Mr. Nice Guy

By Rob Watson

I may have mentioned in earlier posts that, in my youth, I was fairly unsuccessful in the pursuit of  young women. The one I caught then had to be tossed back later. From these experiences, I have gained useful knowledge that should be passed on.

During my earliest years, my parents took the family to the movies every Saturday night. If you watch movies made before 1960 or so, you will see the hero played by a handsome, well mannered, "NICE", Gary Cooper type guy. ( with the possible exception of Clark Gable) They always removed their hats in the presence of the feminine gender. They always addressed them as 'Madam' or 'Ma'am'. they were always polite, courteous, and diffident. From these, I took away the conviction that I should be a "NICE" guy. I learned from their behaviors in the movies, and later, after entering my unsuccessful years, from a four inch thick book on manners. I became, and for the most part, remain a "NICE" guy.

This Mr. Nice Guy persona first paid off at my high school class's 40th reunion. I was sought out by a woman, who in her youth, and still 50 years later, is, very nearly, the prettiest girl in our class. "Robert", she began, "I have always considered you to be one of the nicest guys I know."  She went on to contrast my niceness, politeness, courteousness, and diffidence with the rude behaviors of my male peers of the former time. If she ever reads this, she may be surprised to know that, that was the first time in those 40 preceding years I took "NICE" as a compliment.

I have been called "NICE" even "REALLY NICE" many times in my unsuccessful years. (I never considered it a compliment) This, because after 1960, self confident, Clark Gable type assholes became the most desirable type for young women to fawn over. "Robert, you are a (NICE, REALLY NICE) guy but... " translated into "Buuzzz off, turkey!"

You frequently hear lonely women complain "All the good ones are taken." I would hear this and take it literally. You could almost see me as Hermione in the Harry Potters movies, with my hand raised high waving vigorously... "Here I am. notice me!!". It took me a considerable time to learn "All the good ones are taken." really means "All the self confident Clarke Gable type assholes are taken and only "NICE" guys are left"

Some of these women eventually learn that, from time to time, a "NICE" guy can be transformed into a genuine "good one" with the generous application of unselfish love. Fortunately, the same can be said for the self confident, Clark Gable type assholes... sometimes.

This post is never to be construed as a treatise on understanding women. For a man to try to understand women is, simply, a fools errand.

Attempted Robbery??

By Rob Watson

An incident in Wife's store today brought back memories of the most exciting day at my gun store. Here we have a doorbell beside the store's door down stairs. Customers have learned that they can ring the bell and one of us will open up for them. Today just after Wife locked up, the bell rang and she went to open up again. An hour later she returned with a disturbed expression on her face. She had had two men come in  and behave rather strangely. " If I ever call you on your cell phone but do not say anything, Come down stairs immediately... there may be trouble." Now, on to my story.

If you go to some gun stores today you will find the clerks armed, usually with a sidearm of one sort or another. I had considered that, but began advertizing on a mostly ladies radio station. This drew a noticeable number of regular lady customers. I decided the 'armed clerk' might be counter productive. However I did hide a large revolver under the cash register.

When I had my gun store, Blackie, a customer, would come and hang out, keeping me company. Sometimes he, being knowledgable about guns, would help other customers. We talked a lot and got to be good friends. Blackie knew about the large revolver.

One afternoon, late, four young men, probably in their twenties, entered the store. Three went to the far corners of the store. One approached Blackie and me. This young man says "Why aren't you guys wearing guns?" Before I could spout off my lame comment, Blackie says "Just cause you can't see them, don't mean they are not there."

From time to time, I am a little slow on the uptake. I realized Blackie was bluffing for some reason. Neither of us had a weapon. We were both some 30 feet from the large revolver under the cash register. Then my eyes were opened to the similarity in dress of the four men... loose fitting nylon jackets, all with the same color pattern, black nylon cargo pants, and white athletic shoes... all widely dispursed around the store.

It is entirely possible these young men were innocently entertaining themselves by looking around gun stores. That is not what I believed at that moment. With pounding heart I casually walked over to the large revolver under the cash register. I began to plan the best way to defend myself from four targets with six bullets.

I decided the talker was the leader and should be taken down first. Then I would look for the one who posed the greatest threat after the action started. Blackie was seated next to the empty shotguns. The shells were stacked immediately below the 'self defense' weapons. He later related his plan was to burst a box of shells on the floor, grab the self defense gun and defend himself.

I began my own brag. (I had learned to be proficent with rifles and decided to learn to shoot pistols. The local gun club had monthly competition where you run from place to place shooting at steel targets. you are scored on time, all targets must be hit. Each course required about 50 shots. Most competitors had high capacity semiauto pistols. Because revolvers are more reliable, I chose to use one of them. I would have to reload twice as often as the semiautos. I decided my stratagy to be competitive was not to miss... no misses, no extra reloading times.) "Say, Blackie, Did I tell you I have gone five months in the pistol competition at the gun range without missing a target... That is about 250 shots on targets without a single miss." (yes it is true.)

After a few minutes, as if on silent signal, the four left the store. Blackie and I decided they were casing us and would be back to rob us. The shotgun was immediately loaded and returned to it place on the rack. It would ever remain so. When it was time to close, still fearful of a robbery, I locked the  doors and carried the shotgun out the back with me to my car.

We never saw four young men in gang clothing again. I will always be convinced that Blackie's bluff,
 "Just 'cause you don't see them... " saved us from an unpleasant experience.

Nathan Bedford Forrest: Advice to Environmentalists

Being Green

Nathan Bedford Forrest rose from the rank of private to that of general in The Civil War. He is best known for his quote, "You win battles by being firstest with the mostest." He was a slave trader before the war and the founder of the Ku Klux Klan after it. A successful leader... could he have advice for environmentalists?

I was reading from Shelby Foote's excellent three volume set on the American Civil War. Specifically, I read about the end of the war. After Lee surrendered to Grant, there was much discussion, North and South, on "What next?" Would the South continue to fight? Would the other Southern armies continue the fight? The best leader of the remaining armies that of General Forrest. Many speculated That this group could affectively continue fighting for years. Perhaps they would operate from Mexico.

During the war, Forrest, with only three regiments would drive into Union held southern territory. He recruited southern troops and equipped them at the expense of the Union army. His main target was the union supply lines. He would approach a small Union fort. Under the protection of a white flag he would ask for the surrender of the fort. None did. His chief cannonier, with a captured rifled Union cannon, would then blow the gates off the fort. Forrest would then ask for surrender again, and got it. He kept what he could use, destroyed the rest and released, unharmed, the union soldiers. He always returned with 1,500 to 3.000 new fully equipped soldiers for the southern cause.

Forrest inspired fierce loyalty in his men. Once when attacked from opposite directions by two Union armies. He defeated them both. His men even captured a Union gunboat.

It is fair to say Nathan Bedford Forrest is not well regarded, off the field of battle, by many. Mostly for good reason. However none can dispute his leadership skills. A story told by his aid happened after the Lee surrender. As Forrest and the aid were riding, they came to a fork in the road. Forrest paused and the aid asked "Which way General?" Forrest replied "If One road led to hell and the other to Mexico, I would be indifferent which to take.." Later. Forrest wrote a letter to his troops as the other Confederate armies were surrendering. ( page 1000 or so of the third volume )

Today it is Preservationists, Bunny Huggers, Tree Huggers, Save The Whales, and on, and on, in a war against the rest of us. It seems if Man would just die out and let everything go back to nature, things would be great. It reminds me of the scene from the movie "Independence Day" when the president talks to the alien: "What would you have us do?" to which the alien replies: "Die... Die"

When these activists protest things, what sort of example do they give? Mostly they fly in big airplanes and drive fancy cars. The leader if the pack, Al Gore, lives in a house that uses more utilities in a month than most American families use in a year. At the international climate conference in Finland, so many Greenies showed up in private planes the Finns had to send them as much as 150 miles away to land and park. There were so many renting luxury limos, the local limo service had to borrow from other countries. Great example, guys, great example!

If the cause of environmentalism is failing, perhaps it is for lack of effective leadership.  Forrest, who during the war suffered 4 combat wounds in hand to hand combat and had 29 horses shot from under him, ( he also suffered a near fatal wound from a jilted lover's husband) in his letter to his troops, disbanding his army, concludes, in part: "... I have never, on the field of battle, sent you where I was unwilling to go, nor would I now advise you to a course which I felt myself unwilling to  pursue. You have been good soldiers. You can be good citizens. Obey the laws, preserve your honor..."

Dusty

By Rob Watson

James Thurber wrote a piece about the life and death of his cat. It was thoughtful, sensitive, and moving. I have been looking for it since my cat, Dusty, began his decline and death. I have not found it. If you happen to know which of Thurber's many books contain that piece, you could leave a comment at the end of this one. I would consider it a great favor.

Thurber always considered himself a dog person. Until I became acquainted with our neighbor's cat Jasmine, I was a dog person myself. I, like many people, considered cats cool and standoffish. Although, when around many other people's cats, cats that were described as afraid of strangers, I had no trouble making friends with them. Those people would seem amazed, saying "Oh, He never lets strangers pet him." They could conclude I must be a good person if their cat would allow me to approach them. I shall leave that decision to the cats.

Wife and I would sit on our small porch and have a glass of wine in the evening. Jasmine would come to visit. She would bring us live bugs and snakes as presents. We eventually let her in the house, where she made herself at home, napping on our bed, or, I have a picture, in my partly open underwear drawer. Jasmine always seemed to have an air of dainty sophistication. If offered a glass of wine, she would sit beside it, sniff, as any good wine connoisseur, dip her paw, and lick it. I always had the impression that she would have swirled the wine around in the glass, had she been able.

 After a time, the neighbors locked Jasmine inside so that she would not 'bother' us. I think they were jealous of the affection between Jasmine and us.

Wife and I became lonely in the evenings, with the loss of our furry friend. Wife had owned several cats. My family had owned one briefly when I was very small. I remember his demise came after he jumped onto the supper table and helped himself to the salmon there. After some discussion we decided to get a cat of our own. Wife said the males were more active and entertaining.

At the pet store in the mall, the local vet had left several kittens to be adopted. For the miserly sum of twenty dollars, we could have our choice. All but one of the kittens were inactive. The active one took an interest in me and I picked him up. I laid him on my arm and walked about the store, idly petting him. After a bit, Wife says, "Look, he has fallen asleep on your arm." It was so. Because of a small gray smudge on his chin, we decided, at wife's suggestion, to call him Dusty. From that moment, Dusty was my cat.

Dusty was dark gray and white. He had an expressive face. Wife says he and I look exactly alike when we are angry. Our faces puff up. (after one unpleasant marriage, I learned speaking when I am angry, has no useful effect. My face does puff up from holding anger in.) He also gave the impression of being extra intelligent and somewhat clairvoyant.

I owned a gun store at the time and was usually awakened by an alarm clock at 6am. From an early age Dusty developed a very loud yowl and soon relieved the clock of its duties. He took it upon himself to wake everyone at 6 am. (or 5:30, just to be sure we were up on time) He stuck to that duty faithfully for 19 years... giving it up only at the end. While I miss my Dusty, I do not miss being awakened every day at 6 am.

Dusty exhibited other time telling skills. When we let him outside, he always came home at our regular bedtime of 9pm. Not 8:55; not 9:05; 9:00 sharp Daylight savings time. We gave him a treat when he came in. In later years, when he no longer wandered the streets, he still expected his treat at 9pm, 8pm standard time. While treat time was fixed with the universe, he seemed to catch on to government time  a day or so after the change, for the purposes of his alarm duties.

We got Dusty in the fall, in Colorado. We kept the mobile home cooler to save on utilities. At night I would take Dusty protected by my left arm, under the covers. He developed the habit of sleeping under the covers in cool weather. After the bed was made in the morning, it would develop a cat sized lump. Cats, as you may know, are not inclined to come when called, unless it pleases them. Once, when we took the cats (We acquired Sandy a couple of years after Dusty) camping in the mountains. Dusty seemed to have disappeared from the camper. After a half hour of frantically running around in the woods calling for him, I returned to the camper to find him casually sitting on the bed. He had apparently gone to nap under the unmade covers. Our frantic running around and yelling eventually moved him into showing himself.

Wife and I like to travel, We would leave Dusty with enough food and water for a week and go away for 3-5 days. Dusty seemed irritated at being left alone. Once, we were gone longer than usual. On returning we found Dusty had invented his own entertainment in our absence. He had jumped onto the top of the washer and dryer and reduced 48 rolls of Charmine toilet paper, stored on the shelf above, to quarter sized pieces. It filled the 20 foot long hall from living room to bedroom, waist deep, with torn up Charmine. Dusty seemed pleased with his work. We decided Dusty would be happier with a companion. The vet had an orange and white kitten he had been raising, because the mother had been killed. We called him Sandy.

Sandy and Dusty became great friends. They both grew to become large, handsome cats. They always looked out for one another. While Sandy was still a small kitten, he was exploring the hide-a-bed sofa and got folded up in it when it was put away. Dusty sat on the sofa and yowled until Wife came to check on him. There, she heard Sandy's weak little mew from inside the sofa and let him out. From then on, if we needed to find one of the cats, we would simply ask the other "Where is Dusty?" or "Where is Sandy?" and each would lead us to the other... unless we were going to the vet. They apparently knew when we were about to take them to the vet and neither would betray the other.

In our second house in Wyoming, Dusty went missing for an extended time. As we got more concerned we asked Sandy "Where is Dusty?",  "Go find Dusty." Sandy walked over to the stairs walked up to the fourth step and sat down. No amount of coaxing would get him to move further. His face had a "What the hell do you want from me, look?" Eventually we noticed Sandy was sitting above the door to the under the stairs storage area. When we opened that door, Dusty came strolling out. He had been trapped there when we were cleaning the area earlier.

A short time after we got Dusty, we took him with us to visit Sister. On the way back home we decided to stop at the mall. It was quite cold outside but I did not want to take the kitten into the mall. I took a heavy jacket with a fake fur lining and wrapped him in it. He started to crawl out. I put him back, saying "Dusty Boy, this is an IQ test. If you crawl out again you will get very cold." When we came back an hour later he was still buried deep in the jacket.

While Dusty was still a kitten, we would take him to the store with us. In cold weather he rode inside my jacket. We let him out to roam at will inside the store. He would climb in. out, and under the display cabinets exploring the store. (At the end of the day he was plenty dusty.) He would lay on the counter tops and absorb the attention of my customers.  For a time.

One night the Schwann man was making his monthly delivery of ice cream. I had put Dusty on my shoulder. When the man had delivered his bill, and was waiting for Wife to write his check, he reached for Dusty. Apparently his quick hand motion frightened the kitten and Dusty fell or jumped to the floor. From that time on he strictly avoided any man with a billed hat, for several years that included me. Because most of my customers wore billed hats, Dusty spent his days in hiding in the store. It became harder and harder to find him at the end of the day.

Fearing the cat would eventually find a place from which he could not be extracted, we decided to leave Dusty at the mobile home, during the day. He seemed to enjoy his new found freedom. He became a regular outside cat with inside privileges. He energetically defended his home ground from all comers. Unfortunately Dusty was courageous but not a good fighter. He frequently came home with scratches on his face and ears. One of his main antagonists was Jasmine, who had somehow won her freedom. Later, Jasmine's owners bought an expensive cat for breeding purposes. Then they took their perfectly healthy cat and put her down . It was a sad day at our house. Dusty was less concerned.

I am told cats are suppose to go nuts over catnip. Dusty liked his crushed into powder, so he could eat it. You will see video of cats rolling in catnip. Dusty never did. He just ate it. Toys were no more attractive if I put catnip in them. He did love toys with bells. One of his first was made to look like a mouse. It had a bell attached. Dusty would toss it in the air, bat it around with his paws, and chase it as it flew across the room. In the end it was only a small scrap of gray felt with a bell attached.

Dusty seemed to know when he was in trouble. He was quite creative in finding and using hidey holes. Any out of the way, cat-sized space would become a place to hide and nap. When he was in trouble I would search him out. He would run to another. When I was closing in for good he began running to our bed and sitting on the corner on my side. I decided if there was a real emergency this would be a good habit. I would chase him from place to place, but if he got to the corner of the bed I would sit near him and talk to him but never touch him. He eventually caught on. The challenge was to catch him before he got to the bed or ambush him after he jumped down. Wife noticed he always ran to the corner of the bed. She would chase him there and grab him. He stopped using that as his safe spot.

One day I was sitting at the kitchen table. Dusty was sitting at my feet. A friend was also there. Dusty looked up at me and gave a big yawn. I looked at him and gave a big yawn. He looked at me and closed both eyes for a second then opened them again. I copied him. He sat there for several seconds looking at me. I could tell he was thinking. Suddenly, he livens up, lifts his head and perks his ears, then flicks them... the right ear to the right and the left ear to the left. He looks at me as if to say."OK, copy that smarty." He got a satisfied smile on his face and laid back down, knowing he had won that contest.

When I was seated, Dusty frequently climbed into my lap. He made himself comfortable and stayed until he thought of something else he had rather do. He would also get into Wife's lap, especially when she would use the computer. If I came into the room, he would hastily jump down, as if he were caught being unfaithful.

When Dusty was not napping, his favorite spot was at a window watching the world go by. He and Sandy would sit for hours watching birds, bugs, and people. During his last few months, Dusty was unable to climb into a window. In his last days, I fixed his spot in the window and set him in it. He would manage to climb down when he wanted to nap.

Wife and I were not very consistent in grooming our cats. After Sandy's death, I began the habit of brushing Dusty each morning after my shower, or morning constitutional. If he napped and missed his brushing, he would go to his spot and whine until I came and did his brushing. He then tried to get two brushings  a day by going to his brushing spot and whining. If he had already been brushed, I would pick him up, put him on the bed, and give him a brief pat on the head. During the brushing times, wife would sometimes say, if she died, she wanted to come back as my cat.

Dusty's decline began with the death of his friend and companion of 13 years.( I shall tell of Sandy's life and death in a later blog) He began to eat less and lose weight. After a year or so he had gone from a normal, slightly overweight 16 pounds down to a more normal 12 pound. The next year or so he was down to 9 pounds. He continued to lose weight.

Wife and I had started taking him to the vet when we went traveling. This really made him mad. For a week after I brought him home, he would wake us three or four times during the night, with his loud yowls. We took a cruise in May and were gone for three weeks. After this trip, when I picked Dusty up from the vet I could see he had stopped grooming himself. He was under 8 pounds. The vet suggested we feed him canned food. (See 78% moisture blog).

As the Summer wore on Dusty went from thin to bony to skeletal. He lost interest in treats, catnip, and brushings. I had always hoped he would die peacefully in his sleep. But, he was tough and determined to keep on living. On a Monday I found him lying by his water bowl. He could no longer walk. He would not eat. I knew his time had come. On Thursday the local vet has half day office hours a couple of doors down from our home. We decided that would be the time. This vet was a stranger and I wanted Dusty, who was always afraid of his vet, not to know what was happening.

On Thursday afternoon, wife walked to the vet and invited her to come to our house. The vet brought her assistant. The vet was calm, I was crying; Wife was crying; the vets assistant was crying. I held Dusty while she injected a clear liguid into his foreleg. Within a few seconds she announced "He is gone"  and his head, which he had bravely held high, slipped to the side.

Dusty's spirit is here. Sometimes he sits in the window and watches the world go buy. Sometimes he sits in my lap while I watch TV or play on this computer. He sits beside me, at his usual spot, when I am reading in bed. I have not felt Sandy's spirit here before these sad times, but he is here now as well. Sandy and Dusty, companions again. Our handsome boys...

Tasers Don't Work

By Rob Watson

Several years back I talked myself into buying into a partnership in a gun store. The agreement was we would work together for six months. If we got along, I would buy half the business. Good plan. Didn't work. However a lot of good stories came out of the experience...

It was a small store in an out of the way location. It was fairly unusual to have more than one browser in at a time, (Browser, that is what businesses use to call folks looking for stuff.)with lots of time in between. On this particular day there were half a dozen browsers, myself, and Partner. Enter a tall, handsome, young man with an attractive young woman on his arm.

The couple was striking enough in appearance to draw most eyes to themselves. It was a warm day and both were in shorts. After browsing for a bit the young man asked to see one of our stun gun devices. Partner handed him the less expensive, smaller model. The man took the device, touched his bare leg and pulled the trigger. He seemed not to react to the 50,000 volt charge he had just put through himself.

He handed the device back to Partner saying: "That wasn't much." Now ALL eyes were on the man. Partner was actually insulted that the man had disparaged his self defense device. (For the unfamiliar, when you press the trigger on one of the things, they issue a loud popping sound and produce an impressive blue spark discharge about two inches long between the prongs.) Partner took back the less expensive model and handed over the newer, larger, expensive stun gun, saying: "Here, try this."

Every person in the store was now aware of what was about to happen. This foolish young man was going to take a large self defense stun gun and deliberately shock himself. And, he did.

Handing the device back to Partner, he replied: "Oh, that's better."

Everyone, the young man excepted, was struck completely speechless. For myself, I COULD NOT BELIEVE what I had seen. My amazement and surprise at that moment has been surpassed by no more than three other events in my life. (The Kennedy assassination, the 9/11 attacks, and the death of my very best friend.) I was shocked into near immobility. The young man and his date walked casually from the store.

Partner, with his mouth wide open and the stun gun poised in the position he had received it, having still not spoken, pressed the trigger on the stun gun, no doubt to see if it was actually working. The device produced the loud popping sound and the impressive blue spark, two inches long. There was some discussion about one of us trying the same stunt, but there were no takers.

Intellectual curiosity has always been a passion of mine. In the following case we should just call it curiosity. I could not stand it. I had to know what that shock felt like. I have been holding sparkplug wires for cars and lawn mowers when they discharged. These were truly unpleasant events... just unpleasant, not harmful. After three days, I "screwed my courage to the sticking place" (Shakespear, I think) and shocked myself with the smaller stun gun. (I shall tell you how it felt... shortly.)

It was a revelation. My eyes opened and I felt an epiphany. The first thought to my mind was: "How in the hell can anyone defend themselves with this silly device." I took the larger device and shocked myself again. The kid had it right "Oh, That's better." I called the lady who had sold us the expensive stun gun and told her the story of the young man and his girl. I did not tell her my own story, yet. Her reply was: "I can't help it if some kid wants to show off for his girlfriend!" to which I replied, "Hey, I shocked myself with that damned thing and I want to know how someone can use it to defend themselves!!"

"I teach a self defense class to women." She began. "I tell them to wrap their arms around the assailants arms and their legs around his legs..." Think about this... You're getting this picture, right? "... then I tell them to hold the device on their spine for three to five seconds."  I asked for my money back. She sent it.

No refund on the smaller one. That was OK. I used it to sell several guns and lots of pepper spray. (I later learned that most pepper spray will not stop a determined attack from a human, especially one who has experienced it previously. Varmints such as dogs, but not all bears, will be stopped by pepper spray.) When a customer would come to me and ask for a stun gun for self defense, I took them to my cheap one. I demonstrated the loud popping sound and the bright blue spark, then stuck it to my knee and pulled the trigger again.

I asked the customer if he/she saw me fall down and pass out like you see in the stun gun films. "Well, no." was always the response. Then we went to the gun counter...

If I had thought one of those things would impress the girls, I would have bought one in the 8th grade, when girls first became interesting to me. What does it feel like? Put a bandaid on a hairy part of your body and yank it off in one quick jerk. Leaves a little red mark. Yesser, I would have traded two or three such shocks for a movie date with a young lady of my own choosing.

The Merry Bee: Swapping Ends

Several things affect the stability of an automobile. Gravity and friction being chief among them. The Bee had a very low center of gravity; it was also well forward. The engine, a reworked Chevy 283 and transmission constituted 2/3 of the total weight of the vehicle. The front tires, supporting most of this weight, had good tread. In seeking style over function I had chosen nine inch wide drag slicks (no tread at all) for the rear tires. Simply put: front lots of weight lots of tread lots of friction. Rear light weight no tread not much friction.

The goal of this adventure was to sneak the Bee over to college and work on her there. The guy in the trailer down from us was an experienced mechanic that had decided to go back to college. He had helped previously, and was a participant in a couple of our Merry adventures.

I got on the road late in the afternoon so as to arrive after dark. Rain was threatening but in my vast inexperience I was unconcerned. About thirty miles along the back roads, I noticed a man and his car stopped along the side of the road. His hood was up and he was peering inside. My tool box was part of the cargo so I stopped to offer help. He declined my offer. It began to sprinkle, just enough to wet the road surface.

A few yards from the disabled driver was a crossroad with the stop sign on my side. I stopped. Then, inspired by a really foolish thought, I decided to do a "quick" start. With a great roar from the engine Bee and I went blasting down the road. The shift into third gear caused the slick rear tires on the wet road to do what slick tires always do on wet roads. They broke loose and began to spin. The front tires, with extra weight and good tread held. The rear began to swish from side to side like a hula dancer.

Brilliant strategist that I was, I removed my foot from the accelerator. then jammed on the brakes. The front wheels continued to exhibit some contact with the wet road surface. The rear wheels, considerably less. Bee swapped ends and directed herself, in a sweeping spiral off the road and up across the face of steep road cut through a hill.

I clung to the steering wheel with the break and clutch both fully depressed. I kept repeating to myself: "When is she going to roll? When is she going to roll? When is she going to roll?" And, my eyes were closed until Bee rattled and bumped to a stop, still upright.

Opening my eyes, Bee was pointed directly down slope toward the road. The motor had died so I took my foot off the break and rolled down hill and onto the road. I rolled across the road and straightened out on the shoulder. I got out and, on my knees, said a fervent prayer of thanks for being safe, unharmed, and alive.

Careful inspection revealed the bolts holding the body to the frame had all broken loose and the body had displaced forward about four inches. Everything else seemed to be attached and working. It seemed that way, but all was not well. The engine started without a problem so I continued on my way, the adventure not half done, lessons about slick tires and wet roads not half learned.

Twenty or so miles along the way, the here-to-fore unobserved problem arose. As Bee came down a slight hill and into a curve, headed toward a bridge, the accelerator stuck at an advanced setting. The engine roared again. The rear wheels broke loose and began to spin. The rear end did its hula dancer thing and I jammed on the brake and clutch. Bee swapped ends and slid, tail lights first, some 180 feet (by actual measurement) off the road and into a ditch.

Then the scary part came. The ditch was about 12 feet deep and had 4 feet of water in it. Bee hit bottom on her back end and continued directly over to land on her top. As before I was clinging to the steering wheel. When I heard and felt the water I immediately sucked in a huge breath. Before all motion had stopped I was planning my escape. Bee's top had never been covered, leaving a four foot square hole. In her final motion, Bee rolled onto her side, offering me a great escape  route.

After my escape, I climbed up to the road and repeated the prayer of thanks, again on my knees. I was not cold and began to consider my options. It was still 20 miles or so to school. I could walk, and come back tomorrow with help to get Bee out of the ditch. I could try to hitchhike but nobody would want a wet muddy stranger in their car... but maybe the back of a pickup.

It was now dark and all one saw of an oncoming vehicle were its headlights. I waved down the first set of lights to come along... the only set of lights as it turned out. I explained my situation to the man and his wife. They promised to send help. Some help.

The next set of lights belonged to a Louisiana Highway Patrol Policeman. He was followed by a couple of sheriff deputies, all with enough lights to blind half the parish (county). After determining that there was no property damage and no personal injuries, these officers measured my skid marks and made notes for their accident reports.

After a while, a tow truck showed up. The black driver proceeded to let out his tow cable and climbed into the ditch to hook onto Bee. Bee was now on her side, half submerged, and pointed in the correct direction. Just as the driver found a place to connect his cable, two pistol shots rang out and the officers shouted "SNAKE!!". Jesus walked a fair distance on water, and with Jesus as my witness, this driver arose out of the water and walked ten feet across the water to the shore. As a student of science, I know what I saw is impossible. I saw it none the less.

There was no snake. However the lawmen had a huge laugh. (TV shows always suspend an officer and investigate every time he draws and fires his weapon... don't think it happened this time) No amount of coaxing or shining of light on the water could get the driver near the water. I eventually took the tow cable and hooked it up myself. I was given a ticket for driving too fast for road conditions. I rode back with the tow truck.

Here I learned another great lesson. Never go to traffic court to argue your innocence. I did not know you could just go pay the fine and all would be forgotten. The fine would have been $25 back when $25 was 1/4 my monthly allowance. I watched several cases where young people, not unlike myself, argued their case before the judge. It became clear that the defendant's testamony was completely ignored when in conflict with an officer of the law.

When my case was called, I walked to the front of the court and stood, seemingly, all alone against the powers of the whole court. I had never planned to argue innocence. At this late date my mind cannot recall any plan at all. The charge was read and the judge asked if I was guilty. My brilliant reply: "I don't know." After another exchange, the judge decided I was guilty. He banged his gavel and said: "I fine you $25 plus court costs." The deputy, who to this point had not said a word, jumped up and shouted: "But Judge, he was driving one of those hotrods!" The judge paused for the briefest of moments before banging his gavel again and said "I'm going to teach you kids not to drive those things around here! Fine $50 plus court costs! 62% of my monthly budget down the drain. Did I call home and tell them what happened... Well truthfully, I have done many silly and foolish things... But I never did tell my parents.

Bee's engine was full of water. Timely advice and quick action prevented any significant damage. When the ditch had dried out I went back to the spot and retrieved my tools and other stuff, The next time I had a few extra dollars, I bought some rear tires with good tread. The drag slicks went into the barn. They were eventually stolen. I have often wondered what that fool learned about slick  tires and wet roads.

The Merry Bee: Riding the String

Riding the String
By Rob Watson

All mechanical devices have development problems. This is especially true when the developer is inexperienced and in a hurry to get things done. In this case "hurry" led to some good news and some bad news. The good news was that the idea to make the clutch hydraulic saved me from figuring out the complex mechanical linkage to make the clutch work. Just mount a hydraulic master cylinder next to the brake master cylinder, screw a slave cylinder to the transmission and you are done. (for the nitpickers, there is a hydraulic line and an actuation rod as well) The bad news was a string attached to the throttle... (actually a length of electrical wire) that could be passed to the control of another person. You made the Bee go faster by pulling the string(wire). Because there was a very limited exhaust system installed, you could also create a great deal of noise by pulling the string.

The a few days before, I had discovered the break and clutch master cylinders both were not working properly: no breaks, no clutch. I took them apart, rebuilt them with new parts, and readjusted them and let them set. On a Sunday I decided to test them out to insure there were no more problems. As I went cruising down the road south of Big Lake in Arkansas, I encountered Jimmy. We chatted for a bit and Jimmy decided he wanted to go for a ride in the Bee.

As we toodled on down the road (I liked to drive about 50) Jimmy saw how the throttle worked and asked if he could operate it. Presumably, he was enamored with the increased speed and increased noise associated with jerking on the string, 'cause he was working it over.

You may recall that road is mostly straight on the east end and passes through unoccupied areas. There, speed and noise were not a problem. The west end is curved and occupied.  As we approached the curves I tried to get Jimmy to stop jerking on the string. Apparently, he was otherwise occupied to the point of ignoring me. No problem, thinks I. Engage the clutch, depress the breaks. Still noisy but we would slow down. Nope, nope, nope!!!

When I depressed the clutch it went, easily, all the way to the floor and stuck there, without disengaging the transmission. I immediately depressed the break. It slipped easily to the floor and stuck there without engaging the breaks. No Clutch, No Breaks, and a madman jerking on the throttle.

Fortunately, after a few seconds of pure terror, I remembered there is always an option of last resort, on automobiles it is the ignition switch. I turned the key as the Bee zipped through a series of S curves with Lake on one side and big trees on the other. ( it has always amazed me that, in the movies, someone is driving a car that goes out of control and they never, never turn off the ignition... But that is the movies)

When the engine died, while roaring down the road and the madman jerking furiously on the throttle, Jimmy looked at me with a look of pure puzzlement. When the Bee came to a complete stop, I demonstrated to my puzzled passenger that neither the break nor the clutch were working. He did not faint or die of fright...  it was a near thing either way, I am sure.

If you get the chance, ask Jimmy to tell the story. His is a much more dramatic version.


PS: at the risk of ruining a perfectly good mystery, The problem turned out to be: I had used the wrong kind of hydraulic fluid. It caused all the rubber parts to swell up and stick... once depressed they leaked around the seals and would not return to the original position. The lesson from this: if the book says use DOT 3 hydraulic fluid, use DOT 3 hydraulic fluid, or you may end up "riding the string" and need to remember about the ignition switch.