Reverend Ripple$ Building Fund

By Tank Gunner

Bobby Ripples, a thief, ex-con, and pretend preacher, meets a treasured mentor who brings him to an East Texas town for a fresh beginning.

Ordained for $2, Reverend Robert Ripples skims the deposits of his Church of Heavenly Inspiration and Perpetual Spirit (CHIPS). His lust for fame and fortune parallels Miss Claudette Coleman's burning desire to work at the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas. Is Fuzzy Weaver, ex-cellmate and boastful liar, self-indulging with a dire warning? In a slight-of-hand shell game with satchels and cash, the Reverend enlists Boo Ballard and Clem Caine, on their way to see Elvis Presley perform at the Cotton Bowl, to take a bag to Dallas. Threatened by Momma Julia's church audit, will the Reverend fight or flee? Once again, Tank's characters take readers on an enjoyable, exciting journey with unforeseen twists and turns toward surprise solutions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667807270

Book preview

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Tank Gunner is the pen name of a retired combat cavalry trooper, Senior Parachutist, and Jumpmaster awarded a Combat Infantry Badge and decorated with a Silver Star, three Bronze Stars, one for Valor, and a Purple Heart. He served his nation with pride and honor for more than a quarter-century as an enlisted soldier and officer. An award-winning author and speaker, Tank wrote and published Prompts a collection of stories at age 76; Prompts Too another collection of stories at 77; Cookie Johnson, his Vietnam historical fiction novel at 78; Palomino, Tank’s immensely popular WWII historical fiction novel at 79; Porky Baycann, a coming-of-age, adolescent friendship, and WWII historical fiction novel – and companion to Palomino – at 80; and The Redeemer, his powerful drama of love, conflict, and redemption on the eve of WWII, that is a companion to Palomino and Porky Baycann, at 81. Reverend Ripple$’ Building Fund, a story of a pretend preacher with a dishonest past, is Tank’s seventh book, published at age 82. He and his wife live with Toby, 100 miles southwest of Palomino.

© Tank Gunner.  All rights reserved.

First Printing ● September 2021

ISBN: 978-1-66780-727-0

Other Works

Prompts

a collection of stories

(fiction)

Prompts Too

another collection of stories

(fiction)

Cookie Johnson

(Vietnam War Historical Fiction Novel)

Palomino

(WWII Historical Fiction Novel)

Porky Baycann

(Coming-of-Age and WWII Historical Fiction Novel)

The Redeemer

(Pre-WWII Historical Fiction Novel)

War Stories of an Armed Savage

(nonfiction)

Any Name But Smith!

(play)

Direct Hit

(satirical newspaper column)

For Sylviane, Rich, Rob,

and for

Terry, Chloe, Zak, and Toby

Acknowledgment

My special recognition and salute to Capn Lee Sneath, an award-winning writer, patient editor, word coach, college instructor, mentor, and valued friend.  He was a corporate communications executive, public affairs spokesperson, newspaper reporter and editor.  His continuous support is deeply appreciated.

A grateful nod and thanks to Marlene Renee and Randy Myers, and to my writing classmates, who gave their time to read this work and react with helpful comments and suggestions.

The Neely family invented the deliciously tasting Brown Pig sandwich in 1927.  For nine decades, it was the favorite in Marshall, Texas.

<●>  <●>  <●>

Reverend Ripple$‘ Building Fund is a work of pure fiction. While the author lived in the town, the characters, their names, and the church come from his creative imagination. Historical institutions, local colleges, and businesses are mentioned to depict the story’s setting. Other than fictional portrayals of famous individuals, any resemblance to real people living or dead is coincidental and unintended.

Players

Robert Bobby Rowland Ripples

Ex-Convict, Preacher

Kendrick Wainwright K W Perkins

Conglomerate Businessman

Julia Austin Langley Perkins

Retired Teacher

Candaleah Caine

Hairdresser

Clementine Caine

Manager Newspaper Advertising

Brianna Ballard

Hairdresser

Boudreaux Ballard

Manager Newspaper Distribution

Claudette Coleman

Household Manager

Isaiah Coleman

Household Assistant

Ferdinand Fuzzy Weaver

Ex-convict

David Pop Drummond

Cafe owner

John Elwood Houston

Oil Rig Roustabout

Players

Reba Herndon

Beauty Shop Customer

Cliff Herndon

Mayor

Gertrude Swint

Beauty Shop Customer

Pinky Gardner

Beauty Shop Customer

Cora Hartmann

Beauty Shop Customer

Murray Hartmann

Managing Editor

Jennings Sorrell

Newspaper Publisher

Janice Sloan

Executive Assistant

Jade Jordan

Office Assistant

Joe Bob MacAlister

Attorney

Shirley Foote

Pastor

Waylon Walker

Store Owner

Players

Patricia Peach Putnam

Harrison County Sheriff’s Office

Juanita Rush

Harrison County Court Clerk

Sheriff Grady Cranston

Harrison County Sheriff

Deputy Grant Bull Bovine

Harrison County Deputy Sheriff

Deputy Clayton Clay Luke

Gregg County Deputy Sheriff

Deputy Ezekiel Zeke Tate

Gregg County Deputy Sheriff

Deputy Obie Stanton

Gregg County Deputy Sheriff

Deputy Carney Turner

Gregg County Deputy Sheriff

Deputy Jobert Adams

Gregg County Deputy Sheriff

Nick Bailey

Cafe Owner

Pauline Lark

Cafe Waitress

Nanette Pitcher

Cafe Supervisor

Players

Billy Korbatt

Truck Driver

Faith Newman

Church Member

Arthur Akin

Church Deacon

Largo Hilly

Actress

Jolene Jackson

Movie Producer

Alan Dark

Movie Director

Willfred Patton

Train Conductor

Jesse Cramer

Banker

Gary Stemson

Cafe Patron

Edgar Crocker

Cafe Patron

Tim Fuller

Road Manager

Russell Rusty Hinge

Road Assistant

Players

Clarice Tisdale

Cafe Waitress

King Norman

Hotel Manager

Cardinal Keys

Franchisor

Della Mullen

Businesswoman

Carmine Rattenelli

Customer

Brainard D. Baldwin

Attorney

Judge Harold Harper

Gregg County Judge

Susan Bell

Adolphus Clerk

Jeffery Glenn

Adolphus Waiter

Mitchum and Rachel Peepers

Business Partners

Samuel Cates

Pottery Employee

Elvis Presley

Entertainer

Table of Contents

1 - Sunday, October 7, 1956

2 - Tuesday, June 12, 1956

3 - Sunday, October 7, 1956

4 - Tuesday, June 12, 1956

5 - Monday, October 8, 1956

6 - Tuesday, June 12, 1956

7 - Monday, October 8, 1956

8 - Tuesday, June 12, 1956

9 - Monday, October 8, 1956

10 - Tuesday, June 12, 1956

11 - Monday, October 8, 1956

12 - Wednesday, June 13, 1956

13 - Monday, October 8, 1956

14 - Thursday, June 14, 1956

15 - Tuesday, October 9, 1956

16 - Monday, August 6, 1956

17 - Friday, August 24, 1956

18 - Wednesday, October 10, 1956

19 - Friday, August 24, 1956

20 - Thursday, September 27, 1956

21 - Thursday, September 27, 1956

22 - Wednesday, October 10, 1956

23 - Thursday, October 11, 1956

24 - Thursday, October 11, 1956

25 - Thursday, October 11, 1956

26 - Thursday, October 11, 1956

27 - Thursday, October 11, 1956

28 - Friday, October 12, 1956

1

Sunday

October 7, 1956

Brianna Ballard and Candaleah Caine were sisters by parents and birth certificates only.  Candaleah, the older one by two years, was two inches taller, audacious, and plucky; Brianna was svelte, vivacious, and feminine.

Brianna was a happy, hot-blooded spitfire; Candaleah was the captain of her ship.  Both sharply handled rudeness from anyone, and they took no prisoners.

Brianna devoured expensive, designer fashion while Candaleah was always comfortable in tailored western wear, wide black belts with fancy buckles, and black custom made Lucchese boots.

Brianna would do most anything to entice and encourage the attention of their very handsome and extremely popular radio preacher.

Candaleah trusted her instinct and accepted that the sun did not shine on the shady side of The Right Reverend Robert Bobby Ripples.

The preacher and Brianna were engaged in small talk after Sunday morning services, standing at the bottom step of the renowned Church of Heavenly Inspiration and Perpetual Spirit.

The Right Reverend was proud of the name he had ordained for the Baptist church, his church, and was thankful a bag of Lay’s played a role.  Although the CHIPS’ building fund he had inherited from Pastor Shirley Foote was successfully prosperous, his personal enjoyment of the proceeds had gotten out of hand.  The inflated balance in the monthly reports The Right Reverend continued to submit to his adoring congregation had not dimmed their eagerness to stuff his coffers.  With cash flowing in – a dollar here, fifty cents there, dimes and nickels, and a President Lincoln now and then – The Right Reverend feared the rumblings of an audit.  That would uncover his serious accounting shortcomings and lead to the discovery of other misdeeds.  He faced a frightening dilemma.

The moment Brianna told him about her husband, Boudreaux, winning two tickets to see Elvis at the Cotton Bowl in Dallas, The Right Reverend realized one of his most pressing prayers was answered.

The Right Reverend grinned and nodded.  That’s wonderful, Bri.  Where was the drawing?

Oh, no, no, it wasn’t a drawing.  It was a contest on the radio.  Ernie Mauldin had the tickets for his Top-Forty program at the station.

Hmmm, I don’t remember him mentioning that.

Ernie was playing a secret record, and whoever called in first and said the name of the song and singer would win two tickets.

Ah.  And Boo won, The Right Reverend concluded.

Bri nodded.  "Ernie played Elvis’ record.  The first two callers got the song’s name wrong.  Boo was the third caller, but the first to say the name right.  People always want to say That’s All Right, Little Mama, but the real name of Elvis’ song is That’s All Right.  Bri grinned.  I have lots of his records.  We play them all the time.  I know all the words to all of his songs."

Are you going with Boo to see Elvis?

Her long black hair swished along trim, straight shoulders with the head shake.  I want to go, I really do.  I mean, it’s Elvis, Reverend Ripples.  You know?  Elvis?

He chuckled.  Well, that boy sure is shaking things up right now.  Seems like he’s on the radio night and day, so much so I’m afraid he’ll soon be taking over my time slots at the radio station and the sponsors for my sermons.

Who’s going to take your sponsors?

Reverend Ripples turned to the voice.  Oh, hi, Candaleah.  Elvis.  Elvis might.  Brianna was telling me about Elvis at the Cotton Bowl.  That Boo won two tickets.

"My sister’s been crazy about that boy since last March.  It was the first time we saw him in person at the Louisiana Hayride."

Bri huffed.  Well, you are too, Candy.

Candaleah looked at The Right Reverend and nodded.  "I like him, alright.  He’s pretty and all, but crazy about him?  I’m not so sure about that, but I do like his music.  I sing along with him when I hear his records.  We danced on Momma’s new rug in the living room when he was on the Ed Sullivan Show."

The way he says the words ‘You - Ain’t - Nothing - But - A - Hound - Dog’ made me tingle all over, Bri admitted.

You tingle just because you think he’s looking at you from the TV, Candaleah said.

Wouldn’t you go with Elvis if he asked you?  I would, in a heartbeat.

The Right Reverend laughed.  Well, you may get the chance one of these days.  When is Elvis going to be there, at the Cotton Bowl?

On Thursday, the eleventh, at eight o’clock.

When are you and Boo going to leave for Dallas?

Candaleah shook her head.  Oh, she’s not gonna go.

Oh, yes.  I’m sorry.  I just asked her that.  I was thinking about something else.  All this talk about Elvis in Dallas got me flustered.

Bri clamped her bright red lips together and pouted before wobbling her head and speaking.  I wish.  She looked at Candaleah.  Me and Candy have to stay here and help Momma with her beauty shop.

What’s wrong with Miss Julia?

Candaleah raised her eyebrows and canted her head.  Gout.

Well, I noticed Miss Julia wasn’t in church but nobody told me why she was absent.

Momma’s got the gout in her left foot and toes, so she asked Bri and me to run the shop for two or three days, Candaleah said.  Till Friday, anyway.

Boo will be lonely without you, Bri.  Shame to waste a ticket to see Elvis, he prodded.

Oh, he’s not going by himself, Bri said.

Clementine’s going to go with Boo, Candaleah said.  Murray said it was alright for both of them to be away from the paper for a couple of days.  Murray said he’d tell Mister Sorrell they were on assignment for the paper, they could write an article about their visit to Dallas and about Elvis.

The Right Reverend pressed elbows tight against his ribs to hold his arms from rising in a hallelujah – the Lord had worked in a mysterious way.  Boudreaux Ballard and Clementine Caine were the ideal couriers The Right Reverend needed for a special delivery to Dallas.

Of course.  Clem.  The Right Reverend’s grin widened.  "Your husbands are two peas in a pod, they are, Boudreaux and Clementine.  Perfect.  Perfect.  Will they drive or take the Greyhound?"

Train, Bri answered.  Clem wanted to take the bus, Boo wanted to take the train.

They flipped a half-dollar, Candaleah said.  Clem called tails.

Candy and me need the cars to pick up Momma’s elderly customers and bring them to the shop to get their hair done.  But we intend to drive over to Dallas and join Boo and Clem.

I’m a little surprised Boo will let you drive his pretty, new Bel Air.

I drive it all the time, Reverend.  And you’re right, it is pretty – all red and white.

Bri will drive the Bel Air to Dallas Friday, Candaleah said.  We’ll do some Saturday shopping and spend Clem’s and Boo’s money at the big store.

At Neiman Marcus, Brianna said.

And eat at the Luby’s Cafeteria, Candaleah said.  Luby’s has the best fried liver and onions I’ve ever tasted, better even than the way Momma or Miss Claudette cooks them.

Do you think I could burden Boo with a particular package I need to get to Dallas?  It’s not really a package, it’s a leather satchel, actually.  It needs exceptional handling.  Save the church some postage, you know?

Of course.  Bri smiled sweetly.  We’d do anything for you, Reverend.

Now, I’ve told you two pretty ladies before, when we’re alone, when it’s just the two of us - or the three of us together – you must just call me Bobby.  He opened his arms wide.

Bri grinned; Candaleah managed a polite smile.  Bri stepped into his embrace; Candaleah hesitated until his wiggling fingers pulled her arm in.

He held them close.  "Um, this is nice.  Now, doesn’t that feel real good?" he asked softly, caressing their lower backs.

Both women murmured agreement.  Bri wrapped an arm around his waist to pull in tight against his abdomen.

Well, Preacher done stole our womenfolk.

Brianna and Candaleah stepped out of The Right Reverend’s hold.

Your pretty ladies were just telling me you two are going to see Elvis Presley at the Cotton Bowl.  That Murray Austin made you reporters to write about Elvis for the paper.

Sure are, Boudreaux affirmed.  Murray said that so Mister Sorrell would be satisfied with our two-day absence to see Elvis.

"We saw him at the Louisiana Hayride last March and at the Big D Jamboree in September, Clementine added.  That boy can sing, and he sure knows how to twist his skinny hips."

Swivel, Brianna corrected.  Embarrassed by all the glares fixed on her, she quickly offered an amendment.  That’s what they say, anyway.

The five seconds of silence that followed seemed like an eternity to Bri so she filled the vacuum.  About his hips.

The Right Reverend cleared his throat.  I’ve made arrangements to invest part of the church’s building fund, and I’ve put together a package of proceeds that needs to get to Dallas.  Actually, it’s a leather satchel that needs extraordinary handling because of the amount of cash that will be in it.  And I’d like to save my church – our church – from paying for a bunch of stamps to ship it.  Could I trust you two to take it with you to Dallas and deliver it to the party I’m sending it to?

Sure, Reverend.  Boo looked at Clem.

Clem agreed.  Sure, Preacher, we’ll do it for you.

What bank?

Oh, it’s not a bank, Candaleah.  It’s an understanding I’ve made with an old friend from my time at the college there in Dallas.

You’re not going to deposit the money in a bank?

Banks don’t pay much interest on the money, Candy.  My friend owns a lot of businesses and works with a lot of congregations arranging private investments with church’s building fund money.  He’s very well known, impeccable reputation, highly successful.

Sure, Reverend, Boo repeated.  We’ll take the money to your friend.

When will you be going?

Clem and me are going to take the Thursday morning train.

Where will you stay?

The Adolphus Hotel.  That was part of the tickets.

I know The Adolphus, it’s on Commerce Street.  Stay there every time I have business in Dallas.  That will be very convenient for you because my friend’s office is right across the street from the hotel.

What’s your friend’s name, Reverend? Clem asked.

Samson.  Samson Albee.  This is going to work out perfectly that you two have volunteered to help our church.  I’ll announce you’re going to take the money and about the arrangement and investment Tuesday night at Bible study.  So, both of you come to my office afterwards, say nine o’clock, and I’ll give you the package and delivery instructions.

Candaleah voiced her suspicions.  You’re going to give Boo and Clem a package of money, the church’s building fund money, to give to a friend in Dallas rather than put the money in the Marshall Bank here?

Samson has connections, he knows business, Candy.  He knows where to invest the money to get a good return.  And, it’s a leather briefcase, not a package.  The briefcase has a handle, two buckle straps, and a lock.  Easy to carry.

What if somebody tries to steal it?

If it’s a briefcase, won’t nobody know there’s money in it, Bri, Boo answered.  Anyway, they’d have a hard time getting it away from Clem and me.

Yes, they sure would, The Right Reverend agreed.  That’s why I’m asking you to do this for me, ah, for the church.  Two very trustworthy, honest men.

And, we’ll be on the train, Bri, Clem added.  Train robberies only happen in the movies.

<●>  <●>  <●>

I’ll invest four hundred dollars, Preacher.  That’s all I can let you have right now.

Momma Julia looked toward the front door when it swung open with the sound of gleeful laughter. She smiled and nodded in response to Brianna’s wave.

Momma Julia shrugged and answered the question posed through the earpiece.  I expect Judge Kruger will settle the lawsuit Monday, Reverend.  Tuesday or Wednesday, at the latest.

She raised three fingers off the receiver to acknowledge Candaleah’s wave.

About three hundred thirty-eight thousand, she said into the phone and paused.  Oh, they are? … When? … After Bible Study … I see … yes, I can do that.

She shook her head.  No, even if the Judge hammers the stick on his court desk, I won’t have that money from the insurance company for several days – and anyway, I wouldn’t let all that money go for an investment to your people in Dallas.

Candaleah stood in front of her Momma and opened her palms up in question.

I know Kendrick’s insurance payment is a windfall, but I’ve got to think about it for a while first … the bank … once it’s settled and payment is made … Okay, I’ll think about it, I promise … I know … I know you and Kendrick were friends.

Momma Julia covered the mouthpiece and, with arched eyebrows and exaggerated lips, in slow motion, pronounced, PRE-CHUR.

Candaleah raised her own eyebrows, rolled her eyes up, and shook her head.  With an exaggeration of her own lips, she chastised her mother.  NO, MOM-MA, NO.  A hefty hump of shoulders signaled her exasperation.  She turned on her heels and went into the living room to join Clem, her sister, and Boo, who had already turned on the television set and were sitting together on the large divan watching the Chicago Cardinals and New York Giants football game.

Brianna looked.  Well, I’ve heard that disappointment a thousand times.  What was that disgusting sigh all about?

Let the boys watch the game, Bri.  Come in the kitchen.

Brianna clamped both men’s legs above the knee and pulled herself up and off the couch.

If you gonna go in the kitchen, Bri, bring me a Jax? Boudreaux asked.

Before Miss Claudette’s Sunday fried chicken dinner?

A cold beer and Miss Claudette’s chicken and tater salad was made for each other, Bri, Boudreaux countered.

TOUCHDOWN.  Clementine’s shout shook the delicately embroidered coverings on both end tables.  Did you see that interception?  Night Train Lane ran it back sixty-six yards for a touchdown.  What a catch.  What a run.  Night Train is like a runaway bulldozer when he gets his hands on the football.  He’s gonna take the Chicago Cardinals to the championship.

Boudreaux stared at the end zone jubilation.  Naw, I was distracted by a woman who won’t bring a thirsty man a cold beer.  He looked up and over his shoulder.  Please?

Oh, alright, Boo, I’ll bring you a beer.  Brianna canted her head.  You want a beer, too, Clem?

I think Momma Julia keeps both Jax and Lone Star in the refrigerator, Clem said, I’d like a cold Lone Star if Miss Claudette hadn’t drank em all.

BRIANNA.

I’M COMING.  I’M COMING, CANDY.  Okay, one Jax and one Lone Star coming up.

Miss Claudette and Isaiah were preparing the last touches to the family Sunday dinner, working around Candaleah and Momma Julia sitting at the kitchen table.

Miss Claudette Coleman and her husband Isaiah were family in the house but were employees when out in public.  They ate at the table, drank beer, and sat in the living room to watch the television programs at night with the women of the house and their husbands.  When the day was done, they retired to the apartment Mister Perkins had built for them over the detached, two-car garage.  He even had a roofed awning constructed to connect the house and garage so they, or anyone else, wouldn’t get wet when it rained.  They even had their own television set, but enjoyed staying up late in the big house with their family because they felt lonely in their place.

Brianna came into the kitchen, walked to the Amana, and opened the door.

We need to talk to Momma, Bri, Candaleah said.  She looked at her mother.  She was on the phone with the Preacher.

What about?  What have you done now, Momma?

Candaleah didn’t wait.  It’s always about money and Momma is about to give a bunch of it to the Preacher.

Miss Claudette looked at Momma Julia.  Reverend Ripples?

Momma Julia stoically listened to her daughters, and nodded at her housekeeper and best friend.

Uh huh, Candaleah answered for her mother.

Okay, Candy, let me take care of Boo and Clem.  They want a beer, Miss Claudette.  Boudreaux wants a Jax and Clementine wants a cold Lone Star.  I only see Jax.

Only Jax is left in there, Miss Brianna.  Miss Candaleah just took the last bottle of Lone Star.  Isaiah is going to Longview tomorrow to stock up.  I’ve made a list of things including two cases of Jax and two cases of Lone Star.

I swear, Brianna huffed.  I don’t know why Marshall doesn’t allow beer, wine, and whiskey in town.

Preachers, Isaiah said.

Like The Right Reverend, Miss Claudette added.

Well, I bet he drinks a bottle of Lone Star every now and then when nobody’s watching, Brianna said.  And probably a glass or two of Jim Beam.

Pour a bottle of Jax into a glass, Bri, Momma Julia said.  Cold beer tastes like cold beer.  Because it’s cold out of the refrigerator, Clem won’t know the difference between Jax and Lone Star.

Ummm.  Miss Claudette’s voice was soft, but telling.

Momma Julia picked up on the cautionary tone.  You think so, Claudette?

Miss Claudette looked at Isaiah and grinned before nodding at Momma Julia.  Mens is mens, and they all got their tastes.

The women laughed out loud.

Isaiah’s smile and blinking black eyes agreed.  For beer, sure nuff, and a lot of all those something elses.  I got chu, Miss Claudette, and that’s pretty good taste, I think.

The women clapped their hands together and roared.

Miss Claudette stepped into her husband’s open arms and kissed his cheek.

And you picked the best one off the tree, Isaiah, Candaleah said.

The best of the bestest, Brianna added.

Miss Claudette chuckled.  I didn’t do so bad myself, about the picking neither.

BRIANNA?

COMING.  I’M COMING, BOO.  HOLD YOUR HORSES, FOR GOODNESS SAKES.

Isaiah brought down two milk glasses from the cabinet and set them on a wooden tray.  He held out his hands.  With beer in glasses, they’ll think you’re serving their brand.

Brianna handed the bottles to him.

Isaiah opened and poured, leaving just the right amount of foam on top for convincing show.  Hmmm, just like Mister Kendrick taught me how to pour beer in a glass.  He lifted the tray out to Brianna.

She playfully grinned.  Which one is the Lone Star for Clementine?

Isaiah extended a finger and wiggled it at the two glasses.  Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.  He opened his palm and long slender fingers pointed as an introduction.  That one.  His wide grin flashed bright white teeth.  I think.

That works for me.

Tell em dinner’ll be ready by the time they get two swallows, Miss Claudette called to Brianna’s back.

And tell em they can bring their glasses of cold beer to the Sunday table, Momma Julia added.

Isaiah, serve the tea.  And bring the potato salad and rolls to the table, Miss Claudette said.

Yes, Mam.  But I only got two hands.

Well, use both of them and bring the tea and the rolls first.  Then come back for the salad.

Yes, Mam.  Isaiah pulled the pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and lifted the basket of split top rolls off the counter.

Miss Claudette opened the oven.  I’ve kept my chicken nice and warm, and now it’s just waiting to be gobbled up.

And, Isaiah, tell the boys dinner is ready, Momma Julia said.

Yes, Mam.

Momma Julia pushed on the table and stood.  I’m hungry for Claudette’s fried chicken and potato salad.  She held out an arm.  Help me hobble to the table, Candaleah.

We need to talk about the money you want to give to the Preacher, Momma.

We will, Darling, we will.  It’s just four hundred dollars.  Your Daddy would’ve wanted to help the church.

Giving four hundred dollars to the Preacher is not the same as giving money to help the Church, Momma.  Goodness, you know that.  Daddy knew that.

2

Tuesday

June 12, 1956

Kendrick Wainwright Perkins, known to all as K W, saw the figure from more than a mile away along the flat landscape.  At that distance the man seemed small, walking – more like marching – along the shoulder of the highway.  As K W got closer, the man turned, raised his arm, and formed a right-handed fist with the thumb extended.

K W recognized the clothing.  In this part of the country, during summer, only one organization issued a white long-sleeved shirt and khaki trousers to its members.  He slowed his beat-up, 1949, fat-faced, black Chevrolet pickup, passed the traveler, and watched for a response in the rearview mirror.

The hitchhiker dropped his arm and trotted toward the truck.

K W steered onto the mowed grass at the edge of the asphalt and let the Chevrolet coast a short distance before he braked it to a stop.

The man stood at the driver’s door, sucking wind.  Sweat slid down out of his full, red sideburns.  Moisture beaded across the top of thin lips.

How do, Sir.  Whew.  I’m out of breath.  Thank you for stopping.

K W looked at the young face then peered into the blackest eyes he’d ever seen.  Where you going, Son?

I’m on my way to Marshall, Sir.  Could I ride with you as far up this highway as you’re going?

You sure can.  Come on, get in, you can ride all the way.  I’m going to Marshall.  Live there.

Thank you, Sir.  That sure will take a load off my tender puppies.  The man moved quickly around the front of K W’s pickup, opened the passenger door, and climbed in.  I do appreciate the ride.  In the three hours I been walking this road, I musta counted two hundred cars and a thousand trucks that passed me by without even a wave.  I don’t think my thumb could’ve stayed stuck out for very much longer.

K W shifted gears up to highway speed before he looked at his passenger.        Where’re you coming from, Son?

State prison, Sir.  Panola Unit Three.  Back down this highway, near Henderson.

I know where it is.  Been there myself.  K W chuckled.  Mind you, just as a visitor, not as a tenant.

The passenger laughed softly.  Well, I was a resident.  Two years, four months, eighteen days, six hours.  The Warden cut me loose this morning.  Early release, good behavior.

"I’ve seen white long-sleeved shirts