with a number of toppings such as butter, gravy or even stewed tomatoes. In our house we had grits at each meal and this is a part of this story.
We walked to school and carried our lunch to a one room remodeled chicken coop serving as the school building. Most of the kids carried their lunch in a three-pound lard can. The richer kids brought their lunch in a Log Cabin Syrup can, and looking at the picture on that bucket would cause me salivate.
My lunch always consisted of grits and stewed tomatoes with a piece of hard corn bread. Now folks, cold grits are nothing like hot grits. When it was cold, the grits and tomatoes would become as slishy mass.
One day in school I knew that I could not face another bucket of congealed slishy grits. I convinced the teacher that nature was calling to urgent for me to wait until the noon recess. After going to the outhouse, I returned to the tree where all the lunch buckets were located. They were hung on pegs that had been driven into an oak tree. I hefted each one of those buckets trying to imagine what was inside. They were all about the same weight except one that was very heavy. I hefted it a number of times and could imagine chicken or pork chops and certainly some biscuits—maybe even a piece of Sunday cake. I couldn’t stand it any longer, I took that bucket and replaced it with mine and hunkered down to wait for the screams about a missing lunch. The other kids were released for the noon recess and there were no screams of rage. I waited to make sure and everyone was busy with the lunch buckets. I closed my eyes and hefted that bucket again and imagined even a slice of apple pie. I slowly opened the pail with closed eyes anticipating a feast. Slowly I opened my eyes and peered into the bucket, there was a hammer and twelve hickory nuts.
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By
Jess Parker
Friends, I am in a lot of trouble. When I retired from the Navy, I became very busy in my community. I was going to conferences and meetings almost on a daily basis. My wife finally convinced me that I was overloaded and needed to cut back from some of the functions of the community. A friend mentioned a doctor that had perfected a method of human cloning—according to the information the process only took a short time and ended with a perfect reproduction.
That was my answer. Sure enough the doctor knew his business because he created a clone that even I couldn’t tell was the clone. It was startling to stand alongside him and look into a mirror.
When I got him back into the neighborhood everything was cleared. I would go to a meeting, and he would attend a conference. I would work for the church, and he would work for a political party. I volunteered to the county and he went to the city, etc, etc. In a short time I became a real hero in the community because I was so active in local affairs.
BUT, then it happened the clone started insulting people, making filthy telephones calls, in general he became a problem because the people were blaming me for his actions. I called the doctor and he apologized and explained that some times the clone would go bad. The doctor said it was unfortunate that nothing could be done to correct the situation. He further said that I would have to kill the clone to solve the problem.
Well I took my clone up to the summit of Tiger Mountain and pushed him over a cliffand the police arrested me for making an obscene clone fall.
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Messy and Nessy
By
Jess Parker
Friends, did I ever tell you about meeting Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster?
One morning I was walking a trail in the Olympic Mountains in Northwest Washington. Washington State that is because that other Washington has all kinds of strange creatures walking around. As I moved up the trail I began to hear distant sounds. At time the sounds resembled words, but other times the noise was just guttural sounds. As I walked along the trail and drew near to the sounds, a terrible smell came on the light breeze. I froze—the stories about a sighting of the creature called Big Foot always included a mention of that terrible odor. I cautiously rounded a bend in the trail—THERE HE WAS—on his hands and knees trying to catch a snake.
The big giant looked up at me and snarled, “Help catch serpent.”
Well let me tell you, I did not hesitate—I grabbed that snake and noticed that a four- wheel drive vehicle had run over him and left tread marks down his back. The giant reached over and gently took the snake and with tears in his eyes, he said, as he thumped himself on the chest, “Big Foot,’ then he lifted the snake and said, “Serpent.”
I did not see Big Foot for a long, long time. On another trip to the Olympic Mountains, I started the climb in the foothills. Whiskey Bend was my starting point after leaving my vehicle. In about an hour I heard Big Foot and could smell him at the same time. We met on the trail and he picked me up in a big hug. Now friends, that was something special. He smelled so bad I almost fainted but his friendship was something special.
He started climbing and I followed him to his lair high in the Olympic Range. He entered the cave and when I stuck my head in, I almost fainted again, the smell was something awful and back against the wall on a ledge was the biggest snake I had ever seen. I jumped back out side and Big Foot followed with the snake. I swear that the probing tongue wrapped around my leg and the look in that snake eye was a hungry stare. Big Foot laughed when he noticed my scared attitude and said as he lifted the weaving head, “Serpent. Serpent.” Sure enough I could see the tire tread scars up and down the length of the snake.
To make a long story short, Big Foot asked me to go on a trip. I refused until he took a bath. There was an icy mountain lake near by and he really enjoyed his first bath. He would sniff an armpit and laugh with big foot glee. He was so happy when he came out of the lake he threw me in and I didn’t want a bath in that freezing water, but my buddy would not let me out until I used the soap. When I finally got out he picked me up and sniffed my armpit and gleefully started a whistling scream. I realized I had just observed one of the legends about hearing rumbles, mumbles, and whistles when there was a report of a Big Foot sighting.
We took off one morning and traveled up the West Coast, to Alaska, over the Aleutian Islands, and moved ashore in Asia. I know it sounds like a tall story, but Big Foot rigged an apparatus on his back that I could ride as we walked across the expanses of land. The real excitement came at the water’s edge, the snake would look hungrily at me and then wrap his tail around Big Foot’s shoulders and would tow us across the water way. I still believe that snake would pretend to lose his grip and would take a turn around my body. There were a number of times that I could feel the heavy muscles get tighter.
The trip continued across Mongolia and turned across China and followed the Great Wall for two days. The mountains were getting steeper as we moved west and then the snow started. The snake had been running ahead and marking a trail until the snow reached a point he could not navigate. Big Foot picked him up and we were enclosed in the coils of the heavy body of, I am sure, a hungry snake. The first few days that rascal would put his head over a shoulder and look directly at me and flick his tongue. I felt that forked tongue lick against my face many times.
The sun came up one morning and after taking a good look at our surrounding I realized that we were climbing into the Everest Mountains. We skirted a number of climbing teams and near the peak of the tallest mountain I was frightened by a mighty roar. Big Foot stopped and answered and sure enough a big guy covered with white fur approached from a cave high on the mountain. Big Foot started yelling “Yeti, Yeti,” and I knew from stories that we were meeting the Mt. Everest answer to Big Foot. We were introduced and Yeti grabbed me up in a big yeti hug and I almost passed out. This guy smelled worse than road kill of a possum raping a skunk.
As we approached the English Channel, the snake was beginning to move restlessly. It only took a short time for us to cross the Channel, and that snake started racing across the English countryside. It became apparent that we were in Scotland and the snake pointed the way to, to the body of water, Loch Ness. Well folks you have probably guess the Serpent replaced a very, very old Loch Ness Monster. Some of the recent reports say that people have seen the monster and it’s back is covered with humps. This causes wild speculation about the humps. The humps spotted on the back are just the scars from the tire treads.
Is there a Big Foot and a Loch Ness Monster out there? You bet. They are
friends of mine. I call them Messy and Nessy.
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The Curse of Jacob Green
By
Jess Parker
A curse on you and all your line, Jacob Green will appear another time. Beware the year of seven, The one who pays will not reach Heaven.
When the finger goes to the right, there is no cause for you to fight. But if the pendulum reverses its turn, Jacob Green is looking for one to burn.
Jacob Green was a traveling man, and it was said he could turn the head of any woman. He appeared on regular rounds. One time he may have been a traveling salesman, but the next time he would come with a Bible in his hand preaching to those who would listen. The next trip he could have been a mule trader. On each of his trips at least one woman would fall to his evil influence.
One year the word reached Southport, North Carolina, that Jacob Green was on his way. This caused a community meeting of all the men. The year was 1857, and in October, Charlie Gause, Wilson Mintz, Abraham White, Harvey Swain, Solomon Willets, and Obediah Sellers hanged Jacob Green. A ghostly voice sounded the curse as the body of Jacob Green swung from the oak limb. Twice, as the rope unwound counter-clockwise, the left arm stiffened and the finger pointed at Charlie Gause--then to Wilson Mintz.
Later that year (1857) Charlie Gause died in a house fire. Wilson Mintz was found burned to death at his Green Swamp tar kiln in 1867. Mary Simmons refused to run away with a peddler in 1887, and then died in a mysterious fire. The peddler's name was Jacob Wilson, and Mary was the grand daughter of Abraham White. Al Swan burned to death in a car wreck in 1937. He was the great, great grandson of Harvey Swain. Just before the crash Swan had fought a mule trader by the name of Jake Lewis. The two traveling men, Wilson and Lewis, were direct descendents of Jacob Green. There is no known evidence that the families of Solomon Willets or Obediah Sellers have suffered any tragedy that could be construed as part of the curse. People who believe in curses say that until one is fulfilled it can be extended in all directions--even changed to other families. Any changes will have to be made by a direct descendent of the one making the curse.
My grandmother told me this story, and according to her, Jacob Green was her great, great grandfather. I have traveled this world over and my middle name is Jacob. So, is your name Willets or Sellers, or is there ones out there who are my enemy?
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Curly Bill and His West Texas Ranch
By
Jess Parker
Sylvester Bliss grew up on Staten Island, New York. He was big at 15 years and huge at 21, and he had jet-black curly hair. When he became of age his father suggested that he look for a job so he could pay his way. He dutifully started looking for employment but was so large he threatened other folks and no one would hire him. Sylvester was becoming desperate, but one day his ship came in. There came a mail packet that notified him that his Uncle George Norton had died and left him a 500-acre ranch in West Texas near the town of Snakebite, Texas. The family was excited and his mother packed his belongings and put them in a tow sack. His father was more excited and hitched up the horse and buggy and took his son to the city limits and pointed the way west. Sylvester always said that his father was so sad that he heard him crying, "Hallelujah."
The new ranch owner paid his way the Buffalo by working on a river barge and upon arriving in the big city Sylvester got lost and asked a stranger for help. The stranger led him through town and at the edge of town three other strangers robbed him of all his belongings. So all the way west was one hard job after another and he became dirtier and dirtier and a bushy curly black beard rose on his face. By the time he got to Snakebite his nose was the only feature that could be seen through the hair that covered his whole head. He knew that cowboys worked with cows and horses so he stopped at the livery stable on the edge of town. After the surprise of seeing such a hairy giant the livery owner offered him a job of cleaning the stables. Sylvester was in a bad way because he no money and was hungry so he took the job. He worked all day and was paid twenty-five cents. He grasped the money and started for town and found a horse trough full of water. He tried to wash and hold the money at the same time. The money slipped out of his hand, but Sylvester did not delay he jumped right into that trough, found all his money, and took his first bath in three months. He went into an alley and wrung his clothes as dry as he could get them. He was just pulling on his pants when he heard someone at the water trough. He crept out and watched a cowboy slip the bit out of his horse's mouth. The horse sunk his muzzle into the water and went completely mad. He left town braying and bucking and making a terrible racket. Some of the town’s people watched and in wonder "wondered what had happened that horse." Curly Bill did not know what was wrong with the horse but he felt clean for the first time since he left home.
The eating-house was open and Sylvester went in and bought a steak and a plate full of potatoes for fifteen cents. While he was eating the Marshall stopped by and asked whom he was and where he was going. In all his pride, he said, "Sir, I am Sylvester Bliss from Staten Island, New York and I am here because my uncle died and left me his ranch. I am going to become a cattle rancher." The lawman asked who the uncle was and when Sylvester told him, the Marshall laughed and called out, "Hey, folks this is Sylvester Bliss from Staten Island, New York, and he inherited the Norton place and says he is going to become a cattle rancher." Everyone in the room started laughing and one man said, "Son, the Norton place is nothing but a waste land covered by sage brush." The new ranch owner would not be put aside and declared that he was going to start raising cattle. He was told that he would have to build a fence all around his land. Then someone said to put up a fence you have to dig postholes and the land was to dry and hard to dig holes.
Sylvester slept in the stables that night and early the next morning he went to the Land Office and picked up his deed and directions to his ranch. He used his last ten cents to buy enough food for about two days. A crowd of people had gathered round him and one the men were laughing about his appearance. The man said, "He is big and you can't see what he looks like except that nose sticking out of the curly hair looks like a chicken bill." Little Mary Ann was standing in the group and only caught a few of the words. She pulled at Sylvester's pants leg and said, "Curly Bill, Curly Bill." Now you know, folks, how Sylvester Bliss became Curly Bill.
Curly Bill arrived at his ranch and saw that no postholes were available. He walked all around the edge of the property and there was no way to dig postholes because the soil was too hard and dry. The food that he had bought was his favorite. He put his hand in the bag and brought out a handful of peanuts and then split the peanuts into two portions one for today and one for tomorrow. Curly Bill started another trip around his property and was eating peanuts. He dropped some and as he walked ahead he heard a noise and stopped. He could see nothing but as he stood eating he dropped another peanut and was almost hit when a gopher came up for the peanut. Curly got excited when he saw a perfect posthole. Just to check it out he walked back and sure enough every place he had dropped a peanut there was now a posthole. He wanted to check something and dropped the food in between the new holes. Sure enough that gopher would come up and a perfect hole was left in the hard dry soil. He spent the rest of the day and most of the next day dropping peanuts and watching postholes being dug. Curly Bill went back to Snakebite and excitedly told anyone who would listen that he would become a rancher because he had postholes all around his property. The marshal finally told him that you could put up a fence without fence posts and there was no wood for the posts.
This new problem didn't stop Curley Bill. He was going to be a rancher. The livery stable owner gave him a job so he could buy supplies for himself and his new ranch. When he had enough money for supplies he told the town's people that he was going back to his ranch. When he arrived back on his ranch he noticed for the first time that there was not any bushes or trees--just sage brush and tumble weeds. The weather was beginning to get cold so Curley Bill decided to hunker down for the night and return to town the next day. The next morning he got up early and made some coffee to go with his peanuts. He was squatting at the fire and a hot coal fell into the peanut shells and started a fire. The flames licked at the dry shells and started burning the path of shells from the entire peanut he had eaten on the post line. Curley Bill jumped up and started chasing after the fire and he watched it go down into a posthole and there was an explosion as something came up out of the hole. Bill was surprised and watched the fire run down into another hole and there came the explosion. He started following fire again and he heard a noise behind him. "Thunk"--then another thunk-- Curley Bill looked back and was amazed. He realized that big old rattle snakes had went into the holes because of the cold weather. When that fire went down into the hole, it was those big old rattle snakes that exploded out and disappeared into the clouds. Why, folks, they went so high they froze and then fell tail first into the postholes. Curly Bill excitedly went back to Snakebite and told his new neighbors that he was going to be a rancher because he had postholes and fence posts.
They laughed at him and someone told him that he would have installed a fence on the posts before he could raise cattle. That night as he was resting in the livery stable, he remembered being down on the Rio Grande and watched Texas Longhorns surround an unfamiliar sight and would stand shoulder to shoulder as they gazed at the strange apparition. Curley Bill got so excited he could not sleep during the night and the next morning he borrowed a horse and headed to the Rio Grande. The Snakebite people laughed when they saw Curly Bill driving a herd of Longhorns toward his ranch. They told him that Longhorns would not be worthwhile as money making venture. Curley Bill Paid no attention and took those Longhorns, and all around the ranch, he wedged a long horns in the mouths of those big old rattles snake which were his fence posts. Now let me tell you folks, no body or no thing will mess with a longhorn steer tied to a big mad old rattlesnake. Curly Bill was so excited about becoming a cattle rancher that he raced back into Snakebite and told the people that he had post holes, fence posts, and a fence and he was going to become a cattle rancher.
The people laughed at him again and said that a cattle ranch needed water and his place was nothing but wastelands covered with tumble weeds with no water available. Curly Bill was devastated because with all his walks around the ranch he had not seen any water. The only thing that reminded him of water was a dry creek bed. He went back to his ranch to pack his bedroll and loosen the snakes and Longhorns. He decided to take one more trip around his ranch. He was walking slowly eating peanuts and stumbled and fell into the dry creek bed. Curley Bill decided to walk to the head of the dry creek bed to see if there was any sign of water. It took hours to finally come to a spot where the dry creek bed gave out and it was getting late and was turning cold. In the dim light Curley Bill hunkered down beside a white boulder. As much as he tried Curley Bill could not get warm. He finally decided to build a fire. He gathered some tumbleweeds and sagebrush and built a fire. It became warm and Curly Bill fell asleep. Sometime later he was awaken by a noise. It was drip, drip, drip, then it become gurgle, gurgle, gurgle and then splash, splash, splash. Curly Bill built up the fire and was amazed. That big old white boulder was melting and water was beginning to run down the dry creek bed. By morning Curly Bill could see that his entire ranch would have water, and now he knew that he would become a cattle rancher.
The people in Snakebite were astounded to hear about the water. They went out to see and came back shaking there head because they couldn't understand how a white rock could make water, but there it was. Curly Bill had more water than he needed and told the other ranchers he would swap water for big fat steers and cows. Curly Bill had become a rancher. The Snakebite people continued to be amazed and the word spread throughout the land. A famous surveyor came by and told Curly Bill the he had struck water at the tip of a big old iceberg. He said that the ice would replenish itself and the river would always run full of good cool clean water.
Curley Bill came into Snakebite for supplies and as he was loading the wagon one of his new friends said, "Pay Close attention, Bill because people will still try to cheat and rob you. So my friend pay close attention, Bill." Little Mary Ann heard the conversations but could only identify a few works. She grabbed Curly Bill's hand and said, "Pay cose Bill. So now you know folks, how Sylvester Bliss became Curly Bill and now Pay cose Bill from little Mary Ann cause people to change Curly Bill's name to Pay Cose Bill, and over the years he became Pecos Bill who had a ranch on a river that ran clear and cold and people started calling it the Pecos River. So now you know where Pecos Bill came from and how he found his river.
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