THE USUAL NOTE FROM LB: From the summer of 2002 to the spring of 2010, Gwen the Beautiful and I were the proud and often exhausted owners of a beautiful Ozarks property we called Cloud Creek Ranch.
In many ways, the ranch was paradise. But it was a paradise with a price that started going up before we even knew it existed. Here’s another Monday musing about our adventure and the lessons we learned.
Oh, and if y’all detect any irony, please believe me when I say it comes straight from the universe and not your kindly Uncle Larry B.
Ye Paradise Storyteller
by Larry Brody
Every town has its storyteller. The man or woman who can tell you everything about everyone before even one question is asked. Your eyes meet the storytellers’ and—pow!—you’re transported into a world of info and intrigue that you never knew existed before.
In Paradise, a round, jolly old boy by the name of Tommy Zee stands at the top of the storytelling peak. Tommy’s an elementary school teacher because, he told me one day in the Town Square, “Can you think of a better job for a man who just about lives to speak everything that comes into his head? And my students love it when I share all the little nuggets I know.”
“What kind of nuggets?” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching spelling and history and math and all that?”
“Sure I am,” Tommy said, “and I do. But when I talk about, say, the taming of the West, I tell them more than what’s in the books. I tell them about Kit Carson’s wife.”
“What about Kit Carson’s wife?”
“She was a circus performer. On the flying trapeze. Kate Carson was her name. Incredible Katie K., they called her.”
“Doesn’t Carson begin with a C?”
“This was before she married Kit. Her maiden name was Kronhauer, of the Vienna Kronhauers, the family that invented bootjacks.”
“The Kronhauer family of Vienna invented bootjacks?”
“Before they went on the run. They had to flee when one of their bootjacks snapped and broke the neck of the Czar of Russia. That’s how the Russian Revolution got started.
“Not that Kate Carson cared,” Tommy went on without taking a breath. “She was too busy doing double triples under the big top. She double tripled her way into Kit’s heart and bore him 17 kids, only one of which was slightly human. Which is why Kit had such a wicked disposition and went around the Southwest chasing Injuns night and day.”
“You tell that to your students? Like it’s true?” Suddenly I felt worried, about both Tommy’s future and that of his young charges.
“Well, I tell ’em the important part,” he said.
“Ah. About Kit Carson chasing Indians.”
“No, about how the Czar of Russia had these huge feet that even the best bootjacks wouldn’t work on. He had to sleep in his riding boots, which made Mrs. Czar of Russia so angry that she brought the Mad Monk Rasputin into the family, and that tipped the scales and caused the Revolution.”
I stared, and Tommy looked at me proudly. “Gotcha, didn’t I?” he said. “You thought I was telling the truth!”
“About Kit Carson and Russia and bootjacks? I don’t think so, ” I said
“How about when I said that’s what I taught my kids? You believed that, right?”
“Well…”
“‘Course you believed it!” said Tommy. “Cuz it was true! And I’ll tell you something else that’s true. And sad too.”
Tommy’s face turned mournful. “Last week I got handed the chance of a lifetime. The golden ticket, you could say. The governor called me from Little Rock. Asked me to come down there and address the legislature about the state of education today.
“Now I’ve got this dream about what we should be teaching. About how to inspire even the littlest kids. So I got myself all duded up and started down Highway 14. Suddenly, right near the convenience store in Harriett, my old truck started clanking and wheezing. There was smoke billowin’ out everywhere.
“I coasted to a stop and got out to look under the hood. Before I opened it, though, I saw something on the roadside, next to the front bumper. An old beat-up satchel. A carpet bag kind of thing. I couldn’t resist. Had to see what was inside. But as I bent down—”
I admit it. Tommy had me. “Yes? As you bent down…?”
He opened his mouth to continue, but all that came out was, “Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I don’t have an ending for this story. It’s not ready yet. You and Gwen c’mon over for supper in a couple weeks. I’ll have it all worked out then. And it’ll be the truth. Every word.”
Gwen the Beautiful and I will go over to Tommy’s for supper. Absolutely. Nothing beats watching a master in action, and Tommy’s the absolutely best storyteller there is.
Because no matter what he says, every time he says it, to him it’s the truth.
