***
The hot months were the worst. And there are a lot of those months in Northeastern Oklahoma, with all the warm nights for parties and cruising and kids up to no good. Seems like Daddy came to the dinner table with a different story each night:
"? yeah Katherine he was right on main street. Like he owned the world; like no laws impacted him!" Daddy was telling a story about a local boy riding his dirt bike on Main Street.
"Hell not only didn't he have a helmet on, but the bike didn't even have a headlight. What a complete dumbass."
"John, please now ? can't we have a nice quiet meal tonight." Momma knew that was not an option, but figured she'd throw out the idea anyways.
"Well Katherine if you can think of a better term to describe what that kid was doin' then I'd be happy to change my vocabulary. But to me dumbass is quite fitting." Daddy laughed and swigged his beer.
"What was his name Daddy?" I asked out of simple curiosity; not to extend Daddy's rant. But Momma sometimes says good intentions pave the way to h-e-double hockey sticks.
"If I remember correctly ?" Daddy scratched his forehead, "it was Bobby Herron or somethin' like that. Why you know him?"
"Nope," I replied. I mean I'd heard of Bobby Herron, he's several years older than me; but I sure didn't "know" him.
"How's your steak John," asked Momma as an obvious attempt at changing the subject.
"Fine," replied Daddy with a full mouth.
"It's real good Momma," I replied with a smile.
"ood ooood ? goooood!" Johnny chimed in; although he wasn't even eating steak.
"I was just steppin' out of the police station when he came barreling around the corner by the bank on that dirt bike. He came out of the pitch black darkness onto Main Street. You know how those side streets in Barnsdall aren't lit up real good." Momma shook her head. I just listened.
"Well there he went flying up Main Street on that whiny sounding two stroke. Didn't bother stoppin' at the stop sign at the intersection; I mean why bother stopping when you don't even have a taillight right?" Daddy heaved another big fork up to his mouth.
"He kept on ridin' at break neck pace all the way up to the railroad tracks then he locked up his back wheel and slid sideways into the empty lot by the feed store where all those damn kids tend to hang out on summer nights. They were all a hootin' and a hollerin' about how cool and funny Bobby was tearing up Main Street on his dirt bike. Like what "balls" he must have. What a rebel!" Daddy rolled his eyes as he tilted his head back to fill his belly with beer.
"John would you like some more green beans," asked Momma in another desperate attempt to change the subject. She really did seem to want a quiet dinner. She would have to go wanting though.
"Not right now Katherine, thanks," replied Daddy as he reached across the table and spooned himself up a bunch of green beans. Apparently he hadn't even listened to what Momma had said. I mean he heard her, but he wasn't listening. No what I mean? Anyways ?
"As I was gettin' in my police cruiser I could see that two cycle oil in the air and smell that distinct smell. I also could hear that Bobby kid revin' his motor and it sounded like he must've been poppin' wheelies or something up there beside the post office. Just made my way up there nice and slow, figuring that kid was too stupid to head out. You know too thick in the head not to push things too far and hang around until the police showed up. I was right." Daddy seemed to relish in this; you know being right and all.
Well Daddy went on and on about how he gave that Bobby kid the what for and how big of a ticket he got and how he followed him home real slow in his police cruiser as Bobby pushed the motorcycle on the side of the road. Then Daddy even went up and told Bobby's parents the what for. Daddy seemed to think what Bobby did was a HUGE infraction of the law, but to me it was just boys being boys. I mean what did Daddy expect, for kids to never cut up? I really think he did expect this; for them to just be seen and not heard, not to speak unless spoken to. Maybe that's how Daddy was raised? I doubt it.
Momma and I ate our dinners and Johnny sat politely listening as Daddy continued on with several more stories along the same line. Stories he thought were really good examples of serious breaches of law, but what I thought were just kids being kids on summer nights. I hoped he never found out some of the things I did when my friends and I decided to cut up a bit.
World's Only Main Street Oil Well!
It was a Thursday morning. A Thursday not unlike any other Thursday in the big town of Barnsdall, OK population thirteen hundred. It was one of those days where Momma just absolutely insisted she take me to school in the car; her and Johnny that is.
I tried to tell Momma that I needed to get to school real early to study with some friends on a spelling test, but she just said that's fine; that she'd get up extra early then and take me in. To be honest I didn't need to go in early I was just tryin' to get out of riding with Momma. I just wanted to walk that's all. So now I was gonna end up getting up early and still be driven in. It was already not the best day for me.
Johnny was his normal chipper self; I really think he must be a morning person. Although, like I've mentioned, he's rarely ever not happy. He's the best little brother I tell ya. Momma started with biscuits and just kept on goin' from there with her normal great breakfast. Daddy was quickly off to work with just a couple of biscuits.
While I didn't really want to ride into to school with Momma, just wanted to make my own way really, I'm a big girl ya know; it was good to have some quiet time with Momma and Johnny though. I mean no long drawn out negative stories about law breakers and the state of "kids today" and such. I'm not sayin' I don't appreciate how hard Daddy works, but sometimes all that stress and complaining can wear pretty darn thin; real thin.
Momma and I, and Johnny, sat at the table and had a nice relaxing breakfast meal. As usual everything tasted perfect and there was way more than we could eat, being that Daddy skipped breakfast with just two or three biscuits in his hand as he hurried out the back door. That's a pretty rare occasion really, Daddy skippin' breakfast. Maybe he was gonna congregate down at the coffee shop with all those old guys that sit down there and talk about the weather and stuff? Either way we had a lot of food.
I stuffed myself to the gills and so did Momma and Johnny. I more felt like a long nap after breakfast than going to school. It probably didn't help that I'd gotten up so early for no real reason huh? But Johnny helped keep me awake with his lively behavior and boisterous attitude. He's quite the little giggle-pot.
Momma and I went ahead and cleaned up all the dishes side by side. It was nice just spendin' time; we didn't even really talk much. No instead we just enjoyed each others company. By the time we'd gotten around to cleaning Johnny's little face off I was actually glad Momma was drivin' me into school.
Funny how Momma can do that. She kinda forces me to go along with her by insisting she drive me into school, but then she's so pleasant to be around I'm glad she did in the end. I suppose I just love my Momma. Who doesn't I guess? Something told me though that I had a real special Momma. That she was extra nice, extra pretty and an extra special cook. I wondered if Daddy thought she was an extra special wife? I think Momma sure is.
As we were walking to the car (I was carrying Johnny) I noticed how nice of a day it was. Clear and clean, it must have rained just a little bit last night. You know how just a little bit of rain in the night can clean the air for the morning. Leaves a real fresh smell in the air; I tend to notice things like that. Momma sometimes says it's the little things like that that makes the world go round; the spice of life. Anyway I noticed it.
We were all in a good mood and I was getting over being tired from gettin' up so early. We were still on time to get to school extra early so I couldn't help but notice that nobody was out walking or riding bikes or even driving towards school yet. It was pretty much just the three of us slowly, very relaxed, making our way up Map
le Street towards Main. No hurry at all.
When we turned onto Main Street I was a little surprised to see only one other car besides us. Seemed everyone was still snug in their beds, or more likely just still eating breakfast or takin' a bath or something.
As we crossed the railroad tracks on Main Street, down by the post office and the feed store, I noticed a car parked up by the Main Street oil well. At first I didn't think much about it, but as we crept closer and closer it became clear something terrible was going on.
When I first saw it I didn't really believe it. I looked over at Momma and noticed how her eyes seemed to get larger and larger the closer we got to the oil well. I could tell by the look on her face that it was real whether I wanted to believe it or not. Momma seemed struck by the sight; fixed on the scene.
We were right up by the oil well before Momma sort of snapped out of it and reached over and covered my eyes and I felt the car jerk to the left onto 8th Street and away from the ? from the awful thing.
It was too late though ? I'd seen the whole thing. I'd seen why that car was stopped next to the oil well and some fella was standing beside his car with a look of terror on his face. What I saw sticks with me to this day and I think will probably be with me the rest of my life.
Strapped to the fence surrounding the oil well was a boy; or teenager really. I was later to find out it was Dale Shaw, a seventeen year old high school drop out from town. Isn't it strange how some of our best memories tend to get hazy at times, but we can remember every tiny detail of the bad things we experience ? like it was yesterday even when years have gone by? Well I can remember every detail ? and I wish I couldn't.
Dale's wrists were tide to either side of the fence opening him up across his wing span kind of like a crucifixion. His body was limp and his legs were kind of tucked under like he was almost resting on his knees, although it looked like his knees were just barely scraping the ground; maybe a half an inch off the ground. He almost looked like he was sleeping there.
As we got closer and closer I noticed a huge pool of blood that had run down the hill under his knees and was continuing to make its way down Main Street. Somebody later said that's how they knew he was freshly killed; 'cause the blood had not congealed or something.
Dale looked almost peaceful there. Except on closer inspection you could see, as his head was leaning forward, where the blood was comin' from. The back of his head was all smashed in. The blood must've been running down his back and then under his knees down the hill in front of him; down the hill and just continuing right on down Main Street for everyone to see as they passed by on the way to school. It was quite awful. Apparently he was hit real hard and killed. A kid from school said his Daddy called it "bludgeoned to death"; beaten with a blunt object about the head until he was dead. What ever you want to call it, it was gross and scary. What a terrible way to die. I didn't know Dale at all, but I sure felt sorry for him. Seeing him strapped up on that fence with his head smashed in made me feel such sorrow for him I can't hardly explain it.
"It's ok Jessica ? it's ok ? it was nothing at all ? you didn't see anything right, no of course you didn't ? it's ok." Momma sounded like she was more trying to convince herself that I didn't see the horrible scene than to convince me everything was really "ok". I appreciated her caring but unfortunately she was a bit too late with the hand over eyes thing ? I saw everything. Yes I saw everything and in great detail.
"What was it Momma, I didn't get to see." I thought it best to play along with Momma's desire for me to have not seen. I didn't want to upset her any more than she already was. And believe me, by the tone of her voice, she was very upset. I wondered how something like that would affect a child Johnny's age, but when I turned 'round to look at him I noticed he was asleep in his car seat; good for him.
"You didn't see." Momma wasn't asking she was telling.
"No Momma, I didn't see; what was it?" I knew this was a lie, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. Sometimes wrong can be right?
"Nothing honey ? umm ? ah ? nothing." We were nearly to the school before Momma took her hand off of my eyes. The quick transition from dark to light hurt a little; I remember that clearly.
I also remember how Momma seemed so flustered. She stopped in front of the school like she was going to drop me off, but when I reached to undo my seat belt she said no Jessica and then just drove off. We took the long way around town, as far from the oil well as Momma could possibly get, and went back home.
Momma told me to go to my room and to take Johnny. I could hear her on the phone calling the dispatcher asking where Daddy was. I don't know what the dispatcher said, but Momma seemed calmed by it a bit, just saying: "Ok ? ok well then have him come by when he's all done then, I brought Jessica back home for the day; thanks Jenni". Momma then went into the kitchen and just sat at the table for a long while. I sorta think the event had a worse impact on her than it did me; well maybe.
Later I was to find out that Dale Shaw was quite the trouble maker, often speeding around town in his beat up Camaro, drinking and getting into fights and such. At least that was his reputation; like I said, I didn't know him.
Funny thing, a reputation. Some folks want one and others want to protect one. They either want to have a reputation as being tough or smart or cool or something like that. Or they want to protect their good name and reputation by defending their honor or something. It all seems very strange to me. You know how people care so much about what other folks think. I mean I guess I do as well, but probably to a lesser degree than most folks. It just all seems like a waste of time.
I often think about what my reputation was before all this happened; I mean before all these things occurred. I bet I was thought of as a smart little girl with a bright future. Now I wonder what my reputation is. I wonder but I don't answer the question. Maybe I just don't want to know ? that's something I will face later. As Daddy says: "when I'm damn good and ready!"
Well I guess Dale nearly hit a bunch of kids in the crosswalk last week. That's what people are sayin' anyways. I mean sometimes I don't know what to believe anymore. Seems kinda awful to be saying anything bad about someone who got killed like that ? or any way for that matter.
Murdered is what Dale Shaw was. In cold blood ? murdered. What else could ya call being hit about the head like that and then hung up on the oil well fence for everybody to see? Yep it was "first degree murder", that's what Daddy called it.
And God spoke all these words, saying: "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.
1.You shall have no other gods before me.
2.You shall not make for yourself any carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me, but showing mercy to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My commandments.
3.You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain.
4.Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your manservant, nor your maidservant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.
5.Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.
6.You shall not murder.
7.You shall not commit adultery.
8.You shall not steal.
9.You shall not bear false witn
ess against your neighbor.
10.You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's."
"? shall not murder ? shall not murder ? shall not murder," Momma repeated. We spent most of my impromptu day off from school reading and reciting the Ten Commandments. Of course focusing in on the not murdering part. I understood why we did it, but looking back now I feel it was a fruitless attempt at making sense of right and wrong.
My bestest friend Heather told me, a couple of days later, that she overheard some older guy down at the coffee shop saying something about how that Dale Shaw was a bad apple. I guess this guy was talkin' about this and that, about how Dale did this and Dale did that and how he was always gettin' into to trouble or stirrin' things up and such. Again it just seemed wrong to be talking about someone that just died; and died so terribly.
Heather seemed to agree with the coffee shop guy. I didn't understand that but I didn't argue with her. I really just didn't have it in me to get that involved. I mean I think if Heather would have seen what I saw down at the Main Street oil well I think she may have felt differently. Come to think of it I guess she may have; turns out a lot of folks saw Dale Shaw crucified on that fence. Yeah a lot of kids and parents saw him on their trip to school that day.
When Heather quoted the coffee shop guy with: "The town's better off without him!" I just felt awful. She was in pretty much agreement with that statement. Whether or not Barnsdall was better off with or without Dale Shaw was irrelevant to me. I mean ? really ? no matter what he did ? goodness what a way to go.
Sometimes, late at night, I can't help but dwell on the whole incident. Of course I dream about it, but it's more than that. Even when I'm awake and I tell myself I should stop thinkin' about it; well I just can't ? I just can't bring myself to stop. I lay there and look at the ceiling in the dark, with only the light from the corner of my eyes creeping in from the hall, and I rehash that terrible scene over and over again. It's quite awful really.
Each time I go over the events of that day in my mind it seems I come up with new details. I'm not sure if the new details are memory or things my mind are making up simply because of how shocking the whole thing was. It was so traumatic and stressful; although at the time it seemed neither. Rather at the time it seemed almost interesting. It was only later, when I had the time to reflect on what Dale must have gone through and how scared he must've been, that I fully grasped what had happened and how it impacted me. That is negatively impacted me.
Daddy says he has some military friends from the war that seemed to take battle just fine only to, years later, wind up a basket case of nerves. He says it was as if in the heat of the moment they had all the courage in the world to fight with honor, but after time went by and they had the time to really think things through, well they regretted it. Or maybe a better way to put it was they were scared of what they had done or seen; or even worse what they hadn't done. It was as if their memories haunted them and grew with time. As if the memories grew into more than the events themselves; like they had a demon all to their own. Daddy says it's really sad to watch a buddy do the downhill slide like that; you know in their mind. He says no one can pull them out of that freefall except themselves.
I really think I now understand what those war veterans meant when they said: "War is hell!" I didn't experience war, but I experience something that I found to be almost as traumatic; death. No, more than death; murder! Murder in cold blood. Murdering someone is one thing, but hanging them up crucifixion style on the Main Street oil well fence is something quite different. It took a sick person to do that. We had a sick person lurking about our little town in Northeastern Oklahoma; a cold blooded murderer.