Chapter 15

Cora

That was just by way of education or explanation...and to make you understand the next part.

Seems like the head librarian wasn’t the only person in town that watches TV. Seems like the men in town didn’t have anything better to do either. Of course my boss was watching CNN or some other NEWS program and one suspects it was a slow news day and my win was filler. The men were watching Days or Turns...SOAPS! and the local transmitter affiliate broke in with Breaking News.

Not everybody watching ‘their’ SOAP was pleased with the interruption... when the regularly scheduled program came back it was to a commercial. The local affiliate could have broke in during the commercial...but that’s not how capitalism works. He who pays fot the commercial, pays wages, power, sewer, rent and insurance...all those payments are called the rice bowl...and woe betide the newly unemployed sap who fucked with the rice.

The One reason Major League Soccer has such a poor television presence in America is because no one has figured out how to sneak in commercials. Soccer...called football in the rest of the world...is played with two 45 minute halves...and time doesn’t stop because somebody wants a commercial break. Shoot...time doesn’t stop if a player dies on the field. Action might stop...but time waits for no man.

Meanwhile, the men were talking about me.

“Ain’t she married?” At their favorite bar that was the number one question. Best answer?

“Not anymore.”

“Divorced?”

“Widowed...maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Husband disappeared during a summer snowstorm in Wyoming.”

“Freak?” He was talking about the snow but that wasn’t the answer he got.

“She’s pretty weird...but freaky? I don’t think so. Anybody heard anything bad about her?”

The answer to that was, “She’s got three kids.”

“They running wild?” Hopeful...not a complaint. Wild kids need control.

“Hell no. The damn girl is a freakin’ genius. She was down at Bozeman...college at 16. The oldest boy stayed in Wyoming.”

“How about the one at home? Pot smoker? Drinker?”

“Skate board and snowboard.”

“Well...that’s disreputable enough. Ought to be a law.” He was a skier.

“So...we’re in agreement? She needs a husband? Right?”

“Well, sure, all that money? She needs someone to guide and direct her.”

I wasn’t home...about the time that conversation, Charles, the 544 and I were on our way to Portland to see IV (Four not Ivy.) We weren’t expected.

The 544

Judith Gap...a university engineering professor had a retirement home outside of Judith Gap. He died. The widow had an auction.

“I gotta get outta here,” she said. “It’s the wind. It never stops.”

And it was true...the geology and aerodynamics of Gap are such that the mountains act like a Venturi. Air going in is restricted...the speed increases in the neck...the speed falls away after it leaves the restriction but in the restricted gap...it blows.

So...she hired an auctioneer.

The professor collected tools...big tools...lathes, mills, grinders, cylinder boring bars...a spar machine (makes sail boat masts, booms and spars...sixty feet long and powered by a hundred twenty-five horsepower four cylinder engine.) He had tooling for everything, and manuals for their operation. He collected mundane cars and trucks, rebuilt and restored them...and sold them. A retirement hobby.

One of the cars, a 1964 Volvo 544, was responsible for his death. He had just finished installing the completely renewed 1800cc engine and had a heart attack.

David had had a 122 wagon that I loved but someone made him an offer he couldn’t turn down. He paid a hundred bucks...made it run...and sold it for five grand.

In the auction flyer...down at the bottom among the Fords, Chevrolets and Studebakers, was listed a Volvo 122 wagon (condition unknown) so I went. I didn’t have to buy it but I was curious.