No Poems for Giants

By Zeddie Slater

Ryan Frankovic and his best friend, eight-foot-nine giant Luther Brightwell, live in a small midwestern town in the late fifties, surrounded by basketball enthusiasts. In the otherwise ordinary summer of 1956, Ryan and Luther witness the discordant relationship of Ryans neighbors, Sidney and Claire McMillan, but think nothing of it.

But several weeks later, Mrs. McMillan goes missing, and her disappearance leads to months of speculation and even suspicion of murder. About to begin their senior year, the boys soon forget about her in order to prepare for the upcoming sports seasonwhile, Luther struggles with his gargantuan height and strength.

As the sports season commences, however, the boys start to realize women in other nearby cities have gone missing as well. Despite the distractions of school and college prep, they put together the pieces that soon point to murderand possibly to the killer. Whats more, they are shocked to realize that these missing women have something to do with their basketball team.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Mar 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781458214386

Zeddie Slater

Zeddie Slater is a retired university professor. His teaching experience included courses about serial murder, criminal profiling, famous crimes and trials, and American social history and culture. In addition to University of Fatal Torment, he is the author of No Poems for Giants and currently lives in the American South.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

April 1948

Blood splattered in several directions as the sound of the club hitting her head made a dull cracking noise. He swung a second time, although he knew he didn’t need to, this time catching the back of her head. She moaned and pitched forward on her face, and then was still.

The only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the traffic several blocks away. He had done it. He had finally started. He wasn’t finished by a long shot, but he had finally acted on his urge, one he had secretly borne for several years.

He felt no regret or sympathy for the sack of inert flesh before him. She was just an instrument, a device used for his purpose. It felt satisfying to kill her. It was easier than he had anticipated. It would be easy to do again.

He drew back and looked at her sprawled awkwardly on the pavement behind some abandoned stores on the edge of town. She was a heavyset woman in her thirties who had slightly protruding teeth and a turned-down mouth—sort of sad, actually. She had been easy to lull into his trap, and she never knew what happened to her or why. It wasn’t necessary that she know. Perhaps in the future, he would tell others exactly why they had to die. He’d have to think about that. At the moment, he couldn’t see any point in telling them anything.

No longer living, she didn’t look like anything to him, just a lump of garbage he needed to dispose of. He had nothing personal against her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t despise her for reasons all too clear to him. She was a single installment on a mission he knew would take a long time to complete. And he had to be careful.

He studied her for a while longer and then proceeded to complete his plan. He slipped a twist of rope around her neck and pulled hard against her weight until he was certain there was no more life left in her. He thought that perhaps a wire would be a better tool next time. He was learning, and that was good.

He noticed a thin, silver bracelet on her right wrist and examined it. It was something he decided he wanted, so he snapped if off her wrist and placed it in his pocket. He did the same for a cheap necklace around her neck. He also gathered her wallet and stuck it in his pocket because he needed some of what was inside to complete his plan.

He dragged her by her feet to where he was parked and loaded her, covering her with a blanket. She was heavy and awkward to move. He’d have to think more about that in the future. He couldn’t do much about the weight of his victims, but he could probably figure out a better way to handle the burden—maybe cut them in half.

He went back to get his club, and that was when he noticed the blood trail and drag marks. Lucky for him, rain was already beginning to fall. It would wash away the evidence—not that anyone would be likely to come to this place anytime soon. He made a mental note to take better precaution to leave no clues in the future. A final act was to dispose of her body where it would never be found, and he would be finished. This time.

He was already anticipating his second victim, and he felt very confident that he would enjoy the results of the rest of his plan.

CHAPTER 2

June 1956

Ryan Frankovic’s best friend was Luther Brightwell, the second-tallest human in medical history. Luther’s courageous determination to be as normal as possible in spite of his prodigious size reflected his strength of character and resolve, which were clearly manifested during his senior year in high school. Sometimes, Ryan thought about the extraordinary experiences they had that final year and wondered if it was something special about them or just plain luck that guided them through so many remarkable events. Whatever it was, Ryan was certain that Luther’s presence was essential to the outcome.

Ryan couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know Luther Brightwell. All of Ryan’s earliest childhood memories seemed to include him in one way or another. They were born in the quiet city of Frazer, Illinois, and had lived all of their lives four blocks from each other. Their fathers worked for Simmons Glass Company in town and had known each other before Ryan and Luther were born. Their mothers belonged to some of the same social and service groups and were close friends. Luther was an only child, but Ryan had one older brother, Edgar, who had just started his first job in St. Louis after graduating from MIT.

Ryan’s first memory of Luther was one summer day when they were kids playing at a birthday party being held for someone in the neighborhood. Ryan thought Luther was one of the parents until he got up close to him. They threw a ball around together and later chased one another playing tag. Their friendship grew quickly after that initial meeting. Soon, Ryan was visiting at Luther’s house or Luther was at Ryan’s. Getting to know Luther was one of the most natural things Ryan had ever done.

Their friendship grew as they passed through childhood into adolescence, and entering their last year of high school in 1956, they were almost family. In the early years, they shared many hours playing basketball, softball, and corkball, as well as cards, checkers, and chess. In addition, they played baseball when they could. They were avid, faithful St. Louis Cardinals fans and listened to as many games as possible, thrilling to the exploits of their heroes, like Stan Musial, whom they considered the greatest baseball player ever to play the game; Red Schoendienst; and Enos Slaughter, even after old Enos was traded to the Yankees in 1954. The brilliance and daring of their favorite players, as well as the rest of the Cardinal teams in the 1950s, were described by the eminent, meat-faced broadcaster Harry Caray, the radio voice of the Cardinals.

They hiked the country back roads and wooded areas in the Frazer area, and as kids, they fought endless battles with a never-ending stream of national enemies that threatened America and the security of Frazer itself, beginning with German and Japanese troops in World War II and later the North Koreans, Chinese, and Russians during the Korean War and Cold War. Ryan would sometimes boast with smug confidence that the backyard of his home was the final resting place for at least one thousand vicious enemies of the republic that had met their fate fighting the brave forces of Frazer led by him and Luther.

One of their favorite pastimes in their early years was whiling away countless hours at their favorite movie theater, The Palace, sometimes in the summer going to the movies four times a week to see double features of some dreadful films. In their youth, no one could get more pleasure from a quarter than they could by going to the show for a dime and getting a box of oversalted popcorn for another and an ice cream bar or a Coke for a nickel. Nothing was beneath their viewing taste. They watched A and B Westerns, war films, comedies, musicals, mysteries, and romantic shows, but without a doubt, their favorites were the horror films. More than once, they had had the absolute hell scared out of them by watching The Mummy’s Tomb and The Mummy’s Ghost with Lon Chaney Jr.

Growing up for them in Frazer in the forties and fifties was generally easy, fun, and uncomplicated. The extraordinary thing was Luther’s enormous size and constant growth. Luther began to grow abnormally immediately after he was born, and his phenomenal growth showed little sign of abating in 1956. In the beginning, everyone assumed that Luther’s growth would slow down and become normal before he got too tall. He was almost nine pounds when he was born, and by the time he was a year old, he weighed close to fifty pounds. It was difficult for Marcia and Clyde Brightwell, his parents, to know how to raise him as a youngster because he was so big. His parents were compelled to quickly adapt and were determined that Luther would lead as normal a life as possible for a boy his age, his size notwithstanding. They struggled to give Luther what he later sought for himself: a respectable normalcy. They taught him to be proud of his height and of who he was.

Luther delayed starting school one year because of an illness when he was five years old, and as a consequence, he started the same year Ryan did. When Luther showed up for the first grade, he was six feet two and weighed 185 pounds. Doctors in Frazer continued to believe he would stop growing any day, but he didn’t. He was subject to the obvious advantages and disadvantages of being the biggest kid in school. He excelled at most playground games because of his size, and he drew the attention of other students and teachers. It was like playing with an adult, only Luther was a child like the rest of his classmates. It was confusing at first because big people were adults, and adults were supposed to act in certain ways. Luther was big, and at first, other kids expected him to act like an adult. When he didn’t, because he wasn’t grown-up mentally or emotionally, they gradually learned to separate him from the rest of the adult world in their thinking. He became one of them.

On the first day when Ryan and Luther started school, Luther appeared in clothes that would have fit a large teenage boy. His problems with fit became immediate and continued in subsequent years. Grade schools had been built for much smaller people, and Luther didn’t fit very well anywhere. In school, the seats were too small for him, requiring him to hunch over his desktop much of the time, something that after a short period was uncomfortable if not painful for him. The pencils, desks, chalk, and playground equipment were too small, and often his clothes were too.

He loved to play with kids his own age, and his classmates liked him, but he had to be careful because he was so big. In grade school, in simple games of competition where strength was required, he excelled. Sometimes, when kids were just playing around, they would jump on him to see how many of them could hang on him at one time. The count would get to nine or ten occasionally before Luther would teeter and collapse, laughing, into a heap with them, being careful not to fall on them and crush them. At other times, he would delight his playmates by picking up the jungle bars on the playground and lifting them over his head before tossing them as far as he could. These exercises would be followed by a scolding from the teachers who were actually astonished and impressed by the show of strength.

Luther had outgrown the clothing that was available to him in stores by the time he entered the third grade when he was six feet eight inches tall and weighed 210 pounds. Most stores did not carry much clothing for men over six feet two or four, and of course, they carried no clothing for a boy of Luther’s size. Marcia Brightwell began making clothes for Luther, and while they were fine clothes, they served to set him apart even more from the rest of the kids his age who had store-bought clothes. Later, some of the church groups in town took on knitting projects and produced winter sweaters and scarves for him. By the time Luther’s height passed seven feet, most of his clothes were made to order by a clothing company in St. Louis that did the job in exchange for being able to use Luther’s photo to promote their line of clothing.

It was about the time of the third grade that a newspaperman from St. Louis heard about Luther, tracked down the Brightwell family, and persuaded them to pose for some pictures with Luther. A story was written in a St. Louis newspaper about the giant boy in Frazer, and the picture appeared in local and regional newspapers. It was the beginning of Luther’s public life, one that he was never wildly happy about but soon accepted as inevitable. The Brightwells would never give up their efforts to provide a normal life for Luther, but this early experience showed them just how difficult that task was going to be. Following the initial story and photograph, journalists, reporters, and doctors began to prevail relentlessly upon Luther and his parents for pictures and interviews. Marcia and Clyde surrendered some of their privacy, which proved too much of a sacrifice finally, and with the frequent appearance of curious onlookers at their house, the Brightwells established some rules for themselves about how to handle the problem. No formal interviews or posed pictures could be taken without the permission of Clyde and Marcia Brightwell, and they made it known that they would decide when and where any would take place and by whom they would be taken. All others were off-limits. To assist their desire for privacy, they planted a thick hedge around their property, one that only Luther could see over, and they bought a dog, a mix of yellow Lab and sheltie, and named him Flag. Flag roamed in the yard and was supposed to be a watchdog and chase strangers who might attempt to come to the door uninvited, but he became as friendly and shy as Luther. He was a beautiful dog, and he looked and sounded dreadfully imposing when he barked. However, unless someone made a threatening move toward someone in the family, Flag was just a big, loveable puppy.

As Luther grew older and larger, he became less capable of doing some of the things his friends and acquaintances were able to do. When he entered junior high school, he was thirteen years old, seven feet five inches tall, and weighed three hundred pounds. His rapid growth, extreme height, and accompanying weight placed stress on his bones, endurance, and respiratory system. Never a very good runner, he became unable to run very well at all and certainly not for a long distance. He never complained much about his aches and pains except to say occasionally that he was tired or that his legs were bothering him. His walk became a kind of a shuffle as he threw each of his huge feet forward, and his balance was sometimes a problem. For that reason, he would from time to time put his hand on the shoulder of his father or Ryan walking beside him to steady himself and help keep his balance. Later, he started using a cane as well to assist him. In his last years of high school, when the use of his cane had become common, he also wore braces on his ankles and feet to help support his weight, usually when he anticipated standing or walking for any extended length of time.

He also grew to experience shortness of breath after mildly exerting himself, and he suffered some pain in his knees, legs, and ankles on a regular basis. In spite of these things, he was as active as he could be when he was in grade school and throughout most of junior high school. He gradually grew too large and uncoordinated to participate much in organized or neighborhood sports. Concern for Luther’s safety increased as his vulnerability to injury grew, and when Luther reached age fifteen or so, he was prohibited by his parents from participating in high-risk activities. His folks were constantly in fear of Luther breaking some bones or otherwise doing damage to himself physically.

Although widely accepted by the people of Frazer, there were some who felt that because Luther was the tallest person in town, he should also be the most formidable to fight. More than once in his life, he had been challenged to fight or pushed and hit by others in an effort to make him fight. He had also been kicked in the legs by people who wanted to see if he was on stilts. He never engaged any of these people physically and either walked away from the situations or covered up to defend himself until someone broke it up. In all the years Ryan had known him, Luther had never started a fight or seriously fought physically with anyone. In Ryan’s eyes, Luther Brightwell was the most peaceful person he had ever known or would ever know. This was how it should have been, for Luther himself once told Ryan, "If I ever hit anyone, I might seriously hurt them. I mean really hurt them. When Luther reached age fifteen, that age when fighting was a primary part of establishing your manhood" in school, he was seven feet eight inches tall and weighed 340 pounds. He was terribly uncoordinated by this time, but Ryan knew Luther’s strength if he got hold of something because Ryan had seen demonstrations of it. There was no question of the legitimacy of his concern for hurting someone if he should hit him.

Early intelligence testing of Luther indicated he was above average. These tests were administered in the school, and Luther was required to sit uncomfortably in an undersized chair, bent over his exam papers, and use a pencil that he could hardly hold in his hand because it was so small. No one knew for sure how he might have scored on the tests had he been more physically comfortable in the classroom.

As Luther progressed through school, he became a voracious reader, reading everything from science books and magazines to psychology, biographies, and history. His summer job at the city library provided him with an ideal situation, because there, he could spend idle time engrossed in his books. Luther’s academic record began a rapid improvement the term after his first summer stint at the library.

Ryan always found Luther easy to get along with and to know. For some reason, he wanted to be Ryan’s friend. Ryan never knew exactly why. Luther liked Ryan’s family, and they liked him. He was affable but somewhat reticent around strangers. He was apprehensive about how people might mishandle his friendship. He didn’t want to invest anything to become friends with someone who might try later to exploit his size. It was always a struggle for Luther to balance all of these things when he met people or just moved about in his circle of acquaintances, but the longer he knew someone, the more likely he was to trust that person unless he or she gave him a reason not to.

Sometime just prior to junior high, Marcia and Clyde took Luther to St. Louis to a famous hospital where he underwent a series of tests to determine the cause of his growth. The diagnosis was a unique form of gigantism due to an excessive secretion of the pituitary gland, which resulted in abnormal body growth. At the time, there wasn’t much research on this problem, but the doctors were fairly certain he did not have the form of glandular dysfunction that would likely result in acromegaly. The doctors pointed out that a surgical correction to stop his growth was possible, but it came with risks. Marcia, Clyde, and Luther rejected that option, and it was decided that Luther would be allowed to grow and that consequences would be dealt with as they arose.

In spite of his diminishing ability to play any organized sports competitively, he was always included in invitations to join the neighborhood pickup games, occasionally participating on a limited basis. He was especially fond of basketball where he was expected to stand under the basket and push the ball in. This he did with great glee, smiling broadly as others leaped around him trying to get the ball. Of course, he was not required to run in these games or do much of anything else, although from time to time, he would play defense by throwing his hands up to block everyone’s view of the basket. Most of all, he just wanted to be there with his friends. As he grew older, he was a sideline observer more and more frequently, moving from one end of the field or court to the other at his own pace. Luther’s parents saw what was happening, as did Ryan’s. They probably got together to discuss it, because one day, Ryan’s father asked, Since Luther isn’t really playing in the games you boys play, why doesn’t he be an umpire or coach or something?

At first, Ryan was skeptical, partly because this idea had come from his father to whom at the time Ryan was not giving credit for any good ideas. However, the more Ryan thought about it, the better it sounded, so one day, he suggested it before they began a game of touch football. Everyone, including Luther, thought it was a good idea, and from that time on, they were able to include him by making him a referee, umpire, or coach. This auxiliary role was one he had also filled with the high school basketball team in the position of student manager, an assignment he was to continue during his senior year.

As Luther grew, he became a phenomenon to others, and there was a natural curiosity about him. People wanted to see this giant boy of Frazer for themselves. When he was younger, he made appearances at commercial exhibitions, parades, business openings, and other celebrations, traveling across the country and meeting famous movie personalities, politicians, athletes, and celebrities, including the great Stan Musial himself. Clyde and Marcia were very careful about deciding the events in which Luther would participate, guarding him against the circus atmosphere and poke-and-look affairs that often featured unusual people. Neither they nor Luther wished him to become the star of a freak show or carnival. Most of his appearances were regional, with travel accomplished by train. However, he did make several trips by plane to New York and to California when he was in junior high school. By the time Luther started high school, he was a very well-traveled person who had seen more of the country than Ryan thought he ever would. Luther also had grown tired of the special trips by then, and his parents and he quietly decided that his travels should be drastically reduced while he was in high school in spite of the modest monetary return that accrued from the trips. The decision was facilitated by the fact that Luther had grown to such an enormous size that he no longer traveled long distances very well. Another factor was that the trips interrupted any semblance he had of a normal life. And finally, Luther wanted a chance to stay in Frazer while in high school and enjoy a regular life at Frazer High. The consequence of all this was that he made very few special trips while in high school. He knew that he could always make himself available for appearances at places if he chose to, but he eschewed the opportunities, opting instead for a routine home life.

The larger he grew, the poorer the fit for Luther with most things. He learned to duck somewhat gracefully into rooms as he passed through doorways, and he learned to beware of chandeliers and lighting fixtures hanging from ceilings. Ceiling fans were a natural enemy; fortunately, there weren’t an abundance of those around. He was likely to be tangled in cobwebs in any room he walked into for the first time. He disliked rooms with low ceilings; anything less than eight feet, and later nine feet, made him uncomfortable. The school room ceilings were high enough to avoid the problem; however, seating for Luther was another matter. The high school officials had built several special chairs for him, strategically placing them at the back of the classrooms in which he would spend time during the school term. Another strategy was to boost a sturdy chair to a reasonable height by placing large, wooden blocks under it.

A special concern for his family and for Ryan was how to transport him. This was eventually resolved by modifying the front seat in Ryan’s car, an innovation designed by Ryan’s engineer brother. The design was so successful that Clyde Brightwell reconstructed the interior of his car in the same manner, thus allowing Luther some modicum of comfort while being driven. A similar accommodation for seating was made at The Palace theater by the owner, Abe Greenberg.

When he began his sophomore year in high school, Luther, whose growth was now being carefully tracked by doctors in Frazer and in St. Louis, measured seven feet eleven inches tall and weighed 350 pounds. Everyone in the school knew him, and he was becoming well-known throughout the state. All the teachers and staff at the school treated him with unique caution and care, trying to help him fit into a world he had outgrown years before. He had enormous feet that were encased in shoes that looked like leather baskets with seams on top. He had to go up and down stairs by fitting his feet sideways on the stair treads. His legs were long and heavy looking and slightly bowed in several places. His torso was short for his height, giving him a short-waisted appearance. His hands were straight and looked stiff, and his arms were slightly angled from his body, giving an overall impression of awkwardness. He was normally proportioned, but that didn’t mean perfectly proportioned, and his size exaggerated the irregularities. He was usually dressed in a pair of cotton or wool trousers, often dark in color, and his shirt was always a long-sleeve one. Because all of his clothes by this time were specially made for him, they looked not only large but different. He had dark-brown hair, and his face looked innocent, with dark-brown eyes that were lively and friendly. Heavy-rimmed glasses rested on his face, and it was clear from the thickness of the lenses that he had an eyesight problem. As he prepared for his senior year, Luther stood eight feet five inches tall and weighed 385 pounds.

CHAPTER 3

Ryan and Luther probably began to think seriously about what they were going to do with the rest of their lives on a June night at the conclusion of their junior year of high school. That night, they sat with their long legs—Luther with size 31 shoes on his huge feet—hanging down over a stone wall that rested on a hilltop surrounding the high school football field below. The playing field was about fifty yards away, and they gazed down at the nervous sea of graduating seniors, prideful parents, congratulatory friends, obligated band members, and celebratory school officials gathered below to take part in the high school graduation ceremony of Frazer Senior High School, class of 1956. Ryan and Luther were among other curious spectators who had dropped by to peer down at the annual ceremony below. Someone had parked a car on the street nearby and the sound of Dean Martin singing appropriately Memories Are Made of This came drifting from its radio.

The stadium was a bowl-shaped structure that had been carved into the ground, bounded on one side by a steep hill upon which rested one of three buildings of the high school complex. In addition to football games and track meets, the Bowl also hosted graduation ceremonies, such as the one they were witnessing. The five-foot wall upon which they sat ran across the front half of the stadium at street level and was made of limestone, a common building material in the little town of Frazer, a river community with a population of thirty-two thousand on the Illinois side of the Mississippi River not far from St. Louis.

It was the first week of June, and the new summer air was lightly touched with dampness, a promise of hotter temperatures and heavier, more oppressive Midwestern humidity to come in the weeks ahead. A gentle breeze blew from the west, providing random moments of relief to those wrapped in stifling graduation gowns. It was early in the evening, and the preliminaries of the impending ceremony boomed from below where Ryan and Luther languidly sprawled. Mixed feelings and anxious thoughts filled those in attendance, which included not only the self-conscious graduates-to-be and their parents and relatives, but also old family friends, a distant cousin or two perhaps, a normally closeted strange uncle or other family member, and a collection of faces from around the town of Frazer together with those people who always seemed to be involved with public ceremonies. Even though Ryan and Luther were not to graduate until the following year, they had many friends who were part of the evening’s exercise, and the two seniors-to-be were there to watch them officially sever ties with their high school lives. After the ceremony, there would be an all-night dance and party at the City Country Club sponsored by the high school and more than a few worried parents. It would be the last time many of the graduates would see one another.

The school band began the endless drone of Pomp and Circumstance, and the line of seniors began to march stiffly to their seats in folding chairs on the football field. Ryan and Luther watched as dozens of folks they knew passed by down below, many of them wrestling awkwardly with their caps and gowns. Among the parade of costumed characters were a few good friends of Ryan, teammates on the Frazer High School basketball team the past couple of years. They were facing one of the three usual choices for young males in Frazer—the military, college, or work in the factories in town.

The procession of some 350 or so continued, and the pair watched the graduates-to-be march to their seats on the field to begin the evening of traditional speeches and last-minute advice from teachers and community figures. The evening for the new graduates would be a night of celebration with countless photos taken of the draped, capped, and slightly bewildered innocents snapped with old family cameras by excited and proud mothers, fathers, and other family members. The graduating seniors were finally seated as the sun began to set, and the ceremony officially began with the Star-Spangled Banner, convocation, and other trappings of the graduation ritual being played out in dozens of small towns like Frazer.

The keynote speaker of the evening was no stranger to anyone in Frazer. He was a retired army colonel and lifelong resident of the town. The colonel was a fixture at public ceremonies in Frazer. He always seemed to appear at important functions even though he did not hold any formal office in community government or any official position in town. He was dressed in his well-worn army uniform, which must have been unbearably hot, and he showed its effects by constantly mopping his brow with a large handkerchief. He was of medium height, his hair was gray, and his face was always beet red, as though he were about to explode. In recent years, he had acquired a modest belly that had no doubt required the alteration of his uniform to accommodate his increasing girth, an expansion that was facilitated by a very generous consumption of beer, according to informed rumor. His speech for the evening was enthusiastic and predictable, warning the less than spellbound audience of the dangers of Godless Communism, exhorting the field of graduates to endlessly seek their dreams, work hard, and never forget where they came from. His speech was peppered with war stories featuring Generals Eisenhower, Bradley, and Patton; Admiral Halsey; and his own battlefield experiences in Europe in World War II. Ryan and Luther had heard these stories before because the colonel often spoke at community ceremonies, and they guessed there weren’t enough war stories to go around so he had to repeat them. After he finished his remarks, a couple of school officials and a few community dignitaries made brief, benign comments. Finally, the names of the graduates were read, and each one passed over the makeshift stage to receive a diploma and a round of handshakes from school officials. Then it was over, and wearing lopsided grins, the class of 1956 began the long march off the field and into the wall of lightning flashes generated by exploding flashbulbs.

Luther lifted his lengthy legs over to the street side of the wall, squarely planted his massive feet on the ground, and gently pushed himself up to this full height using the wall for support. Looking at the initial stirring of the crowd below heading toward the exits, he said, I think we better go if we want to beat these people trying to drive out of here.

I think you’re right. Might as well ride around town for a while and see what’s going on, Ryan replied.

With that, they began to saunter down the sidewalk to a side street where Ryan had parked his blue ’48 Plymouth sedan. The traffic had already begun to pick up by the time they had folded themselves into the car, pulled out onto the street, and began the big circle around Frazer. Driving around Frazer was certainly not difficult, and it was usually a fun and favorite pastime of young people in town, although occasionally it became boring. Frazer was an old, hilly town, and many of its red-brick streets were lined with oak, elm, maple, and sycamore trees, which also populated many of its yards. Most of the houses had been built of wood frame construction before 1930, although there were plenty of homes built of brick or stone.

Cruising the town was a teenage ritual, which had absolutely no righteous or noble purpose. The real reason to cruise around town was to be seen, to see others, and to go from one place to another seeking something elusive that the cruisers couldn’t clearly identify, but if they ever found it, they would, "by God," know it. There were several places for them to explore on their aimless patrol, including a couple of favorite hangouts where high school students gathered and a stretch of road along the Mississippi River where some couples parked for amorous adventures. A different stretch of the River Road served as a speedway for drag races for those so disposed. The primary location for conviviality was a spot called Elmer’s Place, a drive-in eatery that had both carhops and an inside café for customers. Inside was perhaps the best jukebox in town, loaded with the current tunes as well as the favorites from previous years.

Although it was a little early, they decided to head for Elmer’s anyway. Ryan guided his car to State Street and down one of Frazer’s steep hills at the bottom of which was a sharp curve and a heavy limestone and concrete bridge. The bridge curved across an area of rough terrain known as Rocky Ravine, and Ryan accelerated up the other side after carefully easing his car across it. On the right side at the top of the hill was a line of old oak trees. Elmer’s rested under them. It was a one-story frame and brick structure, nestled in the middle of the trees with a single neon sign above the door. Ryan pulled into the parking lot and waved the carhop away while Luther surveyed the other cars to see if he recognized any.

Hey, isn’t that Jake’s junk-wagon over there? Luther asked, looking toward a ’48 green Chevy coupe.

Yep, sure is, Ryan replied. He and Rachel are probably inside. Let’s go see what’s up.

They got out of the car and walked toward the front door of Elmer’s. Ryan arrived at the door first and held it open so Luther could pass through it. When he did, Ryan heard someone gasp on the other side, Oh my God. He knew exactly what this exclamation meant because he had heard it many times before when he was with Luther, and Ryan proceeded through the door after him. An elderly couple, probably from out of town, was standing at the counter paying their food ticket, and they were frozen at the sight of Luther Brightwell, an imposing sight to be sure, who had just passed through the door and now was politely ignoring their amazement. Ryan and Luther moved quickly past the dumbfounded couple. Spotting Jake Forrester and his steady girlfriend, Rachel Majeski, sitting at a booth in the rear, they walked toward them.

Hey, what’s going on? asked Luther as he lumbered up to their table and gently folded himself into the booth bench across from Jake, stretching his long legs out toward the center of the room. Ryan pulled a chair up from a nearby table and joined them.

Not much. What are you guys up to? answered Rachel with a smile.

Ryan and Luther had known Jake Forrester and Rachel Majeski for years; they had gone through grade school and junior high school together, sharing the innocent pleasures and painful discoveries of both. Jake was five feet nine inches tall, thin, wiry, and had dark hair that was in a flattop with the sides combed back into a ducktail. Although he had been a bench player on the basketball team last year, he had seen some playing time and was almost certain to be a starter at one of the guard positions on the team the coming year. His mother was a small woman with an infectious grin; she was always reminding Jake to be good. He would tease her constantly about the things he might be doing when he was out on the town, and she would nervously react. Jake’s father was harder to figure. He had always been coolly polite to Ryan but at times it seemed there was an air of menace around him, as though what Ryan saw of him was masking something darker he wanted to conceal.

Rachel was barely over five feet tall and had sandy hair and an attractive, understated figure. Her light-blue eyes and genuine smile gave her the appearance of always being happy. Jake and Rachel had linked as a couple in their sophomore year and had been inseparable ever since. The foursome had watched each other stumble into adolescence and the awesome world of teenage uncertainty armed with the defense mechanisms forged in childhoods. Now they faced the test of their senior year and beyond.

We were just hanging ’round the Bowl, watching the graduation. Kinda sad to see some of them go, said Luther.

Yeah, but we all have to leave sometime, replied Jake. Can’t stay forever, as much as some guys try. Hell, it’s our turn now. Senior year and then out. Guess I really have to get serious about school this year for sure.

The determination to get serious was a familiar refrain for Jake, who was frequently talking about getting things started when it was too late.

The sound of Bill Haley and the Comets doing Rock around the Clock was coming from the jukebox, and a few people they knew began to filter into the room, most of them acknowledging the group with a hand wave or a head nod, their eyes lingering on Luther for that extra couple of seconds.

One more year and we’re out of Frazer. That seems strange somehow, said Jake. Kinda spooky thinking that next year this time we’ll all be headed to a job or college or something else. Sort of makes you think maybe we’re growing up.

That just means that the SAT is all the more important, said Luther.

The SAT was a nationally standardized test given to prospective college students. A good score on the exam was necessary in order to be eligible for admission to the best colleges, not to mention eligibility for scholarships and other forms of financial aid.

I have to do well on the SAT, said Luther. I have to get to college somehow if I’m going to have any chance of a decent future. I don’t particularly want to work in the factories in town. There’s not much I can do in places like that anyway. Even if I wind up going to Wilton, it would be okay.

Wilton College was a small, excellent, liberal arts college, located in Frazer. It would be of some advantage to Luther to go there. It would allow him to remain at home where he was most comfortable even though he wanted to leave Frazer and strike out on his own.

Mr. Castle has offered to help me get ready for the SAT, said Rachel. He says I have a real good chance of going to the University of Illinois.

Anthony Castle was one of several teachers at Frazer High School who commanded almost universal respect among students and faculty. He taught civics and psychology and was also one of two school counselors, which meant he got to know many students very well. Neither Ryan nor Luther had had any contact with him as a teacher because they had not yet had him for a class. However, among his many faculty activities was his service as the official scorekeeper at basketball games, and consequently, Ryan sometimes sat next to him on the bus traveling to play games outside of Frazer. On those occasions, they usually talked about sports or other events around the school. Anthony Castle never talked about himself, and at times, Ryan wondered about him. Ryan knew Mr. Castle was single, and there was a rumor that he