The Tushey Wushy Club Book

By Jon Roe

There are things in life that can pass you by if you do not pause to take the time to be observant. There are things in life that should be protected, some of those fade away insignificantly. One such thing is, "What goes on behind the closed doors of a sacred society sworn to secrecy?" If I write this...am I violating the sacredness of trust and oath wherein I was sworn as an original founding member of this sacred, honorable society? Obviously, I have decided to disclose. I press on solely due to one agonizing reality, which is should I fail to tell this tale, it too stands to be forgotten. Some things have a far-reaching effect that only becomes discovered later by historians and poets. Legends, generally, come from such documents and diaries. As you ponder this fact, you may find yourself wishing to become a legend too! I like to believe there are a select breed, a few good fellows and females out there, many kindred spirits to the Tusheys creed. Only reading will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635256628

Book preview

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The

Tushey Wushy

Club Book

Jon E. Roe

ISBN 978-1-63525-661-1 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63525-662-8 (Digital)

Copyright © 2017 by Jon E. Roe

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

296 Chestnut Street

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

First, my wife for her encouragement and help with finishing touches. Thanks to my friend, Leta Wilbanks for her countless hours of proofreading and correcting. Also to my Tushey brothers, for being the family they are.

The Honorable One

Chapter 1

Entrance

THE LAWS OF THE HONORABLE SOCIETY OF THE TUSHEYS.

There are some things in life a fellow/female can easily miss out should they fail to closely scrutinize, observe, and ponder. Have you ever studied a locust up close? You know, the bugs that go "eeeedle … eeeeedle … eeeedle … dllllll. One of the most fascinating discoveries is the bug skin; it’s not a cocoon but in a way it is that they crawl out of eventually. They are brown and basically colorless; they look like a bug, yet they’re crusty. Then this huge bug comes out of them that is full of colors like blue and green, with big wings, and almost talks with the sound I immolated above. Most girls I knew wouldn’t hold one, but a few, those rare cool" ones, would track one down just as good as any guy and grab them, examining them just like the rest of us investigative researchers. I usually had to climb the oak tree next to our garage, from the roof part, just to find one; but I usually found both, the skin and the bug, which supplied many joyful minutes of preponderance. Basically, I wished I could fly like they did. I’ve tied strings to their legs and flew them in circles. I tried flapping my arms and jumping off the garage roof, thinking if I flapped fast enough, I’d take off, even though I had no sense of where I wanted to go.

I’ve observed protective birds also that do some of the craziest things. My grandfather had a farm of sorts (it was a home out in the country with about an acre of land), which we visited. What qualified it in the farm category was it had chickens, ducks, and a pig or two, and a pond. He had a duck that had laid some eggs once and, soon after, was killed. A hen with a strong mothering instinct literally sat on and hatched the eggs it left behind! The funny thing about it was that she hovered over them like they were her own, scratching up, pecking feed, and teaching them to do the same. One day, she walked them close to the pond, and they did what was natural. They took off to the water and swam out. The mother hen squawked, making the weirdest sounds, standing at the edge of the water. In final frustration, she squatted, spread her wings and started flipping the sandy dust with them up in the air, protesting their swimming. I think she was trying to say, You belong here, on the dirt. Get back here under my wings where it’s safe!

What do these analogies have to do with what I’m about to document? A lot…really! There are things in life that can pass you by if you do not pause to take the time to be observant. There are things in life that should be protected, though they naturally tend to wander off.

Even as I write these words, there is a sense of tension, tightness as it were, in my throat. I find a strangling sense of myself grappling with a third-dimensional set of griping questions. Those concerning loyalty, If I write this…am I violating the sacredness of trust and oath wherein I was sworn as an original founding member of this sacred, honorable society? Also, in doing so, do I suddenly take upon myself the audacity to invade, even violate, its privacy and secrecy? After all, there was a solemn oath involved, and I may evoke the content of consequential actions. Obviously, I have decided to disclose. I press on solely due to one agonizing reality, which is, should I fail to tell this tale, it stands to be forgotten, drifting into history’s dust with no more recognition than that given to an unmarked grave in a countryside graveyard. I feel it is an observation, unless scrutinized, that could easily be overlooked in a society that has so totally changed from the day and age in which it was lived and could still use a reminder. A nudging, if you will, directing you back to the wonder of life and the excitement found in exploration.

I take my reader to a door. The building is not elaborate marble with intricately carved pillars. You won’t find mosaics or gothic carvings or posed statues. Really, it’s worn down and rough. I wish I could say da Vinci painted the displays of splendor on it. Rather, all pictures were limited to a blue star with a circle around it, painted by a can of spray-paint, and a few words like Club House and Keep-Out. Yet to three boys, they were as fine an art display as any museum could display! The wood is weathered gray in color, two-inch wooden oak slats with some wire twisted to hold some slats in place. There are rusty nails jutting their flattened head surfaces about one-eighth to one-fourth inch, needing to be pounded back into the studs that supported its frame. The floor is concrete, not exactly smoothed to perfection—in fact, not expertly poured, but likely the result of spare bags used from projects long old and forgotten from days gone by. It’s fairly obvious this building was thrown together as an afterthought, but nonetheless solid and as functional as the code those lived by in the day it was built.

This building is more than just a mere toolshed; the roof is shaped with a gentle slopping pitch, an almost flattened upside down V shape, perfect for boys and visitors to climb on top, perch a posted guard, and sight pirates, Indians, and other unwanted intruders. I still believe a historic marker should be placed near its weathered red shingles, where such significant battles were fought, battles such as the Alamo, Pork Chop Hill, Black Beard, Custer, and the Tushey’s Last Stand.

So, before I explain to you the Tushey’s, we have to climb back down off the roof and stand before the door with the blue painted words, "

KEEP OUT

" facing you. The door would swing, only wobbly, from left to right on rusted hinges. Again, it was not your imagined thick piece of solid wood. It was just gathered slats, with a frazzled rope security latch, rusty hinges and plenty of small spaces between those slats. Perfect, so you could secretly view from within, any who dared to visit or knock, hoping to gain entry into its wobbly seal of privacy and protection. Beyond this barrier contains the secret revelation of the society of the Tushey Wushy Club.

I now throw open the door to strangers. Enter respectfully. Remember, this door is only opened so that a rare history not slip into eternity as a forgotten relic of obscurity, like a dust devil that twirls gloriously, appearing for only a few moments then is gone forever from sight.

Perhaps it should be established that this society began in a day when there were no cell phones, no computers, only three channels on TV (NBC, ABC, and CBS). In fact, television was black-and-white! Sputnik hadn’t orbited the earth yet, much less any man. Women wore midcalf dresses, white socks, and penny loafers were high society!

A time when, to quote a popular Frank Sinatra song Love and Marriage went together like a horse and carriage, and anyone outside that circle of mentality was not respectable, and even bordered on being a harlot or drunkard. Well, it should be noteworthy to clarify—the proper view of society was that they were different, not quite on the level of a crook or criminal, but close…very close. It was a time when a pop bottle could bring you two cents, and if you collected enough, you could get a candy bar for a nickel or a dime, depending on the size, and even have a few pennies left over if you were thrifty!

Suffice it to say that a Prince Albert cigar