Events, people who's behavior was far, far away from the norm in a time long gone.

J

jerry old

Texas Crude
I have stores about the Nobles' that are difficult to believe. I don't know if they are acceptable without a great deal of censuring, not sure the ADM folk won'tswipe them.
I wonder if you have stories, events of the 50's, 60's that others cannot accept as the truth?
 

From OP guy.
I have a word doc. said, "nope, their not going to believe that, not working on intro word doc.
Question: Who am I talking about?
Wild people that you are not going to believe,.... gimm'e some time.
You saw the movie, :Wild Bunch.' same people, but they didn't have guns, well most of them didn't..
 
History: My parents had purchased five acres of river front property in a very rural area, projecting that growth would make a fishing dock, and a tourists cabins feasible at some unknown date in the future. They had it for 4-5 years, saving money to carry out their dream. My father had been a paint contractor; began to have sever vision problems, basically had to give up contracting and begin to trying to make a living as a house painter; that too was beyond his capacity. They rented out their two houses in San Antonio, Texas and moved to a redneck town where they owned the five acres. My father found whatever job he could, one that did not require good vision. Financially, it was a very harsh time.

My mother purchased a year’s lease on the Nightmare CafĂ©. She lacked information on the cliental, projected earning
-it was a decision based on dire financial need rather than any analysis of possible earnings to be gained from the Nightmare CafĂ©. That is not the real name, but it is an apt description. She swears she had no idea that the cliental would consist of cedar choppers, cowboys, wastrels rednecks and hillbillies, all of whom only frequented the Nightmare CafĂ© when they were drunk.

I was given the job of a waiter; thus our story beings.(cont)
 
Hellfire and damnation, had word doc of when the drunks arrive, can't have lost it, it is somewhere, just have to find it. This is a 2007
pc, post, word docs, go where they want too.
 
It is a story you probably cannot grasp, your the better for it.
I've got an intro, am thinking, how to go about this where normal folk can follow.
Think of it as 'that boy ain't got no social learning,' or retain your current opinions.
They learned me at the school house, tailor you words to your audience.
my audience is dead, don't know of any that died a natural death
.
Those alive are in prison for a variety of offenses; their old now, still screwing up, paying the penalty for asocial behavior in prison, scattered to the winds.

I'm a thinking: will probably post a tale I could never get right, off topic-
yea, I do that, same folk, different episode.
 
(An interlude, will return to OP sometime)



Jo Ed Nobles:

It was the first real crispy night in October. Joe Ed and Red were, a few beers past sober,
a condition sometimes difficult without sticking your finger down your throat, retching and starting all over. It was what they could have called a happy time, if they were in a reflective mood; however, Jo Ed only reflected on things best not mentioned. I did not know Red at all was he reflective, don’t know. He became reflective after the events of this night.

Jo Ed drove his cedar truck at a steady forty miles an hour. Any faster would bring more than complaints from the engine, being drunk did not enter into his thinking.

Red leaned against the passenger’s window, it was cold and soothing to a fell’a in his cups. A Harvest Moon lit the highway; Red was not familiar with the term, though he had engaged in agriculture while in prison. Red thought the moon ‘purty,’but not purty enough for comment.
Joe Ed and Red probably engaged in some conversation, don’t know.

I do know they stopped at the Nightmare Cafe, but then everyone stopped at the cafe, it was part of the ritual of the ‘happy times.’
They entered the cafe, drank their nickel coffee, made talk. They set by themselves.

No one in the cafĂ© noticed anything unusual, ‘just normal, all of us, a little drunk, but hell it was Friday night.’ If you got beat up, or beat someone up, displaying your injuries in the parking with a lot or crowing, is mandatory. It is poor form to slink off and not exhibit your earmarks.

The ‘see and be seen’ was only part of the ritual: now they had to return to the truck and kill their beer. The ‘happy times’ are elusive when you start to sober up, chugging a beer or two ought put you back there,
well, most times.
You gott’a have one foot hitched up on the bumper or running board of the truck-mandatory you see, mandatory. Now, step to the back of the truck, getting away from the lights of the cafe, take a piss-mandatory.
You follow, behaviors as scripted, complex and unchangeable: Red and Joe Ed knew the script, they did not know they were living a scripted existence, few do.

This little tale lacks character development, both men were short on character, traits, yea they had some: I don’t know anything about Red;

Joe Ed was bald as a cue ball, he worn a stained short-brimmed fake Stenson indoors and out, stained beyond redemption never seen without it, old shabby falling apart Cowboy boots, but they were cowboy boots-understand? His primary trait was not his behavior, it is how others treated him. Joe Ed was given all the distance others could give, without appearing obvious that they were avoiding him.

Time to close this bit of the two men; two men thought to be friends.
Joe Ed and Red drank their beer and made talk; others entering or exiting the cafe folk heard their murmurs, not the words, just the soft sound, no rancor or anger was being express, ‘less they’d been loud.’

Joe Ed pulled his little three inch knife out of his belt and cut Red’s throat.
Red screamed, “He killed me.” He walked two-three steps, spurting blood then fell down.
Someone run down to Mrs. Williamson’s house, called the law. A state trooper arrived in fifteen-twenty minutes.
Red was still alive, that was the wonderment of this tale. How you can cut a man’s throat, starting under his ear, extending almost to his Adam’s Apple and not sever a carotid artery remains a mystery.
Red was snow white, he got loaded up and disappeared, this part is blurry to all that were there.

Joe Ed was still by his truck, digging in the cab for a beer, when the law put the clamp on him.

Red pulled through-how?

Joe Ed did a year and a bit in county awaiting his trial.

Red disappeared, once he could hobble. He was in a jake-leg hospital/clinic
three weeks, maybe more...couldn't swallow, couldn't talk. He was supposed
to enter a hospital in Austin. When indigent patients disappear, not a lot of concern is exhibited.

Joe Ed languished in jail; County DA wanted to place him on trial without a complainant; assistance from Attorney General of Texas was sought he was not receptive.

In less than two years, Joe Ed was home.

Red was living in houses of blood kin, first this one, then that one.
Folks waited for the killing-it never came.

You want more, gore among them that wanted revenge the blood kin, lurking, waiting
Then Joe Ed’s boy's, his crazed boys got into it. You want a detailed report? My, my anything else you want?
Was you from my world, was you from my side of the river, I might give you a few hints, but, this was a private matter between them that inhabit my world.
 

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