IN DEVELOPMENT - "Another Name for Paradise" by Steve Orr

Another Name For Paradise
by Steve Orr

Chapter One - 808 Washington

Legend had it that Miss Ruth had once threatened to march down front one Sunday morning in Paducah's four largest churches and read from her appointment book. The impetus for this uncharacteristic behavior had been a particularly harsh crackdown by the recently elected Sheriff, a fellow who rode into office on a tide of law and order promises. Miss Ruth was supposed to have told one of the city fathers that she was as much for law and order as any other merchant, but if that johnny-come-lately ever leaned on her and her girls again, she was going to preach some sermons that would do more than curl a few toes, and that she promised no one would sleep through them.

I got this story from my mother, so I was inclined to believe it, as opposed to what I would have thought if my father had told it. Mama had her shortcomings, but dishonesty was generally not one of them. Daddy was a teller of tall tales and just could not be trusted to stick to the facts. Granny said you had to listen to him with just the right ear, but I hadn't found that one, yet.

THE BOGARD HOUSE

By Steve Orr

CHAPTER ONE
Dare

It ended badly. But, in the beginning, it was full of mystery and intrigue. And in the middle, there was adventure, and laughter. And, maybe that was enough.

Like most of our adventures, it began with Dare. He insisted on being called Dare. His real name was Darean (yeah, like that – with an “e”. We all thought his mom had misspelled his name.). Considering how he lived his life, maybe he was right. Dare did seem appropriate most of the time.

We were at Weird’s house when it all began.

I guess I should stop right here and explain about the names. We all had nicknames. Some of us chose our own, some of us had them bestowed upon us, and some us were driven to them by necessity. “Weird” Watts was really named Bob. Like Dare, he picked his own nickname. I don’t remember him as being any weirder than the rest of us. I think he just wanted to stand out. I always thought he was a little ashamed that he had such an ordinary name. When his teachers refused to call him Weird, he asked them to call him Robert.

Bear got his name from the rest of us, but it was a natural fit. He looked as much like one as a teenaged boy could. On top of that, he was the first in our group who’s voice changed. We used to call him “frog” before he got his growth spurt. I don’t remember who was the first to call him “Bear”, but it stuck. I can’t remember him ever complaining about that nickname. This was a boy who needed a nickname. His mom still called him Brucie.

Then, there was Ron. He was Mr. Young Democrat. We called him Guv, which he did not like. If we ever called him that at school, he just acted as if he hadn’t heard. But, from time to time, especially when we were all out camping or something, he would forget how important he was supposed to be, and, without realizing it, would answer to Guv just like it was his real name.

My nickname was Scarecrow. I can clearly recall the strained moment when I asked them to call me that. Each face carried a reaction ranging from puzzlement to curiosity to consternation. Ron, always the little adult, opened his mouth to ask me “why”. I could see his lips forming the word. I could tell they all wanted to ask. Nothing about me seemed like a scarecrow. I was never thin. And, while I was the tallest of our crowd, I wasn’t tall by any objective standard. I wasn’t really ugly. I was reasonably coordinated. There weren’t really any physical clues as to why. I certainly wasn’t going to tell them the reason. It was personal. After a several silent seconds passed, Ron closed his mouth; they all made eye contact with each other, then there was a little chorus of mumbled agreements. That was the end of it. From then on, they honored my request, calling me scarecrow, or, often as not, just ‘crow.

Okay, back to Dare. Like I said, we were all over at Weird’s. It was early evening of a day that had been a hot one. But, at least from my perspective, it had been a very good one. I had been taking American History in Summer School; four hours each morning, five days a week, for approximately one million years. On top of that, I had started working every afternoon at Sandy’s, a small fast food chain which required us to wear black slacks, a white shirt, a tartan plaid bow tie, and a tartan plaid beret. All summer I had been dressed that way. There was no time to go home and change between American History and Sandy’s, so I wore the shirt and slacks combo to school every day, sans the tartan plaids.

I had never worked so hard in my life. I was learning history every morning and hamburgers every afternoon. You can see how a guy might get a little confused, especially considering how little sleep I was getting. I couldn’t really read or study until I got off from Sandy’s, which was often quite late, and we were compressing a year’s worth of history into a summer. The
pace was brutal. I remember seeing


a bumper sticker one day while making the school-to-Sandy’s dash. It stated, “My child and my money go to the school of hard knocks”. I thought, Yep, that’s me! Maybe this’ll teach me to wait until the last minute to take a required course. The bloom was off the rose pretty early that summer.

What made that particular day such a good one was that I had, finally, finished Summer School. On top of that, the Assistant Manager at Sandy’s had decided I had that something special needed to elevate me from the lowly entry level position of “counter help” to the considerably more prestigious position of “grill assistant”. I was going to learn to cook on the grill. I was floating! Not only had they given me a 10 cent raise on the hour, I was learning the grill! So, as if I needed anything else to make it good day, the decision to train me as a cook had forced a schedule change. Since they needed me to come back on Sunday morning for training, they had to let me go early that Friday. Had to watch those “Wage and Hour Law” requirements for minors. I was sitting in Weird’s den by 4:00 PM, with no claims on my time until Sunday morning at nine.

The den at Weird’s house was perfect for a bunch of teenaged boys. There were several chairs, a Ping-Pong table, a player piano, a TV high up in a cabinet, and a separate bathroom. You could come in from the backyard via sliding glass doors or from the main house via a more conventional door that led in from the living room. Nothing we could do made any impression on the terrazzo floor. If you could add up all the time we spent in that room…had to be something like a couple of decades. It was very special to us; it was our clubhouse, our home-away-from-home, the place where we went to reclaim our sanity. I watched the first moon landing in that room. Probably the coolest thing was that Weird’s mom had nailed up some Greek letters over the living room side of the inside door. Weird said they spelled “hell” in Greek. That way, he said, when he and his siblings got on her nerves, his mom could tell them all to go there.

So, that’s where we all were that evening when Dare came loping in, slinging his helmet down onto one of the couches. Then, he just stopped and looked at us…very dramatic. After we got quiet, he still just looked at us. Finally, Ron said, “What?”

Still staring at us, Dare began to show a slow grin. Then, at full grin, he said, “Wait ‘till you hear this!”

That’s all it took. We had all heard that expression before. Whenever Dare had come across something truly interesting that’s what he said. Usually, though, he couldn’t contain himself. Usually, he just burst into ongoing conversations with whatever he had discovered. Something was different about this one. Bear and I looked at each other. Then, we put down our Ping-Pong paddles and zipped over to the sitting area.

Guv was already there. His torso was scrunched down into the heart of a large chair, while his head rested on one of the overstuffed arms and his legs jutted sideways off the other. He looked like the Little Dipper. I snagged a floor pillow with my left foot, dropping on to it as it plowed into the front corner of Guv’s chair. His booted feet made me nervous, hovering there above my head, especially those metal taps on his heals, so I scooted around to the other side.

Bear sat down on one of the couches. For some reason he liked them. None of the rest of us, Weird included, would park our butts on those things. They were too hard. The fabric enclosed foam rubber couch cushions did little to separate hardwood from gluteus maximus. Weird’s parents had spent a lot of money on this room, but for some inexplicable reason they went with the rugged look. The rough wood walls looked nice enough, but the built-in wooden “couches” served better as storage space, which they also were. My opinion was that they represented some sort of compromise between Weird’s Mom and Step-dad. Dad was the outdoors type, so I could just see him telling



the architect to be sure to include storage space for all their hunting, camping, and boating gear. Next, Mom would throw a fit because the storage spaces looked “tacky”. Quickly then, hoping to avoid complete meltdown and, not insignificantly, the possible loss of the job, the architect says, “Hey! How about this? Let’s make them bench style, make it so the seats are hinged at the wall, and we can put foam rubber cushions on them.” Wallah! The hard couches are born.

Weird was already on a floor pillow. Once Dare joined us down there, it left Guv and Bear looking down like some strange set of monarchs. All of this rearranging took mere seconds to accomplish. We all turned toward Dare, expectantly. He did not disappoint.

“You guys know how I work over at the Land Between The Lakes some?”

We did. Dare had started out volunteering up there when he was in the 8th grade. He helped the park rangers inventory the plants and animals, record the effects of various weather events on the LBL denizens, identify and map the historical sites…whatever. Over a very few years he went from unpaid gopher to receiving a wage as a “Researcher”. Also, it had the added advantage of getting him out of school sometimes. It was temporary and it was part-time, but that arrangement suited Dare just fine. His life was too full to be tied down by a full-time job, especially one that was more than twenty miles away. We had benefited from his LBL gig on several occasions. So, we not only knew about it, we approved. He looked around and saw us nodding our heads.

“I’ve been on a two-day. They needed me to stay overnight with a bunch of biology students who came over from one of the junior highs in Mayfield.”

His voice was easy, not revealing any of the excitement we saw in his eyes. Clothing his tenor was the mildest of nasal overtones, but they are so muted; there was a hint of Bob Dylan , a smidgen of Arlo Guthrie. Sometimes I found myself thinking that he sounded that way intentionally.

“Anyway, the students left at about 10:00 this morning. No one told me to go home, so I decided to stay. I had been wanting to explore some areas further south. I was tooling along on my Yamasaki, and starting to think about going back for lunch, when I turned up a dirt path. You know how that is; the deeper you get in to the LBL, the harder it is to tell if there was ever really a road there. At first, I thought this one was just a large animal trail. But, when I topped the rise, it widened into a one-car dirt road, twin tire ruts and all. The road dropped down fast, so I didn’t see it at first.”

“Didn’t see what?” I asked.

“I’m coming to that. The ruts were not really a problem. But, the rains had made lots of little canyons in the road. I had to work hard at keeping the bike upright. I shot forward along the top of one ridge. Man! That could’ve been bad! When it finally leveled off, I braked to a stop in the grass on the right side of the drive. I stood there for a few minutes, straddling my bike, just catching my breath. Once I settled down, I looked around. And, there is was.”

“There was what?” rumbled Bear.

“There”, said Dare, pausing for effect, “was the house.”

“It was amazing! It was huge!”, gushed Dare. Gone was the calm of a few moments ago. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. Right there in the middle of nowhere…a house. Oh! And, there was a garage, but not just any kind of garage. Oh no. This one had two gas pumps in front, with glass tops on them; kinds like big white raindrops. And there was some other kind of building, too. Couldn’t tell what from where I stood. The lake runs right in front of the house. The yard slopes down to it. There’s this big ol’ porch on it, too.”

He seemed unable to stop. He just went on and on describing the house. There was a basement, he said, saying you could tell because there were windows at ground level. But all the windows were covered with corrugated metal sheeting; the doors, too. It looked like it was two



stories, he thought. But there might be an attic or something; the roof looked like it crowned in the middle. He went closer. We all knew he couldn’t have done anything else; he was Dare. He said the metal sheeting at the back door had been pulled apart a little. It left an oval opening.

“I walked right in. I couldn’t believe it! This place was so cool. The first thing I came to was the kitchen. It looked old and new at the same time. I mean, the stuff in it was old; you know, not modern. But, it didn’t look like it had ever really been used. I thought that was weird.”

Then, glancing quickly at Weird, he said, “I mean, strange. There was dust on everything, but it looked kinda like new…like not used…I don’t know! Anyway, there was a room that had to be a dining room. It had a place in the ceiling that looked like a chandelier had been there. And, there was this room at the front that was probably a living room. The stairs lined up with the front door. Upstairs there was a bunch a rooms, bedrooms, I guess.”

Except for the pause to placate Weird, he had talked straight through. I never saw him take a breath. No doubt about it, he was excited.

Then, Bear brought him up short.

“So…uh…how could you see if all the windows were covered?”, he asked. Now, here was something any of us might have wondered about. But, none of us had caught it. Maybe we all would have, at some later time or on some later date, have realized that there was an inconsistency in Dare’s story. Maybe. But, right then and there, we all missed it. Everyone except Bear.

Bear did that kind of thing from time to time. You might think he was a little slow, by the look of him. But, you’d be wrong. Not that you would be wrong all by yourself. Lots of people underestimated him. On top of looking like a bear, he was about as talkative. He almost never volunteered in class. Since he was so quiet, people tended to think he had nothing to say. The truth was that he made good grades; A’s and B’s, mostly A’s. He just wasn’t the kind of person to compete in class, flinging his hand in the air, hoping the teacher would pick him to answer the question or do the demonstration at the board. He was content to mosey along, quietly turning in good papers, submitting his homework, and scoring well on exams. Most of his teachers were happy to leave things that way, too.

So, though quietly spoken, Bear’s question was a real zinger. Dare’s face was fun to watch. He had been so caught up in his own story that, at first, he had that sort of dazed look people get when you talk to them before they are fully awake. They heard what you said. They just can’t seem to make the words arrange themselves in any order that makes any sense to them.

But, that face didn’t last long. Pretty quickly, he moved on to the perturbed face. That’s the one where people are not really angry, just mildly ticked off that someone had the nerve to interrupt them. People like that haven’t really heard the question, either. It was, as far as they are concerned, just an interruption. And, they usually treat it like something you trip over while walking, never really stopping because of it, recovering mid-stumble and going ahead. For a second or two, it looked like that was what Dare was going to do.

Then, he got it. And you could see it happen. Slowly his face moved back in the direction of confusion. Now, he was wondering how that had been possible. The far away look in his eyes told us that he was replaying the events underlying the story he had been telling us. Seeing the rooms, looking around, now for the light source. Then, there it was.

“Oh, yeah”, dare said, realizing the answer. “Good catch, Bear!” And you could tell he meant it. “I hadn’t really thought about that. The basement windows were covered over, completely. Now that I think about it, I can see that the main floor windows were only covered partway up. The top foot or so was uncovered. They were too far off



the ground for someone to just walk up to. I guess they didn’t think there was any need to cover the upper part. The windows on the second floor were done the same way. Anyway, there was enough light to see by.”

“So, what did ya’ do after you went through the house?” asked Bear. I was beginning to wonder if Bear was going to ask all the questions.

“Well, what else could I do. I went to see Ranger Bob.”

It suddenly occurred to me that Bear had been maneuvering Dare, hurrying him along to this point. Definitely not Bear’s usual MO. Obviously, there was a good deal more that Dare wanted to tell us about the house. But, Bear knew that Guv and I would want to know about Ranger Bob more than we would want to know about the house. Knowing Ranger Bob was involved made a difference.


CHAPTER TWO
Ranger Bob

Ranger Bob was a State Police Officer. They were all called “Ranger”. Kentucky was a one-size-fits-all kind of state. State Police were assigned to all sorts of duties throughout the Commonwealth. Some worked the Highway Patrol, smokies. Some served in counties, doing such mundane things as giving driving exams. Some protected the Governor. Ranger Bob was assigned to work in the Center for Outdoor Education in the LBL, a plum position if you liked the outdoors, a real dead-end job if you were a city boy. COE was housed in one of those modern atrocities that were intended to look like they belonged in the woods, but really didn’t. Some urban artist’s concept for a log cabin. It wasn’t really a log cabin. Really, it was made of cinder block and steel beams, with just enough half-logs glued on to make it look really bad. As far as I was concerned, it would be difficult to imagine a building that looked more out of place. Several of its siblings were sprinkled throughout the LBL, and, for that matter, in every state park in the Commonwealth. People over forty seemed to like them just fine.

And, Ranger Bob liked his HQ, as he called it. We all knew this because he had told us so on several occasions. Over the course of almost three years, we had heard a great deal about Ranger Bob’s life and philosophies, though never voluntarily. Ranger Bob was already a part of our little world. He had dated Dare’s Mom. They were an item for a few years. He had lasted all the way up to the “why-don’t-we-move-in-together” stage before she broke it off. This was a record for her. Since her divorce from Dare’s Dad, twelve years ago, no one had ever lasted that long.

As often as we had heard from Ranger Bob, it didn’t hold a candle to how many times we had heard dare’s Mom say, “No man is going to live in my house!” When one of us reminded her, and one of us always did, that Dare’s Dad had lived in that house with her, she would quick-take-a-drink of her scotch, then say, a little defensively, “I was young.”

Whenever our little group found itself sans Dare, we would speculate on why Ranger Bob had lasted so long. Her usual pattern was to date a man for all he was worth, then, without warning, her relationship radar kicking in, she would kick him loose. Before Ranger Bob, the longest just-dating-not-a-couple period had been seven months. Somehow, Ranger Bob had managed to stay below the radar for almost three years.

One day, shortly before Ranger Bob blipped on to the radar, something happened to Dare’s Mom. Maybe there’s an official report somewhere. Or, maybe not. She said she took a tumble down the stairs on her way to the cellar one morning. Well, she did drink. I don’t know what the grownups thought, but our little crowd was suspicious; all except Dare. Whatever happened, it wasn’t long before Ranger Bob was out of the scene. One day, he was there grilling steaks out back, and the next, he was history.

Dare was devastated. He just about worshiped Ranger Bob. Even with us hinting, he couldn’t make the connection between his Mom’s bruises and Ranger Bob’s departure. Dare had met Ranger Bob at the



LBL, been mentored by him at the COE. Dare had been the one to introduce his mother to Ranger Bob. In the four years Dare had known Ranger Bob, the man had taught Dare almost everything which made Dare, Dare; woodcraft, water skiing, every kind of sport, rappelling, spelunking, camping, even how to maintain his Kawasaki. In fact, Ranger Bob had convinced Dare’s Mom to let him buy that scooter in the first place. He was like a Dad to Dare. Dare’s real Dad had been out of the picture so long, that Dare was starved for it. To be fair, all of us had benefited from their relationship, too. Guv, Bear, and I had learned most of those things from Dare after he learned them from Ranger Bob. For whatever reasons, none of our fathers did those kinds of manly things.

So, while it was difficult for us to think badly of Ranger Bob, none of the rest of us held him in quite the same esteem that Dare did. It looked like Ranger Bob might have a dark side.


CHAPTER THREE
Legend of the Bogard House

For many years, folks in the western hills of Kentucky had been making their own brand of “moonshine” whiskey. During Prohibition, Al Capone had connected with these folks to buy as much of the illegal brew as they could cook up. The story goes that a man named Bogard was the person primarily responsible for the success of this particular enterprise. Of course, the day finally came that the “great experiment” finally came to an end. Congress lifted the prohibition on alcohol. But, not before Capone took steps to ensure a steady supply of West Kentucky whiskey.

Capone, in a move intended to both reward Bogard for his loyalty and success, and to “lock in” the moonshine, built Bogard a house in the western hills of Kentucky, smack dab in the middle of moonshine country. Supposedly, Capone knew he was asking a lot to have one of his most successful lieutenants pick up and move from Chicago to the middle of nowhere. To make sure Bogard stayed loyal, Capone built him a luxury home.

The house was two stories above a full basement. It had everything; all the modern conveniences. All the plumbing was indoors, along with the bathrooms. There was a gasoline-powered generator, housed separately, which supplied all the electricity they would need. The living room and dining room, which flanked the hall leading from the front door, were large and beautifully appointed. A large, banistered gallery fronted the house. It was said that dances were held there. There was a large, modern kitchen with hot and cold running water, a gas stove, and, eventually, an electric refrigerator. On the second floor were three large bedrooms and another large bathroom. The master bedroom had its own bath. And, throughout the house, there were closets of every kind.

Taking into consideration the remoteness of the new home, Capone had a full garage built behind the house. Inside was a fully appointed machine shop, with everything needed to repair an automobile, from tires to engine.

In every way, the Bogard House was elegant and grand. It would have fit perfectly with the better homes in Chicago, nestled among those occupied by Chicago’s wealthy. Some of the words used to describe the finished house were opulent, elegant, beautiful, and vast. In its day, it was a mansion.

Then, there were the secret rooms.

The legend says that the Bogards were to live in the house, giving lavish parties, enjoying the deep woods which surrounded them, fishing in the nearby streams; living the life of landed gentry. But, all of it was, they say, a sham. Supposedly, during the dark of the new moon, an airplane would land at night on the road running in front of the house. The pilot would then go to the generator house where he would find numerous jugs of whiskey left there by local farmers. He would leave the agreed price in place of the jugs, load the latter on the plane, and fly back to Chicago.

Supposedly, Capone designed secret
rooms into the house, so that the moonshine could be hidden during


times of high scrutiny from Federal agents. Legend had it that there were false walls, scattered throughout the house. Also, law officers were, supposedly, aware that something was going on. The problem lay in proving it. But, they say that no officer of the law ever found the secret rooms in any of the raids.

Going In

After tramping around all about the grounds, oo-ing and ahh-ing over the gas pumps in front of the garage, gawking at the sheer richness of everything, we finally found our way back the Beetle and the Ford Econoline van. For some reason, I was not as happy as I should have been. For all of the excitement to finally be here, to finally be able to see, first hand, everything Dare had been saying, there was another something tugging at the edges of my thoughts. I felt…well, I don’t know what I felt. And the not knowing put me out of sorts. Once or twice I had caught Guv giving me the ”What’s up?” look. All I could do was shrug. I hadn’t known then, and I didn’t know now.

Once we had all taken in the outside, there was only one thing to do. We would have to go in. For a few minutes, we all just stood there and looked at the house. It was immense. It was, in reality, even bigger than Dare had remembered. Standing there beside our vehicles (our trusty steeds), the engines off, no more shuffling feet, no one making any kind of noise at all, I sensed that nature was conspiring with us to be quiet. Not that there was no noise. The wind was soughing lightly through the treetops. All of us could hear the lake making little lapping sounds at the shore a few yards away. But, that was about it. No birds, none of the usual nature sounds. Looking from face to face, I could see that we all had sensed it, that this was one of those moments, one of those special times. So, we just stood there, taking it in.

Finally, Dare said, “Let’s go.” But, he spoke quietly, and as reverently as I had ever heard him. We all walked forward as a group, loosely scattered around an invisible, but acknowledged, central point. Friends returning from Viet Nam had told me they had been taught in Boot Camp to march in straight lines, then un-taught it when they got in country. The experienced soldiers in Viet Nam had learned, sometimes the hard way, to ensure that the troops were spread out, less of a target. Scattered distribution seemed to work the best over there. What I noticed that day, as we prepared to enter the Bogard House for the first time, was that we were doing the same kind of thing. None of us had been in the military, yet. So, maybe it was something that people just did.

But, I think, that on some level, we all felt we were at risk, and that we had, just naturally, scattered; some kind of primal thing so that the whole tribe is not at risk. For myself, I still felt a small concern, some little niggling doubt about what we were gong to do. A line from The Raven flickered through my thoughts (…gently rapping on my chamber door…). I brought up the rear, as I almost always did. Somehow, along my short life, I had developed the idea that I was the rear guard. By that point, it was just something I did, without ever thinking about it. As I came to the opening, I stopped and looked back. Everyone else had already gone inside. Standing there on the top step, looking out at the garage, the drive, the generator house, I finally got it. I knew what was wrong.

It felt like someone was watching us.

Still troubled by that feeling, I crossed the threshold. I must have stood out there longer than I realized. Once my eyes adjusted to the considerably darker interior, I could see that everyone was staring at me. "What's the matter?" asked Guv.

"Nothing," I said. "Why?"

Deadpan, he replied, "You've got that look you get when you're thinking someone is about to violate your constitutional rights." For about a second, he maintained a serious expression. Then, someone, Dare I think, didn’t quite smother a snicker. Guv’s face contorted, and



all of the guys burst into laughter.

For my part, I tried to maintain a stern expression, but the grin kept breaking through at the corners. Finally, I couldn't hold it anymore, joining them in the joke. We laughed and laughed, to the point of tears.

And then, just as we were getting it under control, I looked over at the girls. All it took was for the guys to follow my gaze to set us off, again. The look on their faces! Clearly, they all thought we had gone over the edge.

Finally, we settled down to the point that I could explain. Looking at Betty, but including all of them with my voice, I explained, "See, I've got this thing about being blamed when it's not my fault. I get pretty upset." I could hear Dare snickering, this time, while I struggled to make sense of our rough joking. "They've all known me long enough to have seen me get that way. And Guv", I swung my gaze to pin him with the words, "knows just exactly how to push that button."

Looking back to Betty, I could see I wasn't being successful in explaining our little outburst, and I found that a bit frustrating. I was starting to wonder if it was just one of those 'guy things'; maybe they couldn't understand because they weren't 'wired' the same way we were. Before I could continue, Betty said, "And now you have that 'these people aren't smart enough to understand me' look."

"Dang!" cried Dare, gleefully. "She's only been going out with the boy for two weeks and she already knows the other look!" This set off a whole new round of laughter among the guys. This time, though, their dates joined in. Sensing that I had, somehow, stepped in dater's quicksand, I hastened to explain myself.

"Betty, I'm sorry. It's not that I thought you couldn't understand." I had decided, wisely I think, to leave out the part about it being a guy thing. " I just thought I wasn't doing a very good job of explaining."

Tartly, she said, "Oh, I understand it just fine. I just don't think it's funny."

I don't know if it was the new look on my face, or if it was the gales of uncontrolled laughter gushing forth from our friends, some of who were now rolling on the floor, but a smile began to crack through Betty's stone face. Then, we were all laughing.

Of course, leave it to Bear to make it something special. Walking over to Betty, he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Then he took one of her hands into his two massive paws and said, as quietly as his deep, resonant voice allowed, "You are his match, if not more. We've been waiting a long time for you. Welcome."

There was a glow to the moment, negative thoughts forgotten. The joy and excitement of discovery finally overcoming the concerns we had all been experiencing. This was the Bogard House. We had come here to explore it. And we were in.


For want of the nail, the shoe was lost
For want of the shoe, the horse was lost
For want of the horse, the rider was lost
For want of the rider, the battle was lost
For want of the battle, the war was lost


No, I don’t know who wrote that. I don’t even know if I got it right. It was something I learned in school, but not, maybe, as well as I should have. I missed it on the test, too. Anyway. I had cause to remember it about an hour after we entered the Bogard House. And it was all because of Dare’s date.

Dare’s companion for our adventure was a little honey named Jenny. All of us guys were a little bit smitten with her. I’m not sure how to explain it, except to say that she had the kind of looks that no guy can resist; she was girl-next-door cute. And, to top it off, she wasn’t stuck on herself like a lot of other good-looking girls. But, that day, we were all a little put out with her. Jenny could be a little ditzy, at times. Which was all the more frustrating since we all knew she maintained a straight-A average.

The problem, in fact, most of that day’s problems, had started when one of the other girls, Nora, snidely


pointed out that Jenny had worn the
wrong shoes. In fact, Nora was about to become a big problem. But, more on that, later.

“Jenny-you-ditz! You wore the wrong shoes!” accused Nora.

This was the kind of thing Nora did, and she did it often enough that we all wondered just what it was Guv saw in her. They had been debate partners before they started dating, so maybe that explained some of it. Maybe.

Anyway. Once Nora raised the issue, we could all see that she was right. Jenny was wearing healed, platform shoes. They, along with her short-shorts, showed off her legs nicely, and the combination would look good @ a dance. But they were just plain wrong for stomping around in the wilds of the LBL.

“What’s WRONG with my shoes, Nor?” Even as teenaged boys, we could recognize the menace in her voice. Nora, of course, was oblivious to it.

“You silly goof! You’re wearing platforms!” persisted Nora, obliviously.

“I KNOW I’m wearing platforms. I put them on. I should KNOW what they are."

Probably, everything would have worked out just fine if we had only just let them settle it between the two of them. But, no. We all jumped in like it was the Noble Park pool on a hot summer day.

IDEAS: he finds his grandfather's journal covering the period of prohibition & TVA flooding & the Bogard House. Goes to visit granddaddy in the "home". G has Alzheimer’s & is in and out, often reliving some part of his earlier life. Some parts of this may help solve the mystery.

Have G to have been part of "Bonus Army" march on DC in June 1932. also a connection to Ness & Capone, boot-legging & the Bogard House. Have him hide his journal in the crown of the BH, anticipating the TVA flooding & expecting the house to be under water or at least surrounded by it.

He has implicated someone in this little history, someone w/a political future in KY & possibly federal.

The Sheriff of Lyon county becomes involved w/current adventure, creating problems for our teen friends, "raiding" a group that have camped out in a chapel during a storm. The headlines scream "GHOULS!" as the Sheriff accuses them of desecrating the adjacent cemetery.

CHAPTER ??? -- Sunset Manor

I really hated coming here. After I had seen what I had seen, there was nothing else to do. If the answers were anywhere, they were here. The first whiff of that antiseptic hit me like a solid blow. Along with it came the realization that I had been dreading this.

I loved my grandfather. Among the pantheon of relatives my parents connected me to in Paducah, Grandaddy had always been a favorite of mine. To be fair, there weren’t many of my family I didn't like, and most of those had had the decency to move somewhere else.

Still, Grandaddy was special to me. I don't know if it was in spite of or because of the strained relationship he had with my father, or if it had nothing to do with that at all. For some reason he had singled me out for special attention. In the sprawl that was our local relatives, attention was often mistaken for affection. I couldn't tell you if Grandaddy actually cared for me or not, but he paid attention to me and had done so since I was a child. What can I say? Maybe I was just easy.

Still and all, visiting him here was one of the most difficult things I did. I loved him, but I hated this place. I had been coming here for almost two years, each time the resistance to it greater than the time before.

Our church youth group came here, sometimes. On Sunday afternoons we would sing, a cappella, the old hymns, most of which we didn't even sing in church anymore. That's what they wanted, though, and that's what we gave them.

Our Youth Director made the choice of ‘homes’, and what process he used to arrive at his choices was beyond our meager reasoning skills. For a few weeks it would look like the rotation was progressing alphabetically, and then, without warning, he would break that sequencing. For a while, we speculated, he seemed to be working a geographic pattern centered on the church building. But that was no more dependable that the other. The pattern always
broke. Worst of all, we sometimes went to the same place two or three times in a row. It kept me on pins and needles.

The problem was that I never knew in what condition I would find my grandfather. Sometimes, he was lucid and active, and at times like that I would start to wonder why he was in such a place at all. Other times, though, it could be bad --very bad. I never wanted to see him that way when I was with my youth group. I don't think I could take it. I know how that sounds, okay? I don't like it, but that's the way it is.

What would he be like today, I wondered. I was praying for lucid. Something told me that time was getting short, and that I might not be able to just wait until some future lucidity.