The Campaign of Cole Stevenson: A Story of Life in Rural 1950's Missouri

By Dale D. Sutton

A story that takes place in a small fictional town and county in rural southwest Missouri, mid-1950's. Cole Stevenson is a young man running for State Representative, and the story revolves around his campaign and the many colorful people he encounters along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483566856

Book preview

17

Chapter 1

Rural Southeast Missouri, 1955

A spotlessly clean black 1953 Chevrolet pickup with a chrome grill and wide white sidewall tires rolled to a quiet stop without stirring up any dust. The engine continued to run for about ten seconds, then stopped. Another ten seconds passed, and the driver’s side door opened slowly. A leg extended out the side and one hand held onto the door as the other gripped the steering wheel. Movement stopped, muscles tensed, and the driver held himself locked in an isometric position, still as a statue.

The driver was just over six-foot-one and weighed about 185 pounds. He had thick, slightly wavy, sandy-blonde hair, and blue eyes that were squinting slightly in the bright sunlight. He was an amalgam of Irish, Welsh, and Cherokee Indian. His arms were tanned, as was his face, but there was no doubt that he would blister if not careful in the broiling hot Missouri sun. He wore Levi’s and a short-sleeved blue chambrey shirt. Cole Stevenson was in good physical condition but was not a muscled-up Charles Atlas type. Most anyone would have described him as a good-looking man.

All at once the driver reversed his actions and repositioned himself back behind the steering wheel. He closed the door, leaned forward, turned the key, and the engine started. The truck slowly started backing up but after going back about fifteen feet, it stopped again and the engine continued to idle for nearly a minute. There was a slight mechanical noise and the pickup slowly rolled forward and stopped in its previous position. The engine was turned off, the door reopened, and Cole got out of the truck, firmly shut the door, locked it, and started walking towards a barely perceptible path that led into thick vegetation consisting of willows, alders, witch hazel, cedars, and occasional six- to ten-inch diameter maples, sycamores, and cottonwoods.

Cole stopped, turned, and looked back towards the pickup which was barely visible when he peered through the brush. He hesitated for a while, bent in a near crouch, and looked around. He started back to the truck again, ducking under some low tree branches, but then slowly wheeled around again and continued along the path away from his vehicle. The path was carpeted with bright green moss, low-growing grass and honeysuckle vines. The path gradually sloped down to a limestone bluff streaked with green moss that grew in the cracks that held a bit of detritus, soil, and runoff moisture. The path ended amidst a collection of boulders, some half as large as an automobile. Cole extended both arms and felt his was to a sheer drop-off and cautiously bent forward, looking over the edge to a large pool of translucent blue water.

The pool was fed by a rippling shoal at its upper end and drained from the lower end through a mass of billion-year-old granite rocks, rubbed slick by the sand-laden spring flooding that had occurred from the time the St. Francis Mountains were first thrust up. At one time the surrounding mountains had been as high as the present-day Alps.

Cole dropped down on all fours and slowly crawled several feet to his right, eased his torso up slightly, and sat down in a yard-square opening that was shaped precisely like a large easy chair. He propped his feet up on a slab of limestone that made a rock-solid ottoman. He had approached so quietly that the fish and minnows suspended in the pool of blue water didn’t even notice. His eyes shifted to the upper end of the pool and Cole watched as individual patches of glistening, foamy bubbles spread out in the pool. The silvery patches slowly floated to the lower end of the pool and then coalesced into a single ribbon of foam that narrowed like a stretched elastic band. The ribbon of foam picked up speed and ran through a narrow opening, then broke up again as it flowed on down the stream.

Cole looked back to the upper end of the pool and saw the process start to repeat itself. He continued to watch for several minutes and realized that the subtle currents in the water were creating just the right kind of forces to draw the individual patches of foam together into a unified mass that surged out the lower opening and then was spread out over the entire stream surface. He braced his right hand on a boulder, clenched his fist, and raised it. A slight smile of triumph came across his face and deep dimples formed in his cheeks. To no one hearing, and everyone not hearing, he spoke out loud.

If I can channel the currents just right, I can get all the parts together into a single, unified, flowing force that will stretch out rapidly and won’t be slowed down.

Turning back in the direction from which he had come, Cole quickly retraced his steps to the truck and drove to the home of Senator Charles J. Russell on Layton Street.

Cole parked parallel to the sidewalk in front of the house and got out of his truck. He pushed a latch to one side and swung open a heavy iron gate that was hinged to heavy metal posts topped with beautiful cast iron bears. A wrought iron fence was anchored in concrete and ran about a hundred and fifty feet on either side of the gate. To his left the fence turned at a right angle and ran back a good two hundred feet to a steep hillside. A stream of clear water ran just outside the fence line, entered a large drain pipe and emerged on the other side of Layton Street, and flowed through the rest of the town of Red Oak. To his right the fence terminated in a thick hedge of spirea that merged with the hillside, defining the back boundary of the large lawn. Huge red oak and hickory trees stood on either side of an imposing house built of meticulously cut and fitted limestone blocks. The house was a single story that was built on a five-foot-high foundation, also of limestone block, though these blocks were four times the size of the ones used to build the main part of the house. A wide porch held up by white columns reached across the entire front and wrapped around each front corner for at least twenty feet. The edge of the porch was lined with wrought iron that matched the fence. A series of steps with iron hand rails led up to the porch. Even on the hottest, muggiest days of August the Russell house was considerably cooler than surrounding habitats. Flowers, shrubs, and especially rose bushes were strategically located in the yard, giving a well-cared-for and very inviting appearance.

Cole closed the gate and hoped that he looked like a person with a destiny as he walked to the steps, climbed the stairs to the porch and turned an old fashioned door gong. In reality, his heart raced, his legs were a bit weak and he clenched his teeth way more than was normal.

He barely heard a sound in the house before the large oak door with cut glass panes opened with a smooth arc. A very lovely elderly lady with a radiant smile and clear hazel eyes looked at Cole, and he sensed that she felt her number one aim in life was to welcome him to the Russell home, even though they had never met formally in all of his twenty-seven years.

Cora Russell spoke. Good morning, young man. What brings you to the Russell House on this bright, beautiful Ozark day?

Cole was feeling more at ease but was still tense as he looked directly into Cora Russell’s eyes, a habit developed during four years of military service.

I wondered if it might be possible to talk to Senator Russell about… Cole paused a moment. About becoming a candidate for State Representative.

It was then he realized he hadn’t introduced himself. Ma’am, he said, I will admit to being a bit nervous, and I apologize for not letting you know who you’re talking to. My name is Cole Stevenson, and I was being presumptuous and assuming you would know who I am. I thought I had this visit all planned out but now that I’m actually here I’m finding that it’s pretty hard to carry out a plan that’s different from anything I have ever even thought of, let alone had any practice at.

The Senator’s wife was obviously pleased with this sincere young man who wanted advice and possibly approval from her husband. She smiled radiantly, little wrinkles showing at the corners of her eyes, and she extended a soft pink hand.

Cole, I’m very pleased to meet you. I know your family well. The Stevensons are highly regarded in and around Red Oak. Please come in, the Senator is out on the back porch trying to figure out a way to keep a robin from building a nest right up over the screen door. He’s torn it down at least four times, but that bird is truly persistent and just won’t consider building a nest in at least three dozen better places. Have a seat here on the couch and I’ll go tell him to come and talk to you about seeking public office. I can say with absolute certainty that he knows more about politics than he does about a robin’s house-building.

Cole sat on the plush couch and glanced around the living room, which was furnished with comfortable but slightly aged chairs, along with a large bookcase filled with beautifully bound volumes. The floor was dark shiny oak with small rugs and a long runner leading from the door to the next room, which was obviously a dining room. A row of four very large oval picture frames with curved glass dust protectors were hung along one wall, and a long narrow walnut table with ornate legs and four drawers with brass knobs accented the pictures. It took no imagination to figure out that the two men and two women pictured were parents of the Senator and his wife.

Cole wanted to get up and examine the pictures more closely to see if they were actual photos or professionally drawn portraits made to look like photos. The four subjects looked rather somber but still didn’t look as artificial as many of the people he had seen in other heavy-framed oval pictures that were prized as family heirlooms. He started to get up, but then thought, better not, I don’t want to be wandering around in the Senator’s house when he walks in the room.

Thoughts started rushing through his mind. He had a plan, and it had to start with Charles Russell. Otherwise, he felt that he would constantly be second-guessing himself with every move he made.

Senator Russell was known to be highly intelligent, but it was also stated by everyone who interacted with him that he retained a great capacity for patience with those who were young and inexperienced, as long as it was obvious that they were eager to learn. He was a very dignified old political warrior who still retained the skill and connections to demolish any adversary who challenged him to think that an old lion should let the rest of the pride do all the planning, stalk all the game, get the best of the spoils, and all of the credit for the final kill.

The Senator had been a power in Missouri politics for thirty-eight years and had served as the Senate majority leader. He was an absolutely rock-solid Democrat but had still represented and looked after the legitimate concerns of a small Republican minority in his district. His calls to any government official in the state, whether a Justice of the Peace, the governor, or a U.S. Senator, would be acknowledged within a half hour or less. He could, and did, speak with his friend Harry Truman at least once a month.

When he had to come down hard on a misguided opponent or an ill-contrived matter he was swift and sure. If at all possible, when the matter was settled (and it would most certainly be settled), he let it quickly fade, and in nearly every case the defeated person or issue didn’t come back for a rematch. He often left an adversary feeling that it was an honor to have lost the skirmish with Senator Russell. After all, there was a huge pool of losers to fall into. Russell rarely instigated a confrontation but it was equally as true that when pushed into a tight spot he was like a cornered wolverine. He was one of ten or twelve powerful figures who knew all the relevant details of state matters at any given time.

A door was quietly closed somewhere beyond the living room and steps were heard approaching. Cole rose as the Senator and his wife walked toward him. Cora smiled, and with the eloquent ease of a self-assured public person, introduced her husband using a pet name which was meant to make the meeting as warm and natural as possible.

Charlie, I’d like you to meet Cole Stevenson. Cole told me he would like to talk with you about becoming a candidate for State Representative in this year’s primary election.

The Senator stepped forward, extended a large right hand, and looking Cole squarely in the eye, smiled authoritatively, and spoke with that clearly enunciated voice so very characteristic of well-educated Midwesterners.

Cole, I’m Charles Russell, and I’m truly happy to meet you. I know your family well. His sincerity was unmistakable as he continued. One of my greatest satisfactions is having young people come to me for help or advice. Here lately some of them come out of an undisguised sense of curiosity. I’ve become a bit of a celebrity, sort of like Jesse James, the Dalton Gang, or Doc Holliday. Why don’t you follow me into my office and we’ll have a chat. We can have a cup of coffee and some cinnamon rolls, and get to know each other.

He turned toward his wife. Cora, would you please sweep up that mess of clay and grass that I scattered all over the back steps when I tore out that robin’s nest for the fourth time?

She put on a half-serious face and said, I’ll go take care of it right now. You and Cole enjoy your conversation.

Senator Russell turned and motioned to Cole. Follow me, he said. The office was large, around sixteen by twenty feet, and was painted light blue from the ceiling to the shiny oak chair rail that set off beaded oak wainscot. A chandelier with five amber-colored glass shades hung from the center of the soft white ceiling. A large oak Arts and Crafts desk with a matching chair sat out from the wall on the right side of the door they had entered. Another Arts and Crafts chair was located a few feet in front of and to the left side of the desk. On the wall behind the desk, a frame with a glass cover displayed an American flag. Oak bookcases were lined up against the other walls, except for the space taken up by a four-foot-wide floor-to-ceiling window. Leaded cut glass rectangles bordered the outside edge of the window glass.

Cole was asked to make himself comfortable. Could I pour you a cup of fresh coffee? the Senator asked. And please help yourself to a cinnamon roll. I’m a lucky man…not only did I marry a woman with lots of education, she’s also smart, has a remarkable amount of common sense, and is even a very good cook. Many a time she’s rescued me from a mess that was just about to do me in. It’s simply amazing how women can point out a strategy that will save your neck, given the chance.

Without even being aware of shifting gears, the Senator asked, Did you listen to the Cardinals last night?

Cole replied, I almost always listen to them, but last night I went for a ride with the game warden to watch for people illegally spotlighting for deer.

"Well, let me tell you, that was a great game. The Dodgers were leading by four runs in the top of the eighth inning and Ken Bowyer hit a three-run triple in the Cardinals’ bottom of the eighth to make it six to five. It looked like a goner going into the ninth. There were two outs and that Dodger relief pitcher was throwing bullets and then up steps Stan Musial and hits one a mile, right out onto Grand Avenue. Red Schoendienst was on base and the Redbirds pulled it out, seven to six. I thought ol’ Harry Carey was going to go berserk.

Since I’m a bit of a big wheel in Missouri I get complimentary tickets to a fair number of the Cardinals games. The Senator chuckled. You’d be surprised at how often a baseball team needs a little help with a non-baseball issue. I haven’t told the ownership, but nine times out of ten, I would help them without the tickets. His sky blue eyes twinkled behind the quarter-inch thick lenses of his glasses. Heavy silver-grey brows reached clear across the bridge of his nose, and thick, nearly white hair gave him the persona of an Old Testament Elijah wearing dark blue trousers and a white shirt starched to perfection, set off with a dark blue tie held to his shirt by a silver tie clip bearing the initials CJR. Cole could tell when they walked into the office that the Senator was perhaps three inches shorter than his own six-foot-one. Russell had a heavy pair of shoulders, and was thick through his chest. He was the picture of good health and exuded confidence without a trace of arrogance.

Senator Russell’s small talk had helped Cole to relax and he was able to bring his coffee cup to his mouth without shaking. After taking a sip he set the cup back in the saucer with only a slight noise.

The Senator’s blue eyes became very focused, and Cole knew that a serious discussion was about to commence.

Tell me, Cole, the Senator said, just exactly why have you come to visit me, and when our visit is finished, what do you want to leave with?

Cole leaned a bit forward in the large chair. "Senator, I’m not an authority on your personal or political career but I’ve heard your name mentioned since I was in about the sixth grade and my teachers first started giving attention to Missouri history. My eighth grade teacher, Byron Brooks, was very knowledgible about local and state government, and I remember a test he gave in which he asked for the names of all county elected officials. In that test there were also questions about State Representatives, and Senators, the Attorney General, and the governor and leutenant governor. The class was also expected to know who our U.S. Representatives and Senators were, where they lived, and how long they had held office.

I’m not going to sit here and say that I found the study of state government as exciting as the opening day of deer season, but I’m proud to say I did find it exciting enough to study until I was able to get 95 out of 100 on Mr. Brooks’ test. Cole found himself wanting to tell the Senator more about himself and what he wanted to do. He stopped worrying that he might say something inappropriate. He was being listened to by a legend; it was not as if he was being judged or that a score was being kept for purposes of a favorable or unfavorable outcome.

I have always read the St. Louis newspapers and the local Ozark Mountain Press, he continued. After I graduated from high school I decided to enlist in the Army. It wasn’t that I felt any compelling patriotic forces pushing me, the truth of the matter was that I saw four years of military service as a first-class opportunity to get a college education. Cole paused and held up a hand for emphasis. "I hope you won’t misunderstand my motive, but to be downright honest I wanted the G.I. Bill that was offered to the servicemen who served for four years. I could have eventually earned a Bachelor of Science degree by going other routes, but the G.I. Bill made it a lot quicker with a lot less worry about how to pay the bills while at Missouri University in Columbia.

After basic training at Fort Leonard Wood I was selected for training to become an M.P. I served eight months in Korea and was assigned as part of the M.P. contingent. The next assignment was one I will never forget, and hope to never repeat. I was sent to the Aleutian Islands to serve as a member of the military and intelligence forces that are on round-the-clock duty to apprehend any effort at all regarding a possible hostile strike from Russia across the northern corridor. I never before realized that atmospheric, geological, and conditions of isolation can wear down a human being more than pain, hunger, disease or heartbreak. I wasn’t there three months before I started understanding what I personally came to think of as the Rule of Forty. If the temperature ever got to forty, it was a heat wave. If the wind dropped below forty knots it was a dead calm. If the waves were under forty feet the ocean was still. If you could see more than forty feet through the fog it was a clear day. And most importantly, if you were exposed to the stresses of that military assignment for more than forty months, you were likely to go insane and not even know it. I am absolutely certain that the sixteen months I spent there prepared me to be able to face any condition I meet with for the rest of my life.

Senator Russell seemed genuinely moved by what Cole had said. With emotion in his voice he pointed a shaking finger and said, Cole, I served only fourteen months in WWI. I never left the States and never once felt that my life was in danger. It wasn’t my choice but I served in comfortable surroundings, with congenial people who performed essential but rather uninteresting services. I can’t possibly express to you the admiration I have for people like you, and the service you performed in one of the most inhospitable locations on this planet. Cole sensed that an old pro, hardened by many a battle, and bolstered by many a victory, was expressing a tender side that few people ever knew existed and even fewer had seen.

After a few very quiet moments, Cole continued. "I was honorably discharged, came back to Red Oak for only two months, and then enrolled at M.U. I majored in political science and went for a double minor in accounting and botany. The double minor wasn’t necessary, and a minor in botany would make sense only to a person who grew up in rural Missouri and liked nothing better than camping in deep woods with ferns, mosses and liverworts growing in and around that cold spring water that’s so common in the Ozarks.

At Mizzou I took extra classes each semester and was able to finish my B.S. degree in seven semesters. I came back home to Red Oak this past January, and I’ve spent the past five months hauling lumber for my dad and uncle. I work two days a week as a dispatcher at the conservation office, and the county librarian has asked me to come in and work as many hours as I can. None of those jobs is exactly putting me on a fast track to occupational or financial success.

Cole continued, "It’s sort of bothered me that unlike almost all of the students at M.U. I didn’t think about a college degree as the credential that would get you out of your hometown environment and send you hurtling up the career ladder. For awhile I felt guilty about thinking I grew up in an area that had real problems and needed people to make a long-term commitment to improve the quality of life. It was pretty rare in my circle of college friends to find someone who didn’t think that you had to go somewhere else to start a business, join a firm, or climb the ladder no matter what that ladder was. I’m not afraid to go to other places and try new things. As I have already explained, I’ve done some of that. But now I find myself liking it just fine here, in and around McClarey County. I’m not going to continue to think and act like I’m too good, too smart, too important, or too educated to be of value in an area and around people that I honestly love and respect.

"Senator Russell, I guess what I’m saying is that I see challenges all around me that are big enough to satisfy my ego. I don’t need to go looking for greener pastures. I see all the green I need to see right here under my nose.

At Mizzou I took an English Literature class, English 30, and as a result I became interested in Arthurian legend and spent some time reading about Camelot. Cole’s voice pitched a notch higher. Please understand me, I’m not being sarcastic or condescending, but McClarey County is not Camelot!

Cole paused, looking at the Senator. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t intend to come here and dump my personal life’s story on you. It must sound like I came to you in order to get approval or forgiveness for being twenty-seven years old and still not having my career path all mapped out.

The Senator smiled congenially, and a warm, refreshing aura flowed from behind the massive desk. "Cole, the things you have just related are so real. I have talked with hundreds of young men and women, but I only get to talk to a few who are truly struggling to find out who they are, where they came from or where they would like to go. Look at me, Cole! I’m not going to flatter you just because my reputation or experience would make it possible for me to do so.

We still haven’t even talked about what Cora said you wanted to talk about, but before another thing is said I want you to know that I want you to be totally transparent with your feelings. If I thought for so much as a second that you were here to feed me a line of phony baloney you would have been walking across the porch, down the steps and out of my presence, and I’d be right back to dealing with that Robin Problem.

The Senator leaned back in his chair, and with only the slightest nod he let the young man understand that it was Cole’s at-bat, the game wasn’t over, and there were still innings to be played.

Cole crossed his arms across his chest and tightened his muscles. He bit his lower lip, and looked momentarily up at the flag on the wall. The memory of a statement by Dr. James Bug in his History of the Constitution class flashed through his mind. Dr. Bug had stated, There are three essentials in politics: getting power, using power, and keeping power.

Cole made eye contact with the man in front of him, who still retained those three essentials. He wanted to continue talking. "Senator, thank you for letting me have some more of your time. I’ll admit my sitting here is a little bit like the appearance of an unidentified comet. I’m not pretending to be a cosmic event, but I have decided to launch myself on a course that might lead me into a comfortable, stable, well-defined orbit that allows me to use my energy, cause some reactions, and be a part of what takes place around me.

"I don’t really want to hold one of the county offices. They are, for the most part, presided over by some pretty competent people.