Standing in the Rainbow (38 page)

When Wendell, who had driven down with them that day, saw the name written on the side of the boat, he said, being no fool, “Don’t tell me a thing, boys. I don’t want to know. I’m just here for a boat ride.”

Hamm did not know it but the friend of a friend was a Mr. Anthony Leo from St. Louis, and when the governor commuted his brother’s scheduled execution to a life sentence he was grateful. All Hamm knew was that Rodney had come into the office that day and seemed very nervous until he had finished signing all his pardons. Wendell, who advised Hamm, agreed with Hamm’s decision; after all, the man had not killed an innocent person; he had just shot some other mob hood.

Hamm said, “He probably did the state a favor.”

They both had done Rodney a favor and did not know it; Rodney had a rather large gambling debt that had just been crossed off the books. But Hamm was no fool either. He never intended to accept a gift from anyone, never told anyone about
The Betty Raye
except a few people he could trust. But he did use it every chance he got.

One afternoon when he and Rodney were out cruising around the Missouri River, having a few drinks and smoking a few cigars, Hamm said, “You know, Rodney, I’ve been thinking, when my term is up, it sure would be nice if Betty Raye and the kids and I were to have a nice house we could move into right away and not have to wait. Sort of like a loan, and then, when I get settled and get a good job down the line, I can pay for it. What do you think?”

Rodney said, “Oh, I think that could be arranged.”

“I don’t think it would look too good for the ex-governor to have to go back to some little rented place, do you?”

“No, I agree with you there. What kind of a house do you think an ex-governor should live in?”

Hamm leaned back and thought about it. “I suppose it should be in a good neighborhood, for the kids, maybe something with a lot of red brick and a big porch, something along that line. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Let me do a little nosing around and see what I can come up with.”

“And a car. Maybe one of those new DeSotos.”

“No sweat,” Rodney said. “What color?”

“Blue.”

Blue was his favorite color. And after all, as Rodney had said, what is the point of being governor if you can’t have a good time.

Rainbows and Cakes

D
orothy was very happy these days. Both her children were married to wonderful people, she already had three beautiful granddaughters, and Anna Lee had just called and told her she was expecting another baby. So she was particularly cheerful today.

“Good morning, everybody . . . I hope all of you out there are raring to go this morning, because you know what today is? Cakes, cakes, and more cakes is the rally cry of the Annual Golden Flake Cake Baking Contest and in its honor today Mother Smith is going to play a special song, ‘If I Knew You Were Coming I’d Have Baked a Cake.’ So ladies, and any of you men out there, make sure you have all your supplies at hand. Every second counts. Get ready. Get set . . . start your ovens! Let the bakeoff begin! Now, while all of you are waiting for your ovens to preheat, let me run the rules by you once more. Only one cake per contestant. As soon as you have your cake finished and frosted, get it over to the VFW hall as soon as possible for the judging.

“Good luck to one and all and for all you cake eaters out there, remember they all will go on sale after the judging, at around two this afternoon. All the proceeds are going to aid our policemen and firemen all over the state of Missouri. They do such a fine job all year ’round, so come over and buy a cake, and let them know how much we appreciate every one of them. We are so lucky this year to have such fine judges. All the way from Poplar Bluff, we have Mr. Jack Mann, president of Golden Flake Flour Company, also Mrs. Edith Cagle Pool, who is the author of the
Edith Cagle Pool Cakes for Every Occasion
cookbook and is listed in the
Who’s Who in Home Economics
, and last but not least, yours truly, so come on by and see us . . . it’s going to be a lot of fun.

“Wrens, robins, bluebirds, redbirds, hummingbirds, bobolinks, and finches have all been spotted so far this year by our bird-watcher, Emma Henson over in Walnut Shade, and Mrs. Joanne Ault of Woodlawn, Missouri, writes in and says . . .

“Dear Neighbor Dorothy,

“I read a good book and I would like to pass it on to your reading listeners. If they want to have a good laugh read
Cheaper by the Dozen
by Frank Gilbreth, Jr., and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey.

“All right . . . thank you for that. I only like to recommend books that are happy and cheerful. . . . I know there are sad things out in the world . . . but I just don’t want to dwell on them. I guess I’m just like one of those ostriches; I just stick my head in the sand. I don’t want to face the facts. All the scientists are determined to tell us what the moon is made of and what the stars are . . . and why there are rainbows . . . but I just don’t want to know. When I wish on a star, I don’t need to know what it’s made out of—let the men figure it out—as for me, when a thing is beautiful, what does it matter why. I never get tired of looking at the moon. One night it is small and round as a shiny, ice-cold, white marble and the next it’s a big soft yellow moon. How can we be bored when nature gives us so many wonders to look at. Which brings me to my next letter . . . it comes to us from Mrs. Anne Carter of Repton, Missouri. She writes . . .

“Dear Neighbor Dorothy,

“Have you ever wondered what is at the end of the rainbow? Well, I want to share with you what happened to us. Yesterday my family and I were driving out in the country and when a small rainstorm cleared, my son called our attention to a huge rainbow that had suddenly formed across the sky. The end of it seemed to be in the road up ahead of us. I drove as fast as I could to the spot and when we all got out of the car and looked at each other our skin seemed to glow with iridescent colors of pink and blue and green. We could not believe our eyes. We were literally standing in the rainbow. If that is not a miracle, I don’t know what is. God truly blessed my family and me that day and we will never forget it.”

Mother Smith played a little of “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” “Thank you for sharing that beautiful story with us, Mrs. Carter. . . . Now every time I see a rainbow I’ll think of you and your family standing in the rainbow!

“Now I ask you. Isn’t life wonderful?”

THE SIXTIES

The Chickens Coming Home to Roost

A
FTER
B
OBBY GRADUATED
, he immediately got a teaching job at Franklin Pierce, a small college in Rindge, New Hampshire, and he and Lois were provided with a nice house on a lake. Although he made very little money, life was good for a while. They loved the college and the town but both of them, because they were from southern Missouri, were not used to the cold winters and the first year they nearly froze to death. Also, after his time in Korea, months of snow depressed him, and so Bobby started looking around for a warmer place. He had applied for jobs in Arizona and California but so far nothing had come through and in the meantime he and Lois were expecting their first child. As soon as they could, they came back to Missouri to visit. They spent a week with her parents and a week with Doc and Dorothy.

While they were in Elmwood Springs their old friend Mr. Charlie Fowler, the poultry inspector, called and said he wanted to stop by for dinner while they were there. It had been a few years and Bobby was glad to see him again. He had been at their wedding and had sent them a lovely gift. That night Dorothy made him his favorite, smothered pork chops and mashed potatoes, and after the first bite Fowler said the same thing he always did. “Dorothy, I’m not sure but I think these may be the best pork chops you ever made.” After dinner, when the men headed out for a smoke, Fowler asked Bobby if he would take a little walk with him.

“Sure,” said Bobby. They walked out in the backyard and sat down in the lawn chairs by the Sweetheart Swing and enjoyed the view. The sun was still pretty high in the sky. It had been an early spring that year and the apple tree was already full of pink-and-white flowers and the morning glories were already blooming and hanging off the old wooden fence and the garage. Ruby Robinson n uck her head out the window next door and said, “Tell your mother we have plenty of extra tomatoes over here if she needs any.”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure will,” he said.

Bobby sat there with Mr. Fowler and wondered why but figured he would find out sooner or later. After a while Fowler said, “That’s a mighty fine little wife you have in there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve been knowing you and your family for a long time now. Watched you and your sister grow up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fowler cleared his throat. “You know, if I had married and had a son such as yourself just starting out in life, this is what I would say to him—but since I don’t have one I’m going to tell it to you instead.

“Young Robert,” he said, “we . . . you and I . . . have to stop pecking around in the barnyard of mediocrity and dare to fly with the eagles out into the world of big business. That’s why a few years back I started buying up an interest in as many chicken farms as I could. I looked up and saw the handwriting on the wall, so to speak, and this is what it said. It said, Charlie . . . the poultry business is changing. It’s no longer just an egg world out there. It’s a fried-chicken-in-a-bucket-to-go world and you better jump in while the jumping’s good.” He leaned closer. “Now, son, this is strictly between you and me, but I just signed an exclusive contract with this fellow over in Kentucky for me to supply him with all his chickens. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not making money yet, but I’ve got my eye on this fellow and the way business is booming I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t open up another place real soon.”

“Really?” said Bobby.

“Yep . . . and it all pans out with my theory about the future.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Quantity,” he said emphatically. “Not quality. Fast, not friendly. That’s the secret of making money nowadays, boy. This is the jet age. People want to eat on the move. How fast, how cheap, and how much do we get for our dollar, that’s what folks are interested in today.”

Bobby nodded and thought about it.

“Anyhow, young Robert, what I’m saying is this. I’m looking for a good man to work for me, somebody with personality, good P.R. skills such as my own, and I think that you fit that bill to a tee. Say the word and the job is yours.”

Bobby was flattered by the offer but he did not know a thing about the poultry business. “I sure appreciate you considering me for the job, Mr. Fowler, but—”

Fowler did not let him finish his sentence. “Now, before you talk it over with your wife,” he said as he pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, “I’m going to write down a figure as to what you can expect to earn the first year. And this is just to start, mind you.” He jotted down a number and handed it to Bobby. “Of course, you would have to relocate but I think it is a chance worth taking and I give you my word, son, if
I
do well,
you
do well.”

The number Fowler showed him was twice the salary he was making now.

The next morning when Monroe stopped by the house for coffee and Bobby showed him the figure, Monroe, true to form, said, “Whoa . . . that’s some serious bucks.” Bobby was torn. He hated to give up teaching but with a baby on the way and no new teaching offers, he and Lois talked. They decided to get out of the cold of New Hampshire and take a chance with Mr. Fowler.

The Missing Plate

T
OT
W
HOOTEN
had never met Charlie Fowler but when Mother Smith was down at Tot’s beauty shop having her hair dyed purple again she mentioned Bobby’s new job. Tot said, “Well, for his sake I hope it works out. But no matter what you do in life there’s a fifty-fifty chance that something will go wrong.” She threw a teacup full of creme rinse on Mother Smith’s head and added, “Of course, with me it’s always been a ninety-nine percent chance that if something can go wrong, it will.”

Tot must have had a premonition.

The following Monday Norma Warren had just returned from driving her eleven-year-old daughter, Linda, over to Poplar Bluff to spend the week with her grandmother, Ida Jenkins. Much to Norma’s irritation, after her father had died her mother had picked up and moved there so she could be nearer to the Presbyterian church. “Now that I’m a widow,” she said, “I need to be closer to my own kind.” It hurt Norma to think her mother preferred the Presbyterians to her own family but she still had Aunt Elner, even though she was a handful. Today was Norma’s at-home beauty day and she was right in the middle of giving herself her weekly Merle Norman facial when the phone rang again for the third time in an hour. She did not answer it but it would not stop ringing so she finally had to pick up.

“Hello, Aunt Elner,” she said, as pleasantly as she could, trying not to ruin her facial, but this time it was not Aunt Elner again. It was Elner’s neighbor Verbena calling from the cleaners.

“Norma, it’s me. Have you heard what happened to poor Tot?”

“Oh God, what now?”

“You know Rochelle, his assistant, that heavyset gal who likes to have a snort or two with Dr. Orr?”

“Yes, what about her?”

“Well, I guess they lost poor Tot’s upper plate over the weekend. Too much fooling around in the office.”

“What do you mean they lost it?” she said, destroying her facial.

“Friday Dr. Orr pulled her teeth out and took an impression of her gums for a set of false teeth and told her to come back Monday and he would have her plate ready . . . and this morning she sneaks up there by the back alley—she said she would just die if anybody saw her without her teeth—so she goes in and sits down. She said she couldn’t wait to get her new teeth. And then Dr. Orr walks in and she said she should have known something was wrong, she could smell the liquor on his breath, so anyhow he says, ‘Open up,’ and then he tries to put this upper plate in her mouth and it no more fits her than the man in the moon and
he
calls out, ‘Dammit, Rochelle, this is not Tot’s upper plate!’ He says to her, ‘Wait right here,’ and then she hears all this yelling and cussing, so anyhow, about fifteen minutes later he comes back and says, ‘Tot, I’m sorry, your teeth must have been thrown out by mistake. I’m going to have to take another impression and start over.’ ”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh yes. So as you can imagine, Poor Tot was fit to be tied. She said it was no telling whose teeth he had put in her mouth. And not only that, this was the very week she was going to the new catfish place. You sure can’t eat catfish without teeth, much less corn on the cob.”

“No.”

“And you know what the worst part is?”

“How could it possibly get worse?”

“I think James is slipping around on Tot with that Rochelle. That’s what Merle said. He saw them out on the highway at that old Casa Loma Supper Club, and they were all over each other, kissing and carrying on.”

“Oh no, Poor Tot.”

“I think it was sabotage, just plain sabotage. I think that girl just threw her teeth out for meanness so she could run around with James while Poor Tot has to stay home. But mind you, I didn’t tell Tot that.”

“Poor Tot.”

“Isn’t it the truth? If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And right after her mother set the house on fire and now this. It’s a wonder she can even get up in the morning.”

Norma went and cleaned her face and started again. She thought she better take care of her looks. She did not want Macky going out to the Casa Loma or someplace with some other woman.

The Pageant

U
NFORTUNATELY
, things had not turned out well for Betty Raye either. Hamm did not keep his word to her and in 1960 decided to run for another four years as governor. There went her dream of having her own home again. She had been heartbroken, but even she could see that his political career was like a train that could not be stopped. He was at the height of his popularity and he said not to run when he had all this momentum going would be such a terrible waste of all the time and energy he had put in. He pleaded with her, promised her that if he could have this one more term it would definitely be the end. “Anyway, honey,” he said, “the state law says a governor
can’t
serve three consecutive terms. So even if I wanted to I couldn’t run again. What better guarantee can you have than that?”

As heartbroken as she was about having to stay on for another four years, she could see how much the people depended on him. He seemed to thrive on pressure and enjoy his every waking hour. And like it or not, she had to admit Hamm had turned out to be a wonderful governor and although she still longed to spend more time with him and live in a home of her own, there was a part of her that was very proud of him. As much as she missed him, she was pleased he was so happy.

Also the good news about Hamm’s popularity was that in this election year his numbers were so high she and the two boys did not have to go on the campaign trail with him. There was almost no campaign, and as furious as it made him, Earl Finley had to sit and wait another four years until he could take back control of the state.

When Hamm won the election in a landslide, Cecil Figgs was of course delighted to have another four years and decided that it was time to put on a grand outdoor pageant celebrating the history of Missouri. It was to be a spectacular affair with a cast of hundreds, including an Indian pony to depict the first ride of the Pony Express in 1860 from St. Joseph to Sacramento. The pageant would re-create all the major events, starting from June 1812, when Missouri was first organized as a territory, and continuing up to modern-day Missouri.

They were rehearsing down at the big Shrine Auditorium and all day long Cecil had been losing his patience with State Trooper Ralph Childress, who, at six-four, could hardly be pushed around without something happening. Cecil was directing the governor’s Honor Guard to march onto the stage in a straight line and to continue marching through a huge reproduction of the St. Louis Arch with a
GATEWAY TO THE
WEST
banner at the very top. When they reached the front of the stage they were to turn, face the audience, salute and, in unison, put their hands behind their backs, and hold an at-ease stance—all on the count of ten that Cecil was snapping away with his fingers. “One more time,” Cecil said, stomping his foot and clapping his hands at Trooper Childress. “Faster,
faster
, pick up your feet, you’re too slow.”