Chapter 8

The next morning after my run, which wasn’t near the airbase, I had my shower. I wished I could adjust the direction of the water flow once again when it hit me. I had seen the answer last night on those floodlights.

A ball and socket arrangement would work! I knew you could put a hole in the ball because that was where the electrical cord went. The only concern was water leaking from between the ball and the socket. This would get worse as the ball and socket wore, from use.

Then I realized, the water would be turned off when not in use. The only time water would be present was when it flowed out the showerhead since water took the path of least resistance there should be no leaks if the tolerances were reasonably tight. Now, who could make one for me?

Before I left for school I got a phone call from Lou Sperry.

“Rick, I thought I would let you know, the FBI was here about that guy. Turns out he’s a con artist they have been chasing. They searched the room he had been staying in, but I don’t think they found anything.”

“Thanks for letting me know Mr. Sperry, I was curious.”

“Yeah, me to, there for a while I thought we had a spy on our hands.”

“Mr. Sperry, I think that is only in the movies.”

“You would know about that wouldn’t you, the movies.”

“I have only been a bit actor. I’m not an expert on movies.”

“The closest to one this town has,” he rejoined.

“Well in that case in my expert opinion there was no spy.”

“Got it,” he chuckled as he hung up.

At school, I heard one kid whose dad worked at the airbase say:

“They had a drill last night. It was no big deal, they locked down for a few hours and that was it. My dad said they are just wasting taxpayer dollars practicing for things that will never happen.”

I remembered a phrase I had read somewhere.

“People sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

While the people I met last night weren’t what I would call rough, they were certainly ready to do violence on our behalf.

I kept my mouth shut. I couldn’t add anything without giving away what I knew. There was a lot of talk about Friday’s event at the Holland Theater. It was like I had just got back from my summer vacation. People wanted to talk about events all over. Except for this time, everyone knew everything.

I was looked at in a different light by everyone including my teachers. The strange part is after their initial comments they pretty much left me alone except for one thing. The autograph book fad had run its course in my middle school years. Now they were brought out and I think I signed one for every kid in school.

I came up with a little poem, “Roses are red. Violets are blue. I will remember the rodeo and you.”

Then I would add the old standard line, “I’m a poet and I know it, my shoes show it, they are Longfellow’s.” I really do know I’m not a poet.

I suspect when our yearbook is published I will be signing those also. People were taking the attitude, “I knew him when...”

Gee no expectations here.

Lunch was interesting. Tom Wilson a junior class clown yelled, “Food fight,” and started throwing rolls he had collected from other kid’s lunch. No one else joined in with him.

He threw the five rolls he had. Then Mr. Hurley collared him. I do mean collared him, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulled him up on his toes and marched him out of the cafeteria presumably for an eternity of detention.