Diffle County Report - The Current History of the John Shenk Property - Chapter 1

Jack Taylor was the luckiest son of a gun in Diffle County.  He grew up poor because his daddy was Billy Taylor. Billy drank from job to job and often when the rent was due,  Billy wasn't ready to pay it.  By the time Jack was fifteen, he, his mom and his sister had made several midnight moves to new rentals just ahead of the County Sheriff.  They often kept their belongings in trash bags, piled in the closets at the ready for the next moving adventure.  Folks around town would often remark that Jack  will one day be drinking whiskey "from the same bar stool his father sits on". You know how that runs in the family.

If history was the only judge, those town gossips would be right.  Johnathan "Jack" Taylor's grandfather Buck T. Taylor died in a freak accident when he drove while intoxicated into the town square and his head and heart were pierced by General Grant's sword.  Buck's F-150 hit the statue base with such force, General Grant and his horse were both knocked backwards off the pedestal  (which was concreted in just a week prior by Mallard Brothers Contracting  "Why hire a quack when you can hire a Mallard").  Grant's sword once held high against the Southern advance penetrated the black truck's roof, then the sword roughly ran through Buck T. Taylor, and  lodged into the  seat underneath him. It took the fire company 4 hours to remove both sides of his body. The sword was replaced with a dull stainless blade with the words inscribed in fine print:  Zero Tolerance.   

Buck T. Taylor's death wasn't without irony.  Buck's great grandfather William S. Taylor was a Captain in the 23rd Calvary and fought under Grant and even once drank the old General under the table.   That was at The Grand Hotel Gettysburg where both were staying just before the big battle.  Grant later became President.   William S.Taylor died at Gettysburg on the first day of battle. That is how fate accomplishes its mission in our lives- some have cream with their coffee while others get creamed after their coffee.  

 Captain William S. Taylor had made a fortune before the war betting on tobacco futures. He and his wife, unable to bear children, created a trust for the money and that trust grew and grew.  After he died his wife Anne opened a women's clothing shop on Main Street. Anne had strong religious beliefs and could not tolerate drunkenness and addictions of the flesh, and she knew her husband's brother would squander the family fortune on booze and women if the trust went to him. She revised the Trust to skip two generations of Taylors and if there were no Taylors left by then, the trust would be donated to the Methodist Church.

On his Eighteenth birthday, Jack Taylor received a letter from "The Estate of William S. and Anne R.Taylor" requesting he meet with Estate's Executor, Attorney Ralph Handover.  He ignored it.   A month later,  the doorbell rang and twenty minutes later Jack Taylor signed the legal papers and was handed a very large check which represented 5 percent of his total fortune.   He kept the remaining monies invested and hired Attorney Ralph Handover to manage the portfolio.  He also stopped drinking.  After his meeting with Attorney Handover Jack Taylor poured a case of  beer down the toilet and never again touched another drop of alcoholic beverage.

One month later Jack moved his mother and sister into a home he bought for them.  The house was fully furnished. Each bedroom had its own walk-in closet, private bathroom, and a dresser, of course.  

"No more plastic bags."  Jack said to his mother.

He also paid the rent for one year for his father.  That was the last time he helped his dad.  

For himself?  Jack Taylor bought two hundred and fifty four acres of mostly prime wooded upland in Grinold Township, Diffle County, PA. from Johnathan Shenk  Et. Al.  The land was bordered by Rabbit Mountain Road to the North,  Diffle County Parkland to the South, Lester and Kathy Holmes to the West, and the  Red Rodeo Subdivision to the East. A small stream, Rabbit Run, follows the Red Rodeo Subdivision running North to South. Here is a basic map:

John Shenk owned a car dealership in Nutter County.  It was a dumpy looking dealership. John Shenk didn't care. He loved his cars, his beer, and his loyal customers. If your kid needed a dependable car to get through college and you asked John Shenk and he would go to the next auction, find a cheap, dependable car and then sell it to you at cost. 300 bucks, 400 bucks and your kid had a car you could trust. So when it was time to buy a new car, you went to Shenks Auto and you paid more for your car. You didn't haggle, you didn't do comparison shopping.  Shenk took care of you so when it was time,  you took care of John Shenk.

John owned a large property on Rabbit Mountain Road. It was where he went to hunt, to drink, to hide, to cry, to laugh, to escape the garage, the sales, and his sister Betty who co-owned the dealership.  He loved the woods, the stream, and he built dirt roads along the entire boundary so he could drive all the way around.  it's easy to get lost on two hundred and fifty four acres.  John Shenk got more lost every day.  One day, John, a short, stocky man with a broad nose and a kind smile, drove into the woods with a six pack of  Reading Premium  and a 22 caliber snake pistol.   He parked near the Southern boundary at a wooden bridge crossing over Rabbit Run.  He walked onto the bridge which was nothing more than 4 telephone poles from bank to bank with 2' x 12' planks nailed on top.  

John Shenk sat with his six-pack and hung his feet over the side and just relaxed.  He didn't notice Momma  black bear with her cubs walking to the bridge. He downed his last beer.   He didn't notice the cubs until they walked up and sniffed and batted his empty beer cans off the bridge.  Then he jumped up quick with alarm, and being beer balance-challenged, he fell forward on top of one of the cubs. The screaming cub ran back to his Momma  who stood up and roared with rage.  

John Shenk pulled his snake pistol  and shot Momma with every bullet in the gun as she charged him.  He backed up to the edge of  the bridge as he fired his tiny gun , then he tripped, falling backwards into the stream where the back of his head hit a large rock. John laid there, not moving.  Momma bear leaped off the bridge and  landed on top of him. She pressed her nose into his face, teeth bared, and then she paused.  She sniffed.  She nudged. Then she walked away. John Shenk averted a bear attack.  He played dead.  and he did it better than most because he was already dead when Momma bear landed on him. 

The very last time John Shenk saw the world, he witnessed this:  Tree branches reaching right up to bright blue, white puffy-clouded sky and in the foreground: a giant black bear, completely airborne, her arms and legs spread wide with her claws extended and her teeth bared, no more than five feet directly above him.  John Shenk's last thought?   I wish I had a camera.  No one will ever believe this.  He smiled and drew in his last sweet breath on Earth.

Two months after his death, John's sister sold half the property to Red Rodeo Land Consulting.  The other half she kept for another ten years until Jack Taylor made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

What Country Did They Fight and Die For?

 I was watching the movie 12th Man, a Norwegian film about a saboteur, the only one of twelve to escape the Germans alive. The story is as much about the citizens who shepherd him to the Swedish border as it is about his will to survive under the most extreme conditions.  After 59 days and constant pursuit by the Gestapo, he makes it back to freedom. It is a true story and it was a reminder for me that  sacrifice for country is not an American ideal.   We don't own it.  Our elite universities don't own it  and our flag-waving, rifle-backed militias don't own it.  That sacrifice comes from our soldiers, their families, and through our support for them.  It comes from common people who fight for our freedom.

I did not serve our country.  I grew up in the final years of Vietnam and the national embarrassment that followed. We lost our first war in  Vietnam and our soldiers returned home not as heroes, but as something else  that stained us as a nation. It took a long time and the reality of what we lost, of who we lost when the names of every soldier killed in Vietnam was chiseled into the dark granite wall at their memorial in Washington DC.  We watched as brothers in war, families, friends, loved ones came to the wall, to remember who they lost- to honor their fallen. Our Nation finally rose from the fog of war, from the dark politics of our leaders, and we mourned, and we finally honored those who served.  Their sacrifice, those injured and those killed, will never be forgotten by their Countrymen.

What Country did they fight for?  

There are rows upon rows of white crosses at Arlington National Cemetery.  Have you ever been there?  Do you know someone interred there?  These brave souls, rows upon rows, thousands upon thousands, gave their lives for a cause- liberty as written as a promise in the documents of our founders- the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States that as long as we sacrificed for our cause, as long as we defended our liberty with our lives if necessary- the promise of freedom, the promise of liberty, the promise of the power that is vested in the people would never die. 

What Country do those crosses represent?

This isn't a game.  We have elections and we choose our leaders.  Some rise to the occasion and become great leaders and others do not.  But all of them, the best and the worst of them concede and allow the transfer of power when the election is lost.  It is precisely because we have a responsibility to honor every white cross, every name chiseled into granite, every grave of every solider, whether entombed in a ship at Pearl Harbor, or on Flanders fields- we the people and that means all of us, not red states or blue states, not right wing or left wing, not Christian or Muslim - ALL OF US AMERICANS have a responsibility to keep the promise to those who fought, those who fight, and those who have sacrificed for our Country.

No one is above our Constitution, above our Declaration, our Bill of Rights,  above our promise to those who gave their lives for a  freedom forged in the documents we hold dear.  On this day, on this Veterans Day, our President must keep that promise and the party leaders who support his false narrative need to keep that promise.  He must concede and allow for the peaceful transfer of power.

What Country keeps their promise to their soldiers that their sacrifice is not in vain?

The people have voted in a fair  election in accordance with our laws. The orderly transfer of power is needed and necessary or all those lives, all those buried  or lost or missing in action have died in vain for a cause that will soon end, a freedom that has no future, and the death of a great experiment where the people who were once invested in the power have instead chosen to be governed by a populist leader.  The American flag has stars and stipes and no names.  TRUMP is not a real flag and his Presidency, like all that have served before him must come to an end on January 20th.  It's a honor to serve, not a right.  His time now must draw to a close.

We made a promise and the eyes of the world are upon us. If we truly want to honor Veterans Day, then we should hold our leaders  accountable to that promise and honor our soldiers not with wreaths but with their timely actions in support of our promise.   

The orderly transfer of power peacefully from one administration to another keeps that promise alive and is the greatest honor we can bestow upon our Veterans- to defend the constitution as they do, with righteousness, with honor and respect for the words that are written and preserved for all time.  We must treat that promise with the same resolve as our brave men and women of our military keep their promise to defend our country.

What country honors the peaceful transfer of power as resolutely as we honor our fallen, as we honor our promise to remain a free nation as our founders envisioned it, as our soldiers, God bless them all, fought and died to to keep that promise alive, to keep Democracy shining bright, to be a beacon for all?

What Country? The United States of America.  God bless our leaders that they would choose to keep our promise and honor our Veterans by preserving liberty for all Americans. God give them the strength to be resolute, righteous, against all who would drive us to fascism for vanity's sake, who would destroy our institutions, threaten our rights, and undermine our freedoms and dishonor our soldiers, in order to retain a power that is no longer theirs to wield. The people have chosen.

 God Bless our Veterans.  

My Quiet Hours

My father passed away on July 30th.  There are dates we all remember as a society- 911, D-Day, July 4, December 25th are examples of those kind of dates.  Then there are the personal dates that stay with each of us, filling our hearts or burning our souls- the day we met, the day we were married, the day the divorce was final, the day our child was born,  then our second child, the day I met Randi, the night we danced to Crash at a Dave Mathews Concert and fell in love, and the day my father died- July 30, 2020.

The internal change from this is staggering, from the sense of loss, to the terms of our life relationship and where it fell short, where I fell short of his expectations, and where he fell short of mine, and where he exceeded mine and I excelled beyond his best hopes for me.   

We were estranged for a time when I was much younger or rather- I was estranged from him by my personal choice- I don't think he gave my silence a thought - they were just my quiet hours. He would wait them out for he knew I would be back, and hopefully more mature.  That was not always the case.  but I did come back and as time flew on  I drew closer to him and came to understand the dynamics of our love.

He was the man who knew how to love without a giving a hug. He was a fierce defender of his wife- for as much as he loved his sons and their families he loved her a thousand times more.  We love her too..but we understood and I think deep down we hoped we could live up to that standard in our own lives. 

Life has become serious, the colors are darker, the depth of perception increased and I do not know for how long this new view will last, and in keeping with that mood I really do not  care how long it lasts.  

The tacky cliché response is that my father has died and now I have become a man.  Or that my father's spirit is now within me or all around me.   Are there levels of consciousness we cannot see but upon which our souls can travel?   Is this just another stage of mourning? 

My mother lost her husband of 68 years on July 30th. Three days later she is in the basement riding out a tornado warning without him.  His office is down there, that place where he paid bills, added numbers on scrap paper or used a cheap calculator.  I imagine his starter pistol is in one of the drawers and empty AVON figurines of zero financial value still sitting on his desk- like the blue jalopy. I would burst into tears if  I had to look at his desk right now.  My mother is braver than I.

When I was hired to be a township manager it was the culmination of 25 years of hard work in government.  I didn't have the coveted college degree, the pedigree of the other candidates some who had advanced degrees.   What I had to offer was what my mother and father taught me by their example,  not just through their words: 

1.    Work harder than the next guy.  

2.     Practice what you preach.

2.    Be fair to all  and treat everyone equally.  Be respectful.  

3.    Passion. Preparation. Practice. Patience. Perseverance, Pride.

4.    Sir and Ma'am are required words in conversation. 

5.     Don't put on airs, don't act superior to others.

6.     In competition,  be honorable in your losses and humble in your victories.

7.     There is no such thing as a fair fight in the street- end it fast, be decisive

8.     Don't fight unless you are cornered.

9.     If you throw mud, you will get mud on yourself too.  Throw compliments.

10.   You get more bees with honey.  

11.    Never lose your temper.  

12.    Learn from your mistakes or be doomed to repeat them

13.    Take responsibility for your actions.

14.    When an apology is required- you apologize.

15.     Be on time.  There is nothing more selfish or rude than to make people wait for you.

Then there are a few life lessons I learned from the love of my life, Randi Thompson Fisher:

16.     It's none of your business what other people think of you.  

17.     Be genuine. 

18.     Love more than you are loved and you will be loved more than you love. 

19.     Rickilliums are actually lupine- you cant name it just because it's the first time you've seen it.

20.     You can't record music while sleeping in your studio chair.  Either wake up or go to bed.

I don't always succeed at these life goals, but not for a lack of trying. 

I mostly stopped writing when I was hired as Township and now Town Manager.  Your words can be used against you in a public forum.  I don't need to lose a position I worked so hard to obtain because I flamed the Internet. I am employed to run the day to day operations of a local government and I take that responsibility very seriously.  My opinions can speak through my characters, through my stories, and through my songwriting.

So Ive been in my quiet hours at Mutant Mouse Chronicles and the world has gotten darker and colder and our democracy is showing all its fragilities.  However brave it may appear for me to blast out editorial content, there are very good writers at prestigious publications who are already doing that kind of heavy lifting.   I can make my voice heard through other methods- short stories, poetry, and especially through my music.

One year ago, my father told me I was running out of time.  He was speaking from experience.  I get that now.  It's time to lose weight. Its time to write the stories.  It's time to love my family with a quiet intensity and fierce pride.

21. It's OK to cry over someone you love and dearly miss. 

Rest in Peace Sir. You were a great man and you made this world a better place. Shalom.

                                                      

The Day I Found My Heart

For Rachel, on the event of her wedding

Dedicated to Buddy and Rachel Sola, with love.

Diffle County Commissioners and the Water Thieving Scoundrel

Diffle County is rich with water. This life force bubbles out of the ground in our rare and beautiful sand springs which in turn fills our wetlands, streams, rivers, and lakes. The clear nectar pours out of our artesian wells.  With a pick and a shovel a homesteader could dig a shallow well in a couple of days and be filling cow troughs within a day after that.  Diffle County folks know the water comes from rich aquifers deep under the Pennsylvania mountains.  Our streams are clear of silt and full of native fish.  We have four trout hatcheries in full operation. The State Fish Commission doesn't stock our lakes.  They don't need to. We have plenty. Water has never been a commodity here. Water is a privileged and time-honored right of existence as it should be everywhere. And we take it for granted.

Our elected Diffle County Commissioners never even gave water regulations a second thought.  Then Baker Springs Mineral Water Company, Inc. bought Jesse Baker's 120-acre farm, drilled 3 commercial wells, and paved the driveway. Within a few months of their new ownership, Rocky Springs was rolling 30 tanker trucks a day in and out of the old Baker farm, down Diffle County roads, and across Diffle County bridges.

At their next monthly meeting, the commissioners placed "Water Thieving Scoundrel" on their Agenda list for discussion and sent a formal letter to the CEO of Baker Springs Mineral Water Company, Inc. requesting his attendance.  The letter, crafted by Doris Black, the commissioners secretary for over 40 years, read like this:

DIFFLE COUNTY COMMISSIONERS OFFICE

1 COURTHOUSE SQUARE  P.O. BOX 21

NORTH GREENVALE, PA

"Fish, Hunt, and Play and When You're Done- Go Away"

August 10, 2015

Jean Hunter, CEO

Baker Springs Water Co

15 Watercress Dr.

Watertown, NY

Re: Misappropriation of Diffle County Groundwater Water

Dear Mr. Hunt:

You are required to attend the County Commissioners public meeting on August 15, 2015 at 730 p.m. to discuss your removal of county  water from our aquifer without a permit or permission. 

Seriously Yours,

Donald Tanglelic

Chairman, 

Diffle County Commissioners 

On August 15th at 7:00 p.m. in the ornately designed County Meeting Room No. 1, in front of a packed house of mostly curious (the usual crowd of meeting groupies) and a few angry citizens (adjoining property owners to the Baker farm),  the County Commissioners called the meeting to order.  Present  and seated at the was  Donald Tanglelic, Chairman,  Robert Darling, Vice -Chair, and Lawrence Busch, Secretary-Treasurer,  County Engineer Douglas Windmere, PE, and David J. Sears, Esq., County Solicitor.  Doris Black sat at a side table, her white hair most recently in curls but now coiffed and sprayed in its Sunday church best.  Sitting next to Doris was a stenographer hired by Baker Springs to record a transcript of the meeting.

The front row of the audience was reserved and empty, as per the request of Baker Springs.  Chairman Tanglelic called the meeting to order, all rose and everyone recited the pledge of allegiance.  After the audience was seated, the the representatives of Baker Springs Mineral Water Company, Inc. filed into the room.  The first three were attorneys, followed by a hydro-geologist, two engineers, a soil scientist, a representative from the Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection, the manager of the facility, and then Jean Hunter, CEO. 

Ms. Jean Hunter stood 6'1" tall in heels, had long, dark brown hair that glistened like black velvet and ended in a straight, professional cut in the small of back, just above her derriere. Her movie star figure carried just enough curves and was elegantly displayed in a tight, form fitting black cocktail dress, wholly inappropriate for a county meeting.  The room fell into silence as she sat down in the seat directly across from the commissioners.  She tightly crossed her legs and looked Chairman Tanglelic, tilting her head slightly to one side, her large brown eyes accentuating the beauty of her lightly freckled face. She wrinkled her upturned nose ever so slightly, and her ruby-red lips parted slightly to reveal her white, television-ready teeth. 

"Good evening Commissioners" said Ms. Jean Hunter as she adjusted herself in her seat. "Thank you for reserving the front row. We are a large, loving family and I sometimes forget that we take up a lot of space,  I hope we haven't inconvenienced you this evening."   She smiled brightly and the room lights appeared to brighten alongside her.   All three commissioners melted into their chairs.

" I will forgive you for assuming I was man in your letter to me.  I have to admit I was surprised to read your letter and I was concerned from its tone, that you were planning something that would have the potential to harm my business."

"As you can see I brought my lawyers and hydrologists and I could allow them to speak- but they talk with less diplomacy than I do."   She smiled at the community leaders.   "I want to give something back to your community. And so my firm has been in contact with our financiers and the owners of the largest aquarium in the world.  Next month we will submit plans to Diffle County for a state of the art environmental center and aquarium, focusing on the native fish from this area.  We estimate the project will cost $265 million dollars and will include a hotel.   Are there any questions?"

Deafening silence.

Ms. Hunter stood up and smiled brightly at the commissioners.  Then she snapped her fingers and her subordinates leaped to their feet and the entire group marched out of the room, with Ms. Hunter the last to leave, turning back one last time to wave to the room of stunned citizens and their elected officials.

And that is how Difffle County ended up with the Diffle County Aquarium/Hunter Environmental Center and the rest of the country drinks from Baker Springs.

The Whale Sings to the Shore - A Parable

There is a whale that watches the beach every day. He wonders to himself what will it feel like to lie upon the sand in the sun. He sings to the shore, to the sun, to the bright unknown.

His mother once told him "you cannot go there. The shore is death. There are beasts upon the shore. They will cut you into pieces. They will carry your pieces off and you will be the smoke in their chimneys, the light in their hearth, the fire that warms their bodies in the winter. You will be the food on their table."

A sand shark watches the whale, settling himself on the sandy bottom. "You sing to the shore. If you were smaller I would eat you myself. The shore is death. The sun will melt your skin into decay, the birds will peck at your lifeless eyes. They will land upon your rotting corpse and pick you clean. Then the sun will bleach your bones. The storm waves will break you into tiny pieces for crabs to carry on their backs. The land beasts will place your bones on their mantle, an ornament from the ocean's forgotten dead. Swim away whale. Swim away from the darkness of the shore."

A dolphin chases the shark away. The whale sings to the shore. The dolphin smiles. "do you wonder what it feels like to lie upon the shore, to be an air-breathing beast of the land, to have not flippers but hands? I have spoken to the land beasts but they do not know the meaning of my words . Some are large and kind but many are mean and small. They bring darkness every time they approach. We stay away, but one day they will come for us all. Swim away whale. I would chase you like the shark but you are too large, so heed my call- swim away and end your song. Death awaits upon the shore."

The whale sings to the shore. The whale swims to the shore, to feel the sun on his skin, to live on the land with the beasts called man. He hits the beach and knows he has arrived to a new life. Then he hears the words of his mother in the bright sunlight. "The shore is death" He hears the words of the shark, "The shore is death". He hears the words of the dolphin, "Death awaits upon the shore." The sun is hot. A hungry bird lands nearby. And then another. And another. And another.

A man beast appears. And then another. And then more men beasts and women and children too. They chase away the birds, they throw buckets of water onto the whale. They lay wet towels upon his skin. More and more land beasts appear and they begin to push him and roll him, to drag him and pull him.  He feels the hands upon his skin.  They are large and kind.

More man beasts arrive in small boats- they wrap ropes around his body and then all the land beasts work and strain together and slowly, so slowly they pull and push him back into the water...back into his ocean home. "Swim away whale", they say, "Swim away. The shore is death. Go dive down into the darkest depths. Go back to the ocean where you belong."

The whale sings to the shore, to the sun, to the approaching darkness, to the bright unknown.

Hello There You

Diffle County Truths- The Everybody Principle

There is one simple Diffle County truth that rings true year after year, generation after generation and that is everybody knows everybody.  While that may appear to quite impossible, everyone who lives here actually knows everyone else who lives here. We know where the strangers are living too.  And not one of us  "Difflers"  will rent out our home to strangers from other lands. That would require proper cleaning and adding amenities.

When Aunt Mary Rose  (everyone calls her Aunt Mary and everybody agrees we have no idea who she is related to) received a mailer that an internet vacation rental company wanted to list her summer home in Maine for vacation rentals, she nearly melted down like a grilled cheese sandwich at the diner  ( she actually was at the diner when this happened ).

"Well,  the extra income would be nice" she said to her neighbor Rudith Holmes who sat across from her in one of the the older booths in the original section of the diner ( two additions on opposite ends turned a 30 seat diner into a 120 seat restaurant but the locals prefer the original section ).  Rudith blew her nose into the napkin and then used it to wipe her mouth.  I know- that is kind of gross but everybody knows you only get one napkin unless you ask for another.  Rudith stuffed a thin, dry, bite-sized portion of pork chop she had just sawed off the main course into her tiny, prim mouth.

"I don't know why I order the boneless pork chop here.  Everyone knows that shoe leather is boneless too." she griped back at Aunt Mary, who was mixing her corn with her mashed potatoes, right next to over-sized slice of meatloaf,  " and I am not very sure if this is pork chop or shoe leather."  Ask anyone in town. Rudith Louise Cynthia Holmes complains a lot.

"Rudith I tell you every time do NOT order the stuffed pork chops and then you order it anyway. Now just stop your complaining. Everyone can hear you and we don't need everybody knowing our business." Aunt Mary sipped on her unsweetened iced tea through a plain, white straw, standard issue at the Westville Diner.

"Now if I rented out the Maine house when I wasn't there then I couldn't just pack up my bags, grab Forty-Niner  (there isn't a person in Diffle County who doesn't know that the medium-sized , multi-colored Cockapoo named Forty-Niner belongs to Aunt Mary) and head North for a few days.   I would also have to buy new towels, new sheets, and remove all my personal belongings.  And then total strangers would be living in my house, doing whatever they wanted on my furniture."   Aunt Mary filled her mouth with a fork-full of corn/mashed potato/meatloaf, chewing silently.  However, the money would be helpful, she thought.

"I was having breakfast here yesterday morning when I overheard Pastor Thompkin's wife, complain about having rented out their home for two weeks while they traveled and they came home to over twenty thousand dollars worth of damage to their house." Aunt Mary signaled the waitress to bring a box.  "She said her husband spoke words to the Lord that she never even knew existed."

Rudith started sawing off another slice.  " Ginnie Radcliffe told me that everyone in church knows he has a wicked tongue, forged by the devil.  Serves him right for trying to turn the parsonage into a vacation rental. You know everyone I talk to to agrees with me."  She sighed as she ate another piece of diner shoe, this time adding gobs of gravy to wetten the slide down her aging throat.

Aunt Mary looked over at the counter seat, where Frank Kagen was sitting. Frank turned to face Aunt Mary and smiled a hello.  Aunt Mary frowned.  "Mr. Kagen, Whatever are you staring at?"

"Aunt Mary, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Rudith.  I know some folks who rented out their home for the weekend last summer for two thousand dollars.  Everybody is talking about it.  Thought you should know."Frank turned back to his plate of creamed chipped beef on toast.

"While that is a lot of money,  I just don't think the aggravation is worth it.  Are you on you lunch break, Mr. Kagen?"  Aunt Mary peered down through her readers that were perfectly perched on the end of her nose.

"Yes Ma'am.  Just taking a short break."  Frank replied.

"Mr. Kagen,  Every man, woman, and child in Diffle County knows you haven't worked a steady job in fifteen years.  Your poor wife has had to work night shifts at the County Hospital to keep a roof over your head. And here  you sit at the diner for hours every day.  You aught to be ashamed. "

Frank Kagen chuckled at Aunt Mary. "If you want to know more about my life come on over and move right in.  You can sleep in the spare bedroom.  You know the one we shared about ten years ago when Molly started working the night shift? Everybody was talking about us back then, Mary."

Aunt Mary clucked her tongue as she walked past Kagen to pay the bill at the counter, her nose firmly up in the air.  Rudith remained in the booth, smirking slightly as she finished her meal.  There wasn't a person in Diffle County who didn't remember Aunt Mary's affair with Frank. Molly Kagen came home early one night due to a stomach virus and found Aunt Mary and Molly's serial cheating husband Frank naked in the spare bedroom.  Molly chased that Aunt Mary over a mile down Main Street at three o'clock in the morning, only stopping once to fill Aunt Mary's unclothed ass with a shotgun blast of rocksalt.

Aunt Mary slid into to her shiny black, mint condition, 1979 Lincoln Continental with tinted windows and backed out onto highway.  As she was blindly backing onto the state road, Grinold Township Supervisor Big Don was pulling into the parking lot. He shook his head as her car backed out onto the main highway, forcing a tractor-trailer to lock up his air brakes to avoid crushing her and her car.

"Thank goodness everybody knows Aunt Mary never looks when she backs out of the diner onto the main road.  Otherwise she would've been T-boned by now."  Big Don shook his head in disbelief as he parked the township truck at the Westville diner where he would hold court for the next two hours, something everybody complains about but never directly to Big Don.

(Diffle County is a pretend place located in Eastern Pennsylvania near the Kittatiny Ridge. All characters are fictional and any resemblance  to real country folk is incidental and unintended, generally speaking.)

Diner Talk and Terrorism - Remembering Ross Township

Flags Fly at the Ross Township Municipal Building

Two years ago Friday, a deranged gunman attacked citizens and township officials at a monthly supervisors meeting in Ross Township, Monroe County, Pennsylvania   Three people died including the zoning officer- who I had the honor of working with the winter before he was brutally murdered.

I was their alternate sewage officer at that time but was not present at the meeting.  The primary sewage officer was at the meeting and threw himself over a railing on an emergency exit ramp and fell 15 feet onto hard ground.  He punctured a lung and never fully recovered.  He passed away this past year. I count him as the fourth casualty.

His name was Truman Burnett and he was older than me by a few years.   We were never friends but I respected him and was honored to cover for him when he went to Florida for the winter, fishing in the summer, or when he sold headstones at the West End Fair at the end of August. Each time he would call me and say something like, "Hey kid, I'm taking a week off to go fishing.  I'll call you when I get back"   And just like that, I was covering for him.   I miss him calling up and saying, "Hey Kid".

A week after the mass shooting I was sitting at his desk.  There were bullet holes in the wall with small State Police ID tags taped next to the holes.   There was no "Hey kid" phone call.  When I arrived, a security officer was screening everyone before we entered. The carpet in the meeting room was removed- ruined from all the blood.

  I looked across at the zoning desk of Dave Fleetwood, who was mortally wounded that night. Dave was always so careful about making certain we used a buddy system when we would drive to properties in violation.  He recognized that there were some unstable characters out there and that safety in numbers was prudent.  It is ironic he died in a meeting room full of people.

The window the shooter used in the initial stage of his attack was now boarded up. The room felt sad and full of death. It was very difficult to work there those first few weeks.  I kept thinking about how easy this could happen at any township meeting. It doesn't matter if the shooter is a certifiable or a member of ISIS- the result is the same: innocent people who care about their community will die.

Lots of local folks knew the Ross Township killer and  his family.  He was always crazy, they would tell me.   He was the person who sat at the counter of the local diner and complain loudly about the state of the world- government can't be trusted, and other dark schemes .

At our local diner, there are a couple of crazy old men who sit at the counter and complain loudly about the state of our country- how our government can't be trusted, and other dark schemes.

Here is a snippet of the conversation/monologue overheard while eating breakfast at our local diner:

 

     "They are discriminating against the white man in this country.  We need to fix that.  This is our country, a white country, built by white men and we need to protect our rights.  We have rights too, ya know.  And we have to do whatever it takes to protect our rights!"

Whatever it takes. That is a dangerous statement one should take to heart,  Now at every township meeting (and there are several each month) I scan the audience for strangers and when the front door rings indicating another person is about to enter the meeting room I tense up just enough and remember to keep low and get to the nearest exit as fast as possible and then run for cover.

This is the new reality of local government service.   Then again, I do the same thing at the movies, at a restaurant, at a concert, or a sporting event.   Perhaps it is simply the new reality that we all share- public meetings, movie theaters, schools, concert halls, festivals, races, or simply riding a train, flying in a plane, or hopping on a bus.  Pay attention to your surroundings and be ready to run for your life.

That should not stop us from enjoying our freedom, so valiantly fought for by so many in the name of country, a freedom that others have spilled blood and given their own lives to defend.  That is why their sacrifice must be deeply respected because if it weren't for them, soldiers and citizens alike, there would be no elections in this country, no freedom of speech, no bill of rights, no right to keep and bear arms, no right to assemble, no rights at all.

My thoughts and prayers are with Ross Township this day.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

  

Lily Rose - A Lullaby by Rick Fisher