Dakota Rose: And Other Stories

By Howard Hull

The settings of these 17 stories range from the desert areas of Death Valley, California to the sea coast of the panhandle of Florida. They are about ordinary people who sometimes find themselves in extraordinary situations. From the casinos of Las Vegas, Nevada to the hills of east Tennessee and southern West Virginia, events of mystery and intrigue are common place. i.e. Who would leave a bowling ball in the middle of Death Valley, and why? Do the initials on the ball offer a clue?

Readers take a trip to St. Simons Island off the coast of Georgia where a mystery unfolds concerning a local painter.

Laugh when a citizen of a town in Tennessee sees thieves steal his neighbors lawnmower and then chases after and catches them, only to find that the mower has disappeared.

In another story the author revisits the town of Clyde, now renamed Low Ball and follows the exploits of the local high school football team, the Purple Possums.

Experiencing a colonoscopy is usually not funny - until someone you report to thinks you are someone else, and that other person is scheduled for a hysterectomy.

Ride along on a hilarious trip to deliver groceries in the mountains of southern West Virginia.

Read letters between two elderly ladies detailing everyday lives and events of people they observe or hear about, and offering homespun philosophy and opinions about those people.

Other stories are about an old dog who hates UPS trucks, shirts that you wont get rid of even though you can almost read a newspaper through them, and a surprise meeting with an old flame.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467062695

Howard Hull

Howard Hull grew up in the coal fields of McDowell County, West Virginia. After graduation from Welch High School in 1950, he enlisted in the United States Air Force. He spent eight years as a weatherman in Europe and the United States, and was honorably discharged in 1958. In 1960 and ’61 he received the B.S. and M.A. degrees in Art and Education from Middle Tennessee State University. In 1965 he received the ED.S. degree from George Peabody College in Art Education. From 1961 through 1963 he taught in the public schools of Tennessee. From 1963 through 1964 he taught at Northwestern Louisiana State University and from 1965 until his retirement in 1999 from the University of Tennessee. He is now a Professor Emeritus of Art Education at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. He is a painter, college maker, and writer of short stories, books, and articles about education in the arts.

Book preview

_____________

2002

On the morning of April, 26, the two of them had left home early. Both were employed by the park services. Steve Mason was a ranger, and his friend, Rachel Davis, worked at the welcoming center. On this Sunday in late April the Valley was already beginning to get hot, but not the scorching temperatures of mid-summer. Even so, they carried several canteens of water. They walked at a steady pace, occasionally talking, but mostly just looking at the desert landscape ahead of them. The various combinations of colors from browns to grays with intermittent small areas of blacks on the desert floor were like parts of abstract paintings they had seen in art galleries.

As the sun rose, their pace slowed and they drank from the canteens more often. When a couple of hours had elapsed, they stopped to rest beside a large rock that provided a sliver of shade. Steve scanned the space around them in all directions. It was quiet with barely a slight breeze blowing. I can almost feel the silence, he said. I guess that’s part of the reason I love the desert so much. After a moment, he spoke again. Look this way, he pointed with his right arm extended. Do you see something shiny out there?

I think so, said Rachel, but I can’t quite make it out. The sun is reflecting off the surface.

They walked toward the object. When they were about twenty feet away she said, It looks like something round, maybe some kind of ball with the bottom down in the dirt. They kept going until they were standing over the object they had seen at a distance. It is a ball, said Steve as he nudged it a little with the toe of his left boot. When it turned over he could see the thumb and finger holes. It’s a bowling ball, he said. How in the world did it get out here in the desert?"

Beats me, said Rachel. I’ve seen some crazy things tourists have left in the desert, but this is just too weird. Who would bring a bowling ball out here?

They bent down and examined the green and black ball closer. Aha, here is a clue, said Steve. Sure enough, there, set into the bottom of the bowling ball, were the letters RCC in white. Well, I guess RCC, whoever he is, is the loony who would do it. What for, I can’t even guess. Let’s look around and see if we can find any more clues.

They didn’t have far to look. A short distance away there was a skeleton partly covered with dirt. Nothing else was visible. Just a skull and some other sun-bleached bones lay before them. So, I guess that must be RCC, said Steve.

I wonder if he just died, or if somebody killed him, said Rachel.

It may not even be a he, said Steve. It could be a she, but I doubt it.

That’s right. And it may not be RCC, but I suppose it is since it is so close to the bowling ball, Rachel surmised.

Anyway, I’m not going to mess with it, said Steve. I guess I should call park headquarters and tell them what we found. They’ll probably send somebody out here tomorrow to check it out. I doubt they will worry about it today.

You’re probably right. Nobody will come out today since it is Sunday. After all, he isn’t going anywhere, Rachel said as she looked at the bones.

But she was wrong! The skeleton did go somewhere, and so did the bowling ball. That night there was a rare flash flood in Death Valley. Torrents of water rushed out of canyons and down mountainsides with a force that moved huge boulders around the flat desert floor. Roads were washed out and landscape features changed. There is no doubt that the ball and the skeleton were separated and moved a great distance from where they were. The skeleton probably broke apart, and its bones scattered. The report Steve made to park headquarters was placed in a file and left there. Eventually, someone flew low over the general area, but nothing of interest was spotted.

_____________

2004

I can’t remember exactly what day it was that Lana asked me if I wanted to go to Las Vegas. I do recall that it was during the month of October, because the leaves on the sugar maples in the front yard had turned yellow. A few of them had fallen on the Bermuda grass underneath the trees. I remember mumbling something like, yes, if we can work it out, which meant finding someone to stay at the house and look after things in general, including feeding the three cats for four or five days. Before I could catch my breath and hide my wallet, she had called her cousin Rachel in Death Valley, and arranged the entire trip. Rachel and her husband, John, would meet us at the airport in Las Vegas, and we would spend several days together. After discussing it further, it was decided that we would plan the trip for the spring of 2005. It was agreed that the latter part of May would be a suitable time for all concerned.

As the ensuing weeks passed I became a bit anxious, and tried to put it out of my mind. I was at least partially successful. The wonderful Christmas tree that Lana decorated in December with lights that blinked on and off and dozens of Hallmark ornaments that sang and played music helped. I think she wrapped presents everyday for a month and a half. Mostly, I just lent moral support. Wrapping presents is not my strong suit.

After the holidays were over, the long, cold months of January and February crawled by. Around the first of April tiny buds began forming on the shrubs in front of the house, and the lawn grass became scraggly as some areas grew faster than others. Lana and I hauled mulch and planted flowers through most of that month and on into May. The daytime temperatures began to creep up into the low eighties in most of Tennessee. I called Rachel and asked about the heat in Death Valley. Not bad, she said. Still in the nineties.

On May 29, a Sunday, Lana and I left Knoxville, Tennessee for Las Vegas via Memphis, where we would have a short wait before changing to a larger jet and continuing on. In Memphis we became part of a group of people rushing through the terminal in search of the proper departure gate for the rest of the flight. I saw young people carrying small babies, others dragging children, and older or disabled people being pushed in wheelchairs. Silently, I thanked God for my good legs.

After finding our gate and standing in line without shoes for a short while, we were allowed to pass through the security checkpoint and then enter the departure area. We would begin boarding in approximately thirty minutes. I bought a magazine to read during the three-hour flight from there to Las Vegas and then sat down to watch fellow travelers as they milled about the terminal. Occasionally, I glanced out the window at one of the sleek multicolored jets as it rolled toward the runway where it would hesitate a short time before taking off. Rolling sculpture, I thought. They were beautiful. Lana sat beside me reading a magazine someone had left in the empty seat beside her. About every five minutes somebody wearing a uniform would pick up a mike and make an announcement that sounded like wilsonetwakauhrepattogateblah. Lana would look at me and ask me what had been said. My answer was I don’t know, but people are lining up so I guess we should get in line. Everyone else in this section is getting up.

When we had moved to the front of the line, a smiling round-faced woman tore off half our boarding pass, and we walked down a narrow corridor to find our seats. I took the aisle seat; and that was a mistake since we were near the rear of the airplane. Within thirty minutes of takeoff passengers began lining up to pee. I remained stoic as they stood looking down on me for most of the flight between Memphis and Las Vegas. If that wasn’t bad enough, the woman in the seat behind me never stopped talking to the woman beside her, whom it appeared she did not know, for the entire trip. When we landed, I knew the names and occupations of all her children, when her husband had a vasectomy, which apparently was incorrectly done since it didn’t achieve the desired effect and she had two additional children, what she ate for breakfast, the name of the bald-headed football coach that her sister was sleeping with, the color of the tattoo of a dragon above her left breast, where she had attended high school, and at least fifty-nine other items which she considered necessary to share with everyone who could hear her voice above the roar of the plane’s engines. I was very glad when we finally touched down in Las Vegas.

Lana’s cousin Rachel, a tall willowy brunette, and her husband, John, standing ramrod straight reflecting many years of military service, were waiting for us when we came down the ramp into the terminal. They had driven over from Death Valley. After hugs and a brief hello, we made our way to the lower level where I squeezed between a large man wearing a blue jacket and a young woman in a jogging suit and running shoes and waited for our luggage to come around on the carousel. After a fifteen-minute wait we were on our way to the Mirage Hotel. I relaxed in the back seat as John proved to be a master of weaving in and out of the brightly lighted streets.

Before I finally had decided the trip was a good idea, I had been told by a number of people that I should visit Las Vegas at least once in my lifetime because there is no place else like it on earth. They said that it is lively, exciting, exotic, and filled with beautiful women. They were correct on all counts. Just inside the entrance to the Mirage I encountered the first of hundreds of slot machines. I soon realized that one does not reach the elevators that would carry us to our assigned rooms without navigating this maze of slot machines in front of which sat people of all descriptions. They were dressed in various manners of clothing from suits to short shorts. All knew that the next push of a button or pull of a lever would make them wealthier than they had been moments before. As I moved past them I heard clangs, whistles, music and other noises from the machines in addition to occasional screams of delight from some who had gotten momentarily lucky. As I looked around me at the intense colors and activity, I was suddenly stricken with the fever. I could not resist putting a dollar in a slot as I passed an unoccupied stool in front of a machine. Of course, I didn’t win anything, but that was okay with me. I had gotten my feet wet as the saying goes, and would try again later. It was the natural thing to do. It was not that I had dreams of becoming rich. I just wanted to experience the euphoria and the ambience of the casinos.

Lana and I arose early the next morning. John and Rachel had asked if we would like to drive to Death Valley, and we had enthusiastically answered yes. It would be only a two and a half hour drive, and since the only perception we had of it was from photographs and books, we thought it was a wonderful idea. After a large breakfast at MIMI’S, a small restaurant on the outskirts of the city, we were underway. As we drove out of town we went by miles of new houses under construction.

Too many people coming in, said John. The area is already becoming short of water. Everything is changing too fast for me.

I was thinking the same thing, I added. I’ve read about it in several newspapers. The ‘water wars’ have already started north of here.

Soon we were away from the city. I could see the Spring Mountains in the distance as we headed toward Red Rock Canyon where we would stop at an overlook for a short break. The raw desert landscape was very beautiful and exciting to me. I painted ‘mind pictures’ as Lana snapped photographs of various rock formations. Up close, Rachel and I watched a chipmunk as it busied itself looking for food.

See that canyon? said John. It looks like you could walk to it in an hour, but in reality it would take all afternoon and then some. Distances in the desert can be deceiving. The mountains are much higher than they look. Do you see the snow on that peak. It has been there a long time.

We left after about an hour and drove on toward Death Valley National Park. On the way we went through Pahrump, a town famous for its houses of prostitution. John pointed. That’s the Chicken Ranch, he said. Only, there’s no chickens over there, just a whole bunch of women. A couple of miles past, he pointed at another house. That one’s called the Cherry Patch, he said.

On the outskirts of Pahrump we stopped for gas and a few extra bottles of water before crossing into California. As I watched the subtle changes in vegetation I realized how different it was from what I was used to in Tennessee. I thought about how quickly one can be transported by airplanes and automobiles to places hundreds of miles away. I thought of the Pony Express riders, and then of the first railroads that linked the eastern United States to the West. What would the world be like in another hundred years? I didn’t dwell on that. The past and the present, which in a moment will also be the past, is all I can relate to. And maybe as I grow older, not even that so well.

After driving a couple of hours on Highway 190, we arrived at BADWATER, as denoted by a small sign by the side of the road. After we had gotten out of the car, Lana walked over and stood beside the sign. Take my picture, she said as she smiled. I want to remember when I arrived at the lowest point in the United States.

As I stood at 282 feet below sea level I looked up at a mountain peak off to my left. How high is that? I asked John.

About 11,000 feet, he answered. It doesn’t look as if it is that high, he added.

Here, the Valley was very flat and white. In my mind I hadn’t pictured it that way. Why is it so white? I asked.

It’s the salt, he answered. This area is known as the salt flats. Look at those scruffy weeds over there to the left. There’s water under there. Why don’t we go for a short walk? It isn’t very hot today. Maybe around ninety-five or six.

The four of us walked about a hundred yards across the salt flats. A strong breeze kept us dry and relatively cool. As we stood looking at the stark whiteness, John said, You wouldn’t want to do this in July. The noon temperature will be at least a hundred and twenty degrees then.

After that, he mentioned several incidents where tourists had tried to drive into the desert at night and had gotten stuck. Unable to move, they had to be rescued the next day by park rangers if they were lucky enough to be found. Sometimes they perished in the heat before they were located.

From Badwater, we drove to park headquarters where Rachel is employed. Lana asked her what her friend, Steve Mason, did as a park ranger on a typical day on the job. The immediate answer was that there is no typical day. Each one is different, she said. It usually depends upon what time of year it is, how many tourists are in the park, and how many decide to get lost or do some other crazy thing."

Then, John told us about an episode when a four hundred pound woman climbed down into a deep canyon and was unable to climb out. It took six rangers to climb down and carry her out, he said. Things like that happen frequently during the summer. There’s also a group that comes from Europe every year and likes to set up a campsite somewhere and parade around in the nude. Nobody pays much attention to them as long as they stay around the campsite."

Another thing, said Rachel, is all the weird stuff people just walk off and leave. Steve has found cars, cell phones, clothing, books, food, and radios. Tourists know they are not supposed to leave anything in the park, but they do."

What is the strangest thing you have ever found? I asked.

That’s easy, she said, a bowling ball. Steve and I were out for a walk on a Sunday and found a bowling ball just lying out in the middle of nowhere.

Is that all there was? Nothing else?

Yes, there was something nearby.

What was it?

A skeleton.

Nothing else?

Only some initials on the bowling ball.

What were they?

RCC.

And that was it? Just RCC on a bowling ball and a skeleton?

That was it. That’s all there was.

What did you do with the bowling ball?

Nothing. We just left it there. We were walking and it was too heavy to carry. Steve called in a report to park headquarters, but it came a deluge in the Valley that night. It’s still out there somewhere, but I have no idea where that might be, nor who RCC is.

After a few more questions, and some conjecture as to how the skeleton and the ball might have gotten there, we decided it was time to return to Las Vegas. Lana and I had found the Death Valley experience to be an eye-opening adventure. The landscape is very different than what I had expected to see. The road back seemed a bit longer, but it really wasn’t. I suppose it was because we were all hungry and eager to get back and eat a late lunch. By the time we got settled in at one of John’s favorite restaurants, it was four-thirty in the afternoon.

The remainder of that evening and most of the next day was spent strolling through the shopping areas of the exotic and beautiful hotels. Many of them are theme—oriented. As a young man, I was stationed at Orly Field just outside of Paris, France. A short time spent in the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas may be as close as I will ever get to returning to that city. I gorged on delicious pastries, conversed with the waiters in French, and could have had my photograph taken with some skimpily-clad mademoiselles. Respecting the differences between our ages, I declined that.

The following day, we looked at some very expensive art. We saw exciting Picassos in the Wynn and gorgeous Chihuly glass in the Bellagio, While Lana snapped pictures with a digital camera, I feasted with my eyes. When our legs began to rebel from so much walking, John and I found two large, brightly colored chairs outside Jimmy Buffett’s shop and decided to take a snooze while listening to the strains of "Wasting away in Margaritaville" as Rachel and Lana shopped for T-shirts. As I watched the constant motion of people on the street passing in front of me my eyelids began to get heavy. Thirty minutes later I awoke just as Lana arrived and pointed the camera at me. When I yelled, Don’t! she paid absolutely no attention. I’ve already gotten you three times, she said.

That night John and I decided to try our luck at the casino. As some would say, We felt the urge to throw money away. So, while Lana and Rachel looked for gifts to take back to friends, we searched for a machine that looked promising. After trying a couple and having no luck we finally decided on a Wheel of Fortune in a relatively isolated corner. As we alternated spins, we ran