Appaloosa Radio: Recent Episodes
Appaloosa Radio Productions
Appaloosa Radio is a production of the Appaloosa Springs Audio Theater, a volunteer collaborative whose purpose is to create, produce, and share original story content through webcast radio experiences. Appaloosa Radio is where stories come alive!
Appaloosa Radio Offers
A new musical story
A Little Monkey Magic
Act One
A whimsical musical journey to the early days of cartoon animation, featuring Jiminy, the ever-inquisitive, always impulsive, and incredibly funny organ grinder’s monkey, and his three animator friends at the Carousel Cartoon Company of Chicago.
It was 1934 during the very worst days of the Great Depression, and, unfortunately, the Carousel Cartoon Company of Chicago was forced to close. The three animators who had operated the company decided to store the nearly half-million ink drawings on transparent celluloid that they had created by hand in the safes of Vermont’s Old Stone Mountain Life Insurance Company. By saving these cels (as they were called), they hoped to someday begin re-animating cartoons, particularly their favorite character, Jiminy, the mischievous organ grinder’s monkey. Jiminy who so loved playing tricks and making people laugh.
Even though he was now in fragments and thousands of pieces, Jiminy’s unique anima kept doing his cartoon antics. His special monkey magic had not died.
Filled with catchy tunes, laughter, and a dash of monkey mischief, this musical tale will have everyone dancing to the rhythm of courage, friendship, and a little bit of monkey magic.
A musical story in three acts.
Song List for Act One
· Jiminy – King of Cartoon Comedy
· Magic of India Ink Lines
· I’m Still Me!
· Through the Keyhole
· My Love, Lillian
· Whispers of Wonder
~Act One runs 41 minutes, 51 seconds
2025 Spring Songfest
This is a collection of songs from several stories that we have recently shared on Appaloosa Radio. Enjoy the 2025 Spring Songfest.
Selections include:
· Shadows and Silhouettes
· Whimsey Lullaby
· Weight of Goodbye
· Middle-Aged Hippie
· Coyote
· 25 is Too Slow
· Jar of Sand
· My Love is a Sonnet
· Strong Enough
· Barefoot Morning
· Grandma’s Rules
· Warm Hearts and Calloused Hands
· Beer, Cigarettes, and Stress --- My Life is a Mess
25 is too slow
By Eureka Wallace
Sign says 25,
that's a snail in disguise.
I'm a rocket on wheels,
not a cloud in my skies.
Got dreams in the trunk.
Ambitions on my dash.
Speedometer screaming, gotta move fast .
25 too slow.
Can't cage my flow.
Road's a canvas, that I paint.
Gotta let it show.
Gotta let it show.
Gotta let it show.
Wheels spinning symphonies,
heartbeats in tow
Ain't no limit when you got places to go
Ain't no limit when you got places to go
Ain't no limit when you got places to go
Regarding a Murder
Part 2 of 4
By Stan Morgan
Private Investigator
A True Story
A private investigator revisits an old murder, one that impacted him directly when he was a child.
“It was November 18, 1947. I had just turned eight and was in the Third Grade at Wayside Elementary School in the southern edge of Bakersfield.
Every day, my younger brother and I walked the three-quarters of a mile from our house in the Southgate area to the school. To avoid walking along the busy Casa Loma Highway, we crossed the irrigation canal on a narrow cement bridge, a hundred yards south of the Highway. It was near there that the grisly event occurred.
A kindergartener, a five-year-old girl was murdered the night before, battered innumerable times, the radio said, with a hammer. Every time the radio re-told the story, a new set of shivers would go up and down my spine. I was afraid, pee-in your-pants afraid.
To make matters even more fearful, she was murdered in our pretend ‘pirate’s cave’ just steps from the concrete bridge across the irrigation canal which we used everyday on our way to school.
We had played in it often, sometimes spending all day there.”
This is a true story using original source materials which may be graphic in their content. Listeners are encouraged to use discretion.
Regarding a Murder
By Stan Morgan
Private Investigator
A True Story
A private investigator revisits an old murder, one that impacted him directly when he was a child.
“It was November 18, 1947. I had just turned eight and was in the Third Grade at Wayside Elementary School in the southern edge of Bakersfield.
Every day, my younger brother and I walked the three-quarters of a mile from our house in the Southgate area to the school. To avoid walking along the busy Casa Loma Highway, we crossed the irrigation canal on a narrow cement bridge, a hundred yards south of the Highway. It was near there that the grisly event occurred.
A kindergartener, a five-year-old girl was murdered the night before, battered innumerable times, the radio said, with a hammer. Every time the radio re-told the story, a new set of shivers would go up and down my spine. I was afraid, pee-in your-pants afraid.
To make matters even more fearful, she was murdered in our pretend ‘pirate’s cave’ just steps from the concrete bridge across the irrigation canal which we used everyday on our way to school.
We had played in it often, sometimes spending all day there.”
This is a true story using original source materials which may be graphic in their content. Listeners are encouraged to use discretion.
Regarding a Murder
Part 4 of 4
By Stan Morgan
Private Investigator
A True Story
A private investigator revisits an old murder, one that impacted him directly when he was a child.
“It was November 18, 1947. I had just turned eight and was in the Third Grade at Wayside Elementary School in the southern edge of Bakersfield.
Every day, my younger brother and I walked the three-quarters of a mile from our house in the Southgate area to the school. To avoid walking along the busy Casa Loma Highway, we crossed the irrigation canal on a narrow cement bridge, a hundred yards south of the Highway. It was near there that the grisly event occurred.
A kindergartener, a five-year-old girl was murdered the night before, battered innumerable times, the radio said, with a hammer. Every time the radio re-told the story, a new set of shivers would go up and down my spine. I was afraid, pee-in your-pants afraid.
To make matters even more fearful, she was murdered in our pretend ‘pirate’s cave’ just steps from the concrete bridge across the irrigation canal which we used everyday on our way to school.
We had played in it often, sometimes spending all day there.”
This is a true story using original source materials which may be graphic in their content. Listeners are encouraged to use discretion.
Regarding a Murder
Part 3 of 4
By Stan Morgan
Private Investigator
A True Story
A private investigator revisits an old murder, one that impacted him directly when he was a child.
“It was November 18, 1947. I had just turned eight and was in the Third Grade at Wayside Elementary School in the southern edge of Bakersfield.
Every day, my younger brother and I walked the three-quarters of a mile from our house in the Southgate area to the school. To avoid walking along the busy Casa Loma Highway, we crossed the irrigation canal on a narrow cement bridge, a hundred yards south of the Highway. It was near there that the grisly event occurred.
A kindergartener, a five-year-old girl was murdered the night before, battered innumerable times, the radio said, with a hammer. Every time the radio re-told the story, a new set of shivers would go up and down my spine. I was afraid, pee-in your-pants afraid.
To make matters even more fearful, she was murdered in our pretend ‘pirate’s cave’ just steps from the concrete bridge across the irrigation canal which we used everyday on our way to school.
We had played in it often, sometimes spending all day there.”
This is a true story using original source materials which may be graphic in their content. Listeners are encouraged to use discretion.
Science Fiction
The Wine of Frogs by Anthony Marcolongo Indefinite longevity. Lengthening human life spans to millennia instead of decades. The firm had been working for years and had finally achieved a major breakthrough. However, its founder had other, more sinister plans.
This story was originally published in the anthology, The Moving Finger Writes...
Tattoo
An original story for Appaloosa Radio
Last December before Christmas he placed third in the Regional Finals for the Mr. Perfect Body competition. The year before, he had placed second, just seven tenths of a point behind the winner. Then, to celebrate he had an artist tattoo a full-color version of Leonardo DaVinci’s “Last Supper” across his pects and abs. It cost him nearly a thousand dollars and took the artist nearly a full day, and the pain was so intense that he couldn’t do a full workout for nearly three weeks.
He told everyone that he did it to show his love for God because without His love he would be a nothing. God treated him special and protected him. The tattoo was an act of worship. An act of thanksgiving.
However, when he placed third last December, one of the coaches told him that the competition’s judges did not like the tattoo. It had probably cost him a full half a point, the coach said.
Now, every time he looked at the tattoo, he realized that he had gone from being almost a winner to a never-again loser because of it.
Edge Clinging
For Appaloosa Radio
As we age, we lose both our mobility and our self-confidence, and in losing our self-confidence, we stick very close to the edge of the pool.
Appaloosa Radio Online offers
Alligator
A story from Nell Trustmon’s Magazine “Broken Tree Tales”
In rural mining communities like Boyce, Colorado, the arrival of the “Alligator Man” created a community-wide celebration. How could any of the Lithuanian miners continue to work in the deep, hard rock silver mine when there was a real, live alligator in town? Gotta see that!
Alligators were hardly rare in places like Florida or the bayous of Louisiana. And almost anyone who visited a zoo in one of the major eastern cities could see a tropical display featuring gators. But, here in the high western Rockies, the alligator was a very rare sight.
The alligator came courtesy of a showman and promoter named Clyde Chantt who claimed to have a Ph.D. in reptile herpetology from a university that no one had ever heard of. “Professor” Chantt (as he preferred to be called) travelled among the mining towns of the West driving a 1917 Ford Truck, pulling a large, brightly painted metal tank filled with water and containing a 15 foot alligator. He charged patrons fifteen cents each to watch his “demonstrations” of the reptile’s cunning capabilities. Each “demonstration” ended with Professor Chantt climbing a tall metal ladder next to the alligator’s tank, and then holding out a long fishing pole with a hunk of chicken attached to it. He would encourage the animal to perform, and within a minute or two, the alligator would jump up out of the water ten feet or more and grab its meal from the end of the pole.
In the evenings, after the last feeding demonstration, local children would often slip beneath the canvas fence that the Professor had set up to block the view of the non-paying spectators, and in a mixture of awe and fear, watch the alligator.
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Story was originally webcast in August 2022. This revision has new voices and music.
Appaloosa Radio presents an original musical story
Surprise Valley
The hippie resort of perpetual happiness
Here is another great song from Act 2 of the musical.
You can download the full show on Appaloosa Radio Online.
Peace and perpetual greetings! Featuring new tie-dye songs in the hip style of the early 1970s.
Appaloosa Radio presents an original musical story
Surprise Valley
The hippie resort of perpetual happiness
Here is a favorite song from ACT 2!
The Road of Life Has Many Detours
A very personal story by Gisela Butler
The pick-up truck came over the center divider and became airborne. I could see the wheels of the truck coming in my direction. I just said, “Oh my God, please…”
Instantly, I ducked towards the passenger side. Then I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my ribs. I lay there in pain going in and out of consciousness. That’s all I remember.
I later woke up as my clothes were being cut from my body. Lying on a gurney on my stomach, I figured I was at the hospital. Later, my husband came in.
The doctor gave me morphine for my pain. I was not talking much, just sleeping a lot. Every time I woke, I was in lots of pain but got medication immediately. Pain was my reminder that I was still alive. I knew I had been in a car accident but had no idea how badly it affected me. I also knew my husband was there in the ICU almost all day.
======
This story originally appeared in the anthology, From a Writer’s Finger to a Butterfly’s Wing, published by the Sacramento Suburban Writers’ Club, 2016.
Do you love Interactive Collaborative Fiction?
Interactive Collaborative Fiction is the art of jointly shaping a narrative through collective storytelling.
Appaloosa Radio Online, in collaboration with the Sacramento Suburban Writers, is launching an exciting new forum for Interactive Collaborative Fiction (ICF) and is seeking “Story Pilots” to guide the journey. ICF is a process where narratives are shaped collectively, not by a single writer, but by a community that evolves the story over time. Think of it as modern-day campfire storytelling, now facilitated through platforms like Instagram.
We kick off our ICF forum in February 2025 with three captivating story starters:
- Code: Turquoise: A political thriller set in contemporary times, revolving around the assassination of a newly elected U.S. President just ten days into office by a foreign power that had previously supported him.
- Chambray: A fantasy romance where Princess Lis is kidnapped by a brigantine she-wolf pack and taken to Quericus, where she is forced to join the harem of Subus.
- Splotches: A science fiction tale exploring civilizations' relentless pursuit of speed, only to discover that greater velocity brings splotches—twisting the very fabric of space-time and creating billions of unrepairable holes.
As a “Story Pilot,” your role will be to facilitate collaboration, allowing multiple contributors to develop the plot, generate dialogue, and enhance character development. You will also manage the Instagram platform for the story.
Join us in creating stories that are fun, engaging, and connect people. Volunteer to be a “Story Pilot” on this new adventure.
For more information, contact us at: Appaloosa.radio3@gmail.com
The Devil is in the Details --- The Art of DeceptionAn original story by
Thomas Hessler
It really wasn’t a wild prank. Nobody got hurt, some were entertained for a while, and the incident displayed a principle of human characteristics. I would do it again, and I think if you asked those who know me, they would say, “Uh, huh.”
Every so often I pick up a book about writing. I mean, some of the authors might really have something to say that is helpful. One author was explaining that no matter how unbelievable the plot might be, you sell the reader by plying them with details. The author provided several examples. And, I remembered a novel that Ihad read. The back cover’s summary of “the Invasion” said that in this story, the Chinese invaded the United States and created havoc in doing so. Now, this was twenty years or so ago, and the Chinese military and technology were not as robust as now. So, I scoffed. It would be hard for me to believe. Nevertheless, I read the novel and, bit-by-bit, induced by references to actual situations, detailed accounts of confrontations, familiar political history, and scene-by-scene narration, I bought into it. I remember remarking, at the time, that the author had convinced me that Chinese invasion was not a warp of reality. It could be done.
Well, sometimes you actually put into practice that which you have read and understood. Thereafter, when writing, I remembered to craft some detail to convince the reader when the plot might be stretching things. But, I yearned to prove the point in a bigger way.
This story originally appeared in the anthology From a Writer's Finger to a Butterfly Wing
Most Despicable Brute
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing
City of 4000 Spies Series
“If Noble Son Dusko Rarrko, the Second Son of the 19th Great Nobleman of Sassko were ever to write his memoirs, telling about his entanglement in the world of espionage, he could tell of great schemes involving the greatest of empires and nations. He could also tell of well-planned assassinations that were eons in planning and implementation. He could tell of technologies stolen, and of other (even more secret) technologies created to solve the most difficult problems. He could tell of those he loved and those he had to sacrifice.
But he could also write of brutish individuals who met even more brutish ends.
He might tell the tale of Chil-ezz, a minor figure in the larger scheme, but one whose brutality was beyond despicable.
To be truthful, neither Dusko Rarrko nor the Dominion of Sassko were directly involved in the killing of JXZ.alpha Chil-ezz. Nonetheless, they both celebrated it. And it led to a most productive long-term friendship between the J.X.Z, city state and the Dominion.”
On the Morning Commuter Bus
An original story
For Appaloosa Radio
CHAPTER 3
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Larry Jay Connors is just one of the many. He is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose specialty is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analyses, and generating cost-to-price determinations.
Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As the story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life, and he is a stranger in his own body.
On the Morning Commuter Bus
An original story
For Appaloosa Radio
CHAPTER 2
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Larry Jay Connors is just one of the many. He is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose specialty is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analyses, and generating cost-to-price determinations.
Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As the story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life, and he is a stranger in his own body.
On the Morning Commuter Bus
An original story
For Appaloosa Radio
CHAPTER 1
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Larry Jay Connors is just one of the many. He is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose specialty is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analyses, and generating cost-to-price determinations.
Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As the story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life, and he is a stranger in his own body.
Travelling
by
Pamela Hummel-Morgan
This week we visited some friends in Monterey. They had recently returned from a seven-week trip driving across Europe, putting over 6,000 miles on their rental cars.
Tautologies
By J. J. Mounts-Miller
For Appaloosa Radio
October 2024
I have been thinking a lot about something I read in a magazine. I had read: “Brain waves spike during death.”
Researchers found that in the process of dying, brain activity increases. When it is graphed, it represents a distinct series of sharp, upward spikes. Before these spikes, there is usually a period of low-level dormancy, typically a relatively flat line of limited brain activity. Then, during death, brain wave activity spikes.
This has taken me into an extended philosophical meditation about logical truth and the nature of consciousness.
Here are four micro-stories that I worked up for the Summer 2024 Micro-Write Challenge. All are extremely short, ranging from 116 to 465 words.
They are:
· Shoes – a basketball story
· The Man with the Perpetual Cough – a western character sketch
· Risk Averse – taking risks as a senior adult
· My English Teacher was a Space Alien – a fictional memoir
Enjoy!
J.J. Mounts-Miller
Appaloosa Radio offers
An original musical story
Skirts Swayin’
Celebrating the infectious rhythms of Western swing music
It happened in Fort Worth, Texas in the summer of 1928. It could not have happened anywhere else. It could not have happened at another time. No one else could have done it.
A cigar salesman with a rich baritone voice, a barber who was also the best fiddle player in Texas, and a fifteen-year-old waitress who loved to dance.
Together, they created a style of music that still exists today. A style of music that is now the official music style for the state of Texas. Some called it Texas Swing. Most people just called it dance music.
They were Milt Brown, Mollie Perkins, and Jim-Bob Wills.
This is Mollie’s story.
Act 1
-
Deep in the Heart of Texas ##
-
Panhandle Rag ##
-
Thanks for Your Letter ##
-
Come and Kiss Me, Goodbye ##
-
Oh, Miss Mollie ##
-
Star Spangled Banner ##
-
Boot Kickin’ Dance Music
-
Times is Hard
-
Feelin’ Rhythm in the Air
-
Swingin’ Western Style
- historical music from 1945 Armed Forces Radio broadcast
Act 2
-
Lonesome Prairie Polka
-
Boot Kickin’ Dance Music
-
Brandin’ My Man with Love
-
Breakfast for a Texas Man
-
Crystal Springs
-
Dr. Lawson’s Little Pills
-
Zip-Zip Zipper *
-
Pass them Biscuits
-
Country Howdown
*Historical music performed by Light Crust Doughboys
Act 3
-
Truth Wars Against My Heart
-
Somebody Loses, Somebody Wins YY
-
When I was Young and Handsome YY
-
Galveston-Town Blues
-
Hand and Hand, We Face the Sea (Glorious Morning)
-
Melody Ranch Two-Step
-
San Antonio Rose zz
-
Fort Worth Molly
-
Silver Wings
YYHistorical music performed by Texas Jim Robertson
zzHistorical music performed by Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction built around historical circumstances. Molly Perkins as depicted in this work is a fictional character. She does not represent any person alive or dead.
Original music composed using Suno-AI and Soundful software.
Historical music was drawn from the American Armed Forces Radio Network Archives, Archive Number 3, 1945. It was accessed through the Internet Archive. Org website on May 11, 2024.
Appaloosa Radio offers
An original musical story
Skirts Swayin’
Celebrating the infectious rhythms of Western swing music
It happened in Fort Worth, Texas in the summer of 1928. It could not have happened anywhere else. It could not have happened at another time. No one else could have done it.
A cigar salesman with a rich baritone voice, a barber who was also the best fiddle player in Texas, and a fifteen-year-old waitress who loved to dance.
Together, they created a style of music that still exists today. A style of music that is now the official music style for the state of Texas. Some called it Texas Swing. Most people just called it dance music.
They were Milt Brown, Mollie Perkins, and Jim-Bob Wills.
This is Mollie’s story.
Act 1
-
Deep in the Heart of Texas ##
-
Panhandle Rag ##
-
Thanks for Your Letter ##
-
Come and Kiss Me, Goodbye ##
-
Oh, Miss Mollie ##
-
Star Spangled Banner ##
-
Boot Kickin’ Dance Music
-
Times is Hard
-
Feelin’ Rhythm in the Air
-
Swingin’ Western Style
- historical music from 1945 Armed Forces Radio broadcast
Act 2
-
Lonesome Prairie Polka
-
Boot Kickin’ Dance Music
-
Brandin’ My Man with Love
-
Breakfast for a Texas Man
-
Crystal Springs
-
Dr. Lawson’s Little Pills
-
Zip-Zip Zipper *
-
Pass them Biscuits
-
Country Howdown
*Historical music performed by Light Crust Doughboys
Act 3
-
Truth Wars Against My Heart
-
Somebody Loses, Somebody Wins YY
-
When I was Young and Handsome YY
-
Galveston-Town Blues
-
Hand and Hand, We Face the Sea (Glorious Morning)
-
Melody Ranch Two-Step
-
San Antonio Rose zz
-
Fort Worth Molly
-
Silver Wings
YYHistorical music performed by Texas Jim Robertson
zzHistorical music performed by Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction built around historical circumstances. Molly Perkins as depicted in this work is a fictional character. She does not represent any person alive or dead.
Original music composed using Suno-AI and Soundful software.
Historical music was drawn from the American Armed Forces Radio Network Archives, Archive Number 3, 1945. It was accessed through the Internet Archive. Org website on May 11, 2024.
Cherry Blossoms at Night
a biological warfare mystery thriller
Appaloosa Radio is pleased to offer a dramatization of the first chapter of Brandon Michaels’ forthcoming novel, Cherry Blossoms at Night --- a biological warfare mystery thriller.
In 1945, the Japanese military ordered Operation PX, the release of biological weapons on civilians inside the United States in retaliation of the incendiary bombings of Tokyo. The designated targets were San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. World War II ended in August of 1945, or did it? This story captures the reality that an apocalyptic event can easily happen and for similar ill-conceived reasoning. COVID was just the beginning.
Author Biography
Brandon Michaels is an Award-winning American author. Brandon, an extremophile, has run marathons and mountain climbed on all seven continents. He has traveled to the four corners of the world visiting over 100 countries. Brandon is a retired homicide detective of 28+ years, and a licensed CA Private Investigator who writes short stories, anthologies, and destination travel articles for publications while writing his first novel. Brandon lives in Northern California with his wife Audrey.
He can be reached at: Brandonmichaels119@gmail.com
Credits
This dramatization was created with voices using the Eleven Labs – AI software. The theme music was performed by Audio Hero and is entitled “9-1-1 – a jazz adventure.” It was downloaded from the Royalty Free Music Apple iPhone app. Sound effects came primarily from the Pixabay website -- https://pixabay.com/
Copyright
The author retains any and all copyright use and ownership rights, present and in perpetuity. Use of this dramatization in any form is prohibited without the explicit permission of the author.
Appaloosa Radio Online makes no use or ownership claims on this material. It is webcast only with the kind permission of the original author.
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 9
Lorraine
An itinerant musician gets off the Sacramento light rail train and brings his bicycle, guitar, and other belongings to where a group of frustrated and perspiring bus riders wait in the hot August sun for a very late eastbound bus. He announces, “I’m riding up to Truckee. Some of my old friends are performing in a club up there. I’m hoping to do some riffs with them.” Then, he adds “I’m going to ride all night. I think I’ll be in Truckee about dawn, maybe a little later.”
It surprises no one that he is killed while riding on the Interstate highway in the dark.
But then, the inexplicable adventure begins.
=====================================
A ten-chapter audio story with original music.
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 10
On Making Bad Choices
An itinerant musician gets off the Sacramento light rail train and brings his bicycle, guitar, and other belongings to where a group of frustrated and perspiring bus riders wait in the hot August sun for a very late eastbound bus. He announces, “I’m riding up to Truckee. Some of my old friends are performing in a club up there. I’m hoping to do some riffs with them.” Then, he adds “I’m going to ride all night. I think I’ll be in Truckee about dawn, maybe a little later.”
It surprises no one that he is killed while riding on the Interstate highway in the dark.
But then, the inexplicable adventure begins.
=====================================
A ten-chapter audio story with original music.
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 8
Tearing it into Little Pieces
An itinerant musician gets off the light rail train and brings his bicycle, guitar, and other belongings to where a group of frustrated bus riders wait in the hot August sun for a very late eastbound bus. He announces “I’m riding up to Truckee. Some of my old friends are performing in a club up there. I’m hoping to do some riffs with them.” Then, he adds “I’m going to ride all night. I think I’ll be in Truckee about dawn, maybe a little later.”
It surpirses no one that he is killed while riding on the Interstate highway in the dark.
But then, the inexplicable adventure begins.
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 7
Radio Surfing
An itinerant musician gets off the light rail train and moves his bicycle, guitar, and other belongings to where a group has gatherer waiting for a very late eastbound bus.
Bicycle Guy began the conversation. “I’m riding up to Truckee. Some of my old friends are performing in a club up there. I’m hoping to do some riffs with them.”
“In May, I rode over the Rocky Mountains, all the way from Boulder, Colorado to Salt Lake City. I did it in just four days. Once I get started, I just keep going.”
Bicycle Guy loaded his bike onto the front rack of the bus, put his fare into the fare box, and grabbed a seat in the middle of the bus. Then, he shares for all to hear, “I’m going to ride all night. I think I’ll be in Truckee about dawn, maybe a little later.”
Mr. Hawaiian Shirt is incredulous. “You’re going to ride at night? Maybe you should camp out until it gets light.”
“I like riding at night. It really focuses my energy. When I rode over the Rockies last Spring, I did an overnighter. Better to keep going. Don’t ever stop.”
Traveling in silence with a legend
Watching the snow fall as we travel the miles
From New Mexico to Tennessee
Radio surfing all the while
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 6
rode that bike like a maniac
"Once we were in the rustic cabin, I began. “Mr. Kirkby was killed last month. He was riding on his bicycle up the freeway to Truckee from Auburn. It was dark. I don’t believe he had any lights on his bike. A vehicle hit him. Probably, not the driver’s fault. Apparently, Mr. Kirkby swerved suddenly out in front of the vehicle.”
‘Crooked Leg’ Andersen looked saddened by the news. It was hard to see his face clearly in the dim light and he was still wearing his cowboy hat. After a couple of minutes, he spoke. “I’m not really that surprised. He rode that bicycle like a maniac. Just like he did everything else.”
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 5
My Place is at the End of the Road
"In the morning in my hotel room, I looked through the local phone directory to see what else Mescalero had to offer. I also wanted to cross-check the phone number that Stan had given me.
In the slim phone book, I found two listings under “Andersen, Robert.” The first was just a phone number and a post office box number. The second was for “Anderson, Robert, Apache Cattle Buyers Association.” The two numbers were different, and both were different from what Stan had given me.
Since it was after eight in the morning, I decided to call the Cattle Buyers number. I used my most professional voice. “Hello! I would like to speak to Mr. Robert Andersen.”
“This is Bob. How can I help?”
“I’m looking for the Bob Andersen who used to be a music performer, known as ‘Crooked Leg” Bob Andersen. Is that you?”
There was a long pause. “It may have been a long time ago. Why do you want to know?”
“I have some information about David Wayne Kirkby.”
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 4
Not on a Cruise
Anyone in his right mind would want a five-day cruise sipping Margaritas next to their really sexy girlfriend (in a bikini no less). Far more preferable than a trip to the empty deserts of New Mexico. A trip for some poorly defined purposes.
However, at this point, I was no longer in my right mind. I left early the next morning, following my GPS south.
I was a hunter fixed on my prey. I was going to New Mexico, no matter what.
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 3
Winds of the Roaring Plains
Stan, my private investigator friend, finally finished his two massive chili burgers, gulped down a 22-ounce Coke, and then shared the results from his latest investigation.
“They are a country-western group, but they are not called Winds of the Plains. No, they named themselves the Winds of the Roaring Plains. By all accounts they really roared! A bunch of old rockers, perpetually on drugs, and living wild, playing what they called ‘red dirt Texas music.’ They thrived on live concerts and recorded only when they felt like it.”
He continued, “Remember the old rocker, Bob ‘Crooked Leg’ Andersen, well he started the band to rebuild his own career.”
“’Crooked Leg’ Andersen. Wasn’t he a headliner back in the Woodstock era?”
“The very same. According to the band’s former agent, Andersen formed it to re-start his own career. It was a hybrid of old-time rock and Texas-style ‘red dirt’ western music. Woodie Guthrie thrown into a bubbling cauldron of acid music. Loud, raspy, but very Texas!”
I mused over what Stan was telling me. “Wow! ‘Crooked Leg’ Andersen. That goes way back. That guy must be over 60, or even dead.”
“Try, 70. Not dead, but very retired. Winds of the Roaring Plains broke up in the late 1990s, probably while your David Wayne guy was still in prison.”
“So, they weren’t getting ready to perform a gig in Truckee?”
“They haven’t done a gig any place in nearly 15 years. And the agent says that he doesn’t remember the band ever playing in Tahoe, Truckee, or Reno, for that matter.”
“So, Bicycle Guy was riding all night up Interstate 80 to go to a concert by a group that no longer exists, and never played in the area.”
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 2
News Story
Two days later, I was reading a local newspaper when a small news item caught my attention.
“Transient killed riding bicycle at night on Interstate 80.”
Not much more. The driver of the pick-up was not at fault, said the California Highway Patrol spokesperson. The bicycle had swerved unexpectedly into on-coming traffic. The article did give a name DAVID WAYNE KIRKBY and said that the transient carried an expired driver’s license from Tennessee.
The whole affair should have ended there.
I should have returned to my normal life. I had a moderately well-paying job, a great girlfriend, Terri, and a very playful Golden Retriever, Roger Dodger. Really, I had a pretty comfortable life. Sure, I griped about some things (OK, a lot of things!), but overall, my life was pretty good. I should have been satisfied.
Nonetheless, after meeting David Wayne Kirkby, I found that I was having sleepless nights worrying about him. Why had he ridden over the Rocky Mountains? What was he doing in Tennessee? Why did he treat his guitar with such special respect? And, most frequently, what drove him to ride his bicycle up such a dangerous highway? He was meeting some musician friends. Who were they? Why did he have to get there?
NIGHT RIDER UP TO TRUCKEE
An original story from Appaloosa Radio
Chapter 1
The Bicycle Guy
An itinerant musician gets off the light rail train and moves his bicycle, guitar, and other belongings to where a group has gatherer waiting for a very late eastbound bus.
Bicycle Guy began the conversation. “I’m riding up to Truckee. Some of my old friends are performing in a club up there. I’m hoping to do some riffs with them.”
Mr. Hawaiian Shirt had information that the Bicycle Guy did not. “There’s no way that you can ride your bike up to Truckee. It is over 7,000 feet and the only road is Interstate 80. No bicycles allowed.”
Bicycle Guy drew deeply on his cigar. I can’t stand the smoke, but I have been pulled into the drama.
“In May, I rode over the Rocky Mountains, all the way from Boulder, Colorado to Salt Lake City. I did it in just four days. Once I get started, I just keep going.”
Mr. Hawaiian Shirt was not impressed. “There is only one way up to Truckee. On the Freeway. Lots of trucks. Semis.”
Bicycle Guy draws another lung-full of tobacco smoke. “There is another road. The old road goes alongside the Freeway. I took it down last Spring. Only had to ride on the Freeway for a few miles. They had all those orange barrels set up for construction. I just rode over there.”
Mr. Hawaiian Shirt cannot let anyone else win the debate, even if there really was no debate. “Well, you should know that they raised the fare. It now costs $1.25 each way for the trip up to Auburn.”
Bicycle Guy smiles. “Well worth the money! A whole lot easier than riding.”
Everyone stood around, more or less silently, for another twenty minutes until our very late bus finally arrived.
Bicycle Guy loaded his bike onto the front rack, put his fare into the fare box, and grabbed a seat in the middle of the bus.
As the driver roared away, attempting to make up for lost time by not stopping at stop signs or red lights, Bicycle Guy and Mr. Hawaiian Shirt continued their conversation.
Bicycle Guy shares, “I’m going to ride all night. I think I’ll be in Truckee about dawn, maybe a little later.”
Mr. Hawaiian Shirt is incredulous. “You’re going to ride at night? Maybe you should camp out until it gets light.”
“I like riding at night. It really focuses my energy. When I rode over the Rockies last Spring, I did an overnighter. Better to keep going. Don’t ever stop.”
The note was all too brief. It had been placed where they believed it would be readily found, under the cairn marking the exploration of the region by an earlier expedition.
The note simply read:
“25th, April 1848. Her Majesty’s ships 'Terror' and 'Erebus' were deserted on the 22nd April, 5 leagues North, Northwest of this spot, havIng been beset since 12th September, 1846. The officers and crews, consisting of 105 souls, under the command of Captain F.R.M. Crozier.
Sir John Franklin died on the 11th June, 1847;
and the total loss by deaths in the expedition has been to this date 9 officers and 15 men. (Signed) JAMES FITZJAMES, Captain H.M.S. Erebus.
(Signed) F.R.M. CROZIER, Captain & Senior Officer
and on tomorrow, 26th, start for Back's Fish River.”
And on tomorrow, the 26th, we start for Back’s Fish River
We start for Back’s Fish River.
Consisting of 105 souls
105 souls
105 souls.
My True Love is a Sonnet
A Story and a Song Taken from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Just the Facts
“He had done this hundreds of times while working on hundreds of cases. The grizzled, veteran, police detective sergeant checked his notepad for details, and then he turned to the eyewitness to confirm the facts. His job was to confirm the facts. “Just the facts,” as the fictional radio detective Sergeant Joe Friday did every week on the show, Dragnet.”
The police dectective believes that there are facts. Discoverable, evidence-based facts. Hard facts, as the detective sergeant would say. Facts. Not fictions.
Facts are as real as bullets, burglaries, bullies, and bastards.
Facts are discovered. Uncovered. Revealed. They are not made up. Not mere possibilities. Not speculation.
Put all the facts together and you have a whole picture. You know what happened. You know what really occurred. You have the facts.
Yet finding the facts is more obtuse than it seems. In truth, it may not even be possible. Determining which purported events occurred and which did not may ultimately prove fruitless.
The Dragnet radio theme music is available on the Internet Archive in its Dragnet 1950s Radio Show collection. The audio used here is from: Episode # 33, originally broadcast on NBC Radio on March 18, 1950.
A Love Letter
Berlin
January 1945
This letter was never mailed. It was found in 2011 neatly folded inside a family Bible. Ingrid’s father had been the Director of one of Berlin’s most prestigious hospitals which had provided care for many of the Nazi elite. After the War, he was sanctioned, but not imprisoned.
The family moved to Dusseldorf where he again worked as a physician.
In 1948, Christa Vogel applied for a secretarial position with the municipal government. To obtain it, she had to certify that she had never been a member of the National Socialist (NAZI) Party.
Kurt Schneider was mobilized soon after this letter was written and was killed by the advancing Russian forces in mid-February 1945.
Hans-Gunther Keller-Vogel, Ingrid’s brother, was also killed in February 1945 when his anti-aircraft battery was struck by a Russian bomber, destroying the battery’s ammunition bunker.
MUSIC
Night Vigil by Kevin MacLeod | https://incompetech.com/
Music promoted by https://www.chosic.com/free-music/all/
Creative Commons CC BY 3.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
Escape!
A work of fiction based on a true story
Part 2 --- Time to Go
Nearly 23,000 American soldiers were captured during the Battle of the Bulge. Among them were three G.I.s from Western Pennsylvania serving in the 422nd Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division who were captured on December 19, 1945.
This work of fiction tells about their escape from the notorious Stalag IV-B P.O.W. prison and their eventual (and eventful!) return to the medical amenities of Camp Lucky Strike.
The events included in this part occurred northeast of Leipzig, near Sieben-Arm-Säule during early April 1945.
It is a work of historical fiction based on the actual experiences of Vernon J. Cumberland, Bruce Waldo, and Horace Catheay, to whom it is dedicated.
Escape!
A work of fiction based on a true story
Part 3 --- A Bluff
Nearly 23,000 American soldiers were captured during the Battle of the Bulge. Among them were three G.I.s from Western Pennsylvania serving in the 422nd Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division who were captured on December 19, 1944.
This work of fiction tells about their escape from the notorious Stalag IV-B P.O.W. prison and their eventual (and eventful!) return to the medical amenities of Camp Lucky Strike.
The events included in this part occurred northeast of Leipzig, near Sieben-Arm-Säule during early April 1945.
It is a work of historical fiction based on the actual experiences of Vernon J. Cumberland, Bruce Waldo, and Horace Catheay, to whom it is dedicated.
Escape!
A work of fiction based on a true story
Part 4 --- Surrender and Return
Nearly 23,000 American soldiers were captured during the Battle of the Bulge. Among them were three G.I.s from Western Pennsylvania serving in the 422nd Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division who were captured on December 19, 1944.
This work of fiction tells about their escape from the notorious Stalag IV-B P.O.W. prison and their eventual (and eventful!) return to the medical amenities of Camp Lucky Strike.
The events included in this part occurred northeast of Leipzig, near Sieben-Arm-Säule during early April 1945.
It is a work of historical fiction based on the actual experiences of Vernon J. Cumberland, Bruce Waldo, and Horace Catheay, to whom it is dedicated.
Susan Abrams gives us a short story about one of her favorite kitchen utensils, an older ice cream scooper with a yellow, fluted handle.
Gladys Patricia Symington
by Jeannie Turner
originally published in
From a Writer’s Finger to a Butterfly’s Wing
An anthology by the Sacramento Suburban Writers Club
Jeannie Turner shares a brief poem about her favorite travel companion.
Escape!
A work of fiction based on a true story
Part 1
Nearly 23,000 American soldiers were captured during the Battle of the Bulge. Among them were three G.I.s from Western Pennsylvania serving in the 422nd Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division who were captured on December 19, 1945.
This work of fiction tells about their escape from the notorious Stalag IV-B P.O.W. prison and their eventual (and eventful!) return to the medical amenities of Camp Lucky Strike.
It is a work of historical fiction based on the actual experiences of Vernon J. Cumberland, Bruce Waldo, and Horace Catheay, to whom it is dedicated.
Three times a week, Owen Namura drove his mother from her mobile home to the pond in the park. He would unload her walker and then assist her to walk the 200 yards to the stone wall surrounding the pond, and then help her to sit on it.
Once she was situated, each would smoke a cigarette. He used to smoke a cigar, but she did not like its smell. So, he chose mentholated cigarettes instead.
They would look at the pond, but neither would speak. Then after twenty minutes or so, Owen would help his mother to stand and then assist her as she slowly walked back to the car. As he drove her back to her immaculately maintained mobile home, surrounded by thousands of carefully tended flowers, they would sometimes converse in Japanese.
Club Crazy
by Bryson Kilmer
Presented in collaboration with the Sacramento Suburban Writers.
Humor.
Bryson Kilmer tells about the zany meeting of one crazy club.
The Lies of a Salesmen
By
Markus Place
A One-hundred-and-91-Second Story On Appaloosa Radio
A retired super-salesman ponders the role of lying and falsehood in business relationships.
Dying Friends, Syvilla and Bode
A 191 second story
From Appaloosa Radio
My best friend from college, Scott, now lives in Southern Oregon in the Illinois River Valley in a house that he built himself. For the last dozen years, every morning he did a run along the river with his ever-present friend, his dog Bode. This morning, Scott texted me that Bode had died. His fast-growing cancer had overwhelmed him. Scott included a picture of Bode lying in his bed, with a caption saying that, Bode was resting after doing a very short run. Scott’s message said that was his last run.
My Father Beat Me
A 91-second Story
Created for Appaloosa Radio
From a ---
Private Journal Entry
June 17, 1973
My father beat me. Not just the occasional swat. No. He used his leather razor strap to hit me multiple times on my legs, on my hips, and on my back. He would do it three or four times a week. I remember that when I was thirteen, he beat me eight times during the same week. That’s right, twice in the same day.
Eve and Petro
Rocky Mountain Swallows
By Edith M. Patch
By training and occupation, Edith Patch was one of the world’s foremost entomologists. She was the premier “bug lady” of her time, a serious scientist who contributed hundreds of papers to her field and who eventually became the first-ever-woman President of the Entomological Society of America.
She was, also, a scientist who wanted to excite children’s interest and enthusiasm in natural history by writing engaging stories about the many creatures she had studied and had come to value.
She often said that her stories were designed for “younger” elementary-aged children.
Yet, a century later, we find a consummate naturalist with the voice of a poet whose work resonates particularly well with the ethos of our own time.
Most certainly not just for children!
~~~
Appaloosa Radio is pleased to webcast stories from Edith Patch’s 1922 classic LITTLE GATEWAYS TO SCIENCE: BIRD STORIES, which was originally published with the incredible illustrations by Robert J. Sim.
We present the work under the license provided by Project Gutenberg, Number /2/5/6/0/25600/
Don’t Touch Anything!
By
Jody Carnes-Hart
For Appaloosa Radio
I have recently retired from my position as the Chief Technology Officer for a large, California State agency. I am now spending much of my time, sharing stories about how technology has impacted us. This is a story from my husband, from a summer job that he had in 1968.
That summer, he worked in the collating room at a company that produced a unique product, the so-called “secret” book of listings that every real estate agent carried with them. My husband’s company had contracted with the various Boards of Realtors across Southern California to produce new books every week. Here’s how it worked. A local board of realtors would type up a 3 by 5 card with all of the particulars of the property’s listing, and then a “photographer” from my husband’s company would pick up the card and then photograph the property using a specially designed Polaroid camera. At the company, the Polaroid photograph and the card would be photo transferred to a paper ITEK plate and then printed on an offset printing press. Remarkably efficient technology for the time.
In the collating room, the various books would be made up for delivery back to the customers.
The collating room had a massive machine that could collate nineteen separate pages at a time. Once a “book” had been collated, a worker would drill holes so the pages could be inserted into a binder.
Don’t Touch Anything!
By
Jody Carnes-Hart
For Appaloosa Radio
I have recently retired from my position as the Chief Technology Officer for a large, California State agency. I am now spending much of my time, sharing stories about how technology has impacted us. This is a story from my husband, from a summer job that he had in 1968.
That summer, he worked in the collating room at a company that produced a unique product, the so-called “secret” book of listings that every real estate agent carried with them. My husband’s company had contracted with the various Boards of Realtors across Southern California to produce new books every week. Here’s how it worked. A local board of realtors would type up a 3 by 5 card with all of the particulars of the property’s listing, and then a “photographer” from my husband’s company would pick up the card and then photograph the property using a specially designed Polaroid camera. At the company, the Polaroid photograph and the card would be photo transferred to a paper ITEK plate and then printed on an offset printing press. Remarkably efficient technology for the time.
In the collating room, the various books would be made up for delivery back to the customers.
Biscuits and Gravy
An original audio story
Written for Appaloosa Radio
It was Wednesday morning and that always meant a massive plate of biscuits and gravy at Dee’s Skillet, a breakfast joint on Highway 101. And it always meant that Jim would join him.
They had worked together on a construction job some twenty or so years ago. Both were electricians. Both had come to Silicon Valley to make the really good wages. Both loved NASCAR. Most importantly, both were from Texas. To be sure, one hailed from San Antonio and one grew up in Corpus Christi, but hell, that didn’t matter, they were both Texans!
And both were named Jim.
Where did the rabbits go?
A 91-Second Story
Written for Appaloosa Radio
In the late 1940s, a four-year-old lives near his grandparents in an old lumber camp on Lake Ballenger, Washington. Each day, he puts on his red rubber boots and follows his grandfather down a scary path to feed the rabbits that the grandfather raises. Once a month, a truck comes and takes some of the rabbits away, but the boy never knows where the rabbits go.
Then, when he is ten, an older cousin takes him hunting and he learns the truth.
Hummingbirds
A 91-second audio story
Written for
Appaloosa Radio
Have you ever thought about a (non-human) species adapting to a new technology?
Appaloosa Radio offers
An original audio story
By D. R. Nichols
***Furious
"You hate him, you really do."***
Bear or Steer –
Steer or Bear
A 91-secon story
Written for Appaloosa Radio
Hiking can be dangerous!
THE FIVE WORLDS OF LARIE
By Edith M. Patch
By training and occupation, Edith Patch was one of the world’s foremost entomologists. She was the premier “bug lady” of her time, a serious scientist who contributed hundreds of papers to her field and who eventually became the first-ever-woman President of the Entomological Society of America.
She was, also, a scientist who wanted to excite children’s interest and enthusiasm in natural history by writing engaging stories about the many creatures she had studied and had come to value.
She often said that her stories were designed for “younger” elementary-aged children.
Yet, a century later, we find a consummate naturalist with the voice of a poet whose work resonates particularly well with the ethos of our own time.
Most certainly not just for children!
~~~
Appaloosa Radio is pleased to webcast stories from Edith Patch’s 1922 classic LITTLE GATEWAYS TO SCIENCE: BIRD STORIES, which was originally published with the incredible illustrations by Robert J. Sim.
We present the work under the license provided by Project Gutenberg, Number /2/5/6/0/25600/
Appaloosa Radio is now webcasting extremely short fiction stories, i.e., stories running about 90 seconds long.
Appaloosa Radio Presents
An original Audio Story
The Ride
In June 1979, two brothers drive an electrical contractor’s work truck up to the Mojave Desert from Huntington Beach, California.
They could not be more different. Professor Tomar Hinton is an “up and coming” philosopher now teaching at an exclusive private university in North Carolina. His younger brother, James, is an electrical contractor leading a crew which is constructing huge windmills on the crest of the desert’s mountains. Tomar has returned to his parents’ home to facilitate the funeral arrangements for their father. James offers his older brother use of the contractor’s work truck, but still needs a ride up to the work site.
The trip up to the desert worksite will take three and a half hours and begins at an “ungodly” hour in the middle of the night. There is no radio in the old truck, and the brothers are forced, as a result, to talk with each other.
An intimate, yet powerful story, of communicating across vast differences.
A Most Decrepit Ferry and the Magic of Chiku Shan
As re-told in Rarrko’s Celebration Speech
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Representing his father, the Nineteenth Great Nobleman of Sassko, Noble Son Dusko Rarrko has been asked to re-tell the exciting adventure story of the escape of the Chiku Shan people from the tyranny of the brutal Nata-Vavra. The escape was aboard a decrepit ferry craft that was captained by a former smuggler, M N P Farfalla Cronbo-guuch, Falla’ as he was always called. The escape would not have been possible without the active intervention of the Ukimonogakari warrior monks and their special magic of silence.
A heroic escape from wicked oppression. An escape using the most unexpected means.
The speech highlights a day of celebration and remembrance for the Chiku Shan people of Ruch-858.
============
This story was inspired by reading Sid Fleischman’s 1954 novel, Blood Alley which tells of a small Chinese village escaping from China’s Peoples Liberation Army by stealing a flat-bottom, wood-burning paddle-wheeler. Of course, the present story is a work of original fiction. Only three elements were retained from the earlier novel: the manner of Falla’s escape from prison, the name “Chiku Shan,” and the principal villain “Feng.”
Sid Fleishman was a very prolific author who wrote both novels and screenplays, but who is best known today for his many award-winning children's books.
Sauced
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
“Luscious Lell by the ever-lovely Lake . . . . Satisfying your every pleasure is our only business.”
“Within the world of espionage, they often call it a “honeytrap.” A sweet opportunity to trap an individual, to compromise them, to procure information, to elicit on-going cooperation. The enticements often include sex, drugs, special status, and money. Once an individual falls into the honeytrap, they are particularly vulnerable to blackmail, extortion, and exploitation.
In the posh international, resort city of Lell, which hosts guests from a million different sectors, there were many such “honeytraps.” However, there was one of singular brilliance, one that featured opulence beyond imagination, one with its own unique crystalline pavilion displaying unparalleled views of the magnificent Lake of Many Colors. Where only individuals of the greatest significance were personally invited. The Événement de la soirée --- hosted by the Noblewoman, Bronwynne de Soluxe, the cousin of Noble Son Dusko Rarrko, the Second Son of the 19th Great Nobleman of Sassko.
Like the other “honeytraps,” Noblewoman Bronwynne staffed her pavilion with Koopsie girls, artificial creations of exquisite beauty, whose sole purpose was to bring pleasure. But, unlike many of the others, she also added Koopsie boys (for those who were so inclined).
~~~
Narrator:
“Guests are arriving for an evening of pleasure at the Crystalline Pavilion, operated by the Noble Lady Bronwynne of Sassko. Her Principal Mozhino, Ariana Jo Lynn, warmly greets the invited guests as they arrive.”
Principal Mozhno:
“Noble Lady, Bronwynne. We have just been joined by a high-ranking military official from the Empire Sha Yot.”
Noblewoman:
“Show me on the monitors. Yes. He is from the Emperor’s Supreme Military Council. I do not recognize the rank. PNB7Q please identify this individual.”
PNB7Q:
“That is Supreme Vice Commander for Infantry Operations, Jozan Bat Betulzum. He is the third highest ranking member of the Emperor’s Supreme Military Council.”
Noblewoman:
“Do we have any intelligence data on him?”
PNB7Q:
“Negative. We only know what is publicly available. No personal data is obtainable.”
Noblewoman:
“Then, why has he come here. Surely his intelligence professionals have warned him about what kind of operation our pavilion is.”
Principal Mozhno:
“Noble Lady, we have an answer to your query. He has gone down to the arena where he has placed a large wager on one of the mortal-battle bouts.”
Noblewoman:
“So, he appears to be a gambler. I am herewith ordering all agents to stay away from the Supreme Vice Commander. Do no approach. Do not elicit contact. Stay back. We will watch.”
~~~
PNB7Q:
“Noble Son. I am sorry to awaken you. But I have terrible news.”
Rarrko:
“I am now fully awake. Please continue.”
PNB7Q:
“The Empire Sha Yot has issued an evocation of war against Sassko.”
Rarrko:
“What? How could that be?”
PNB7Q:
“It is in response to the murder of Supreme Vice Commander for Infantry Operations, Jozan Bat Betulzum.”
Rarrko:
“To my knowledge, we have never had any contact with him. He is one of the old guard warriors who disavows all contact with foreigners.”
PNB7Q:
“Nevertheless, he was murdered in the Crystalline Pavilion that Noble Lady Bronwynne operates.”
Rarrko:
“PNB7Q, this is most puzzling. I spoke with Bronwynne earlier this evening, and everything was nominal. No mention of a high-ranking military officer from the Empire Sha Yot. P
City of 4000 Spies
The Beast
Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Nineteenth Great Nobleman of Sassko, was probably Lell’s most recognizable spy. He was handsome, athletic, and ingenious. He wore flashy high-end fashion and drove a speeder that broke 1.75. He was seldom seen without a bevy of beautiful females and was often described with that old-fashioned word “playboy” (although no one seemed to know what it meant).
He looked the part of a spy. He moved in the nuanced way that spies moved.
If you asked him, “what is your occupation?”, he would smugly smile and say, “I am a spy, of course.” If you would follow up with another question, “who are you spying for?” he would again smirk, “Who ever pays me the most.”
However, he was already wealthy beyond imagination.”
Recently, his routine changed. Now, every morning, he rose early,and took the pleasure boat out to the small Island in the remarkable Lake of The Many Colors. He brought with him a sack lunch and a hat to protect him from the intense solar radiation of the Blue Sun.
During the quadracycle of the Blue Sun, most residents of Lell stayed indoors fearing the epidermal effects of the solar radiation. Dosko Rarrko had the extremely fair purple skin so typical of the people of Sassko. It would have been prudent for him to stay indoors. Venturing out posed a danger to him.
Yet, every morning he took the pleasure boat to the island and paid his admission to the now decrepitate zoological garden.
There, he would sit on a particular bench for an hour or so, slowly eating the contents of his sack lunch.
After finishing his sack lunch, he would take the boat back to his hotel and continue with his regular daily activities.
In a posh city where you can get any pleasure, recreational opportunity, drug, potion, or experience, Dusko Rarrko, the admitted spy, had selected one of the very most sedate of the City’s many recreational opportunities.
Posited Murder
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
~~~
Rarrko:“Thank you PNB7Q for locating these for me. I have wanted to resolve the matter for some time.”
PNB7Q: “The documents that you had sought were difficult to find. They had been hidden in a bunker in a long-abandoned military base. It took some bribery and duplicity to obtain them.
[long pause] I notice that they are from a war that has been over for nearly forty-five quants.”
Rarrko: “Yes from a war that almost everyone has forgotten. A small war of insignificance. A mere ruffling of the feathers of the major powers. Less than ten thousand dead. Compared to the hundreds of millions in subsequent years, it was a small event indeed.”
PNB7Q: “I also noticed the seal of the Kingdom Gje.”
Rarrko: “Well technically speaking, it really was not an affair of the Kingdom Gje. It was an enterprise coordinated by one of the many sub-contractors that they Kingdom used, an enterprise designed to allow the Kingdom total deniability.”
PNB7Q: “I know the pattern. The Empire Sha Yot uses its own agents, never trusting anyone else. On the other hand, the Kingdom Gje, according to their pronouncements, had no clandestine agents. They were never involved. Always had complete deniability.”
Rarrko: “Yes. That’s the pattern. That’s what happened in this small affair.”
PNB7Q: “Why do you have such a keen interest in an affair that is of so little consequence.”
Rarrko: “Because I murdered a man. A man whose murder I was never certain was justified.”
PNB7Q: “You were, I presume, under orders. The justification was not yours to make.”
Rarrko: “The decision was mine. I was told it was justified. A beautiful woman told me. I believed her.”
PNB7Q: “But you no longer believe her.”
Rarrko: “I have my doubts. I had them moments after I strangled the man with a window covering.”
Appaloosa Radio Offers
An original audio drama
From the City of 4,000 Spies Series
Information is Expensive
PNB7Q knew Noble Son Dusko Rarrko from many eons of clandestine work together. Their relationship was as close as a data device and a sentient being could be.
The PNB7Q knew that what was left unsaid was often more important than what was spoken. Many times, a whiff of intuition had more value than volumes of specific, and detailed information.
There was a reason why Noble Son Dusko Rarrko wished to travel to Lell without informing the PNB7Q. Intuition told the PNB7Q that this was not a need for recreation, down time, as Rarrko had called it. It was a trip where Rarrko wished to travel incognito. Not hidden from others, but, rather, hidden from the PNB7Q themselves.
Remember, the PNB7Q was a set of separate data devices organized into a single, systematic vehicle for sharing necessary information among agents and designated decision-makers in real time. Sharing was the operational word. Anyone with the appropriate access would be able to query the PNB7Q and learn both where Rarrko was going and what his purpose was for going there.
The PNB7Q not only created opportunities for quickly sharing information, but also the necessarysupports for collaborative activities. With the assistance of the PNB7Q, Sassko’s agents and its decision makers could act as one organic whole. Sharing pertinent, real-time information, and becoming, as a result, unified for decisive collaborative action.
However, on this occasion, Noble Son Dusko Rarrko was deliberately withholding pertinent information from the PNB7Q.
There was information about this trip to the resort city of Lell that he did not want shared with others.
The unsaid was more important than the explicit.
Trip Home
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies **Series
~~~**
On a on a very hush-hush assignment of an unspecified nature, Noble Son, Dusko Rarrko is in the very distant Ganna 40 Sector.
He is working for a sponsoring entity that carries out actions of an indeterminate kind.
Then, he receives a secret message from PNB7Q. “Return home immediately on first available transport.”
Unfortunately, the only available transport is a very slow cargo klunker, designed for carrying extremely heavy loads to and from the mines. It carries passengers only as a necessary courtesy. Sixteen seats. No food. No drink. No entertainment.
Rarrko must spend the next 96 earth revolutions trapped in a 20-meter by 20-meter, very bare-bones passenger comparment with fifteen strangers, bound together by their boredom and monotony.
It turns out to be, as he says later, “a most eventful trip.”
This audio story also pays partial homage to the 1954 film, The High and The Mighty, probably one of the finest “air disaster” films to come from Hollywood. See if you find those elements!
~~~
Whistler music:
Under Paris Skies. Kunstpfelfer Sirus. Accessed through YOUTUBE on 2-1-2022
Welcome to Season Three of Appaloosa Radio!
This season will focus on one continuing series of audio stories. We offer the City of 4000 Spies science fiction series featuring Noble Son Dusko Rarrko, the director of undercover information gathering activities and espionage for the tiny (but resource rich) Dominion of Sassko.
The Dominion or sassko is frequently pitted against the two principal powers, the Empire Sha Yot and the venerable Kingdom of Jay-Gee. To maintain its independence, Sassko remains avowedly neutral, while actively gathering information and clandestinely acting on its own national interests.
During this season, Appaloosa Radio offers six distinct stories:
· The Big Chief – a multi-part story
· The Mineral of Information
· I am JooN-ie
· Information is Expensive
· The Trip Home
· The Beast
Come to the resort city of Lell and its Lake of Lake of Many Colors.
Lell, where every recreational opportunity, drug, potion, or experience is just a click away, efficiently delivered to your luxury suite and (of course) charged directly to your account.
On the tour boats, the guides tell of the Lake of Many Colors, where a 100 million fragments merge and re-merge into billions and billions of patterns. One can spend multiple lifetimes watching its fantastic, ever-swirling waves and never (not even once) see a representation repeated.
But to those in the know, Lell is a very different kind of place.
“Believe me, no one comes to Lell to watch the Lake. No, Lell is an international city where guests from a million different sectors are fully welcomed (as long as their cash holds out). It is where one comes to mine the most precious mineral of all, the mineral of information. They say that the resort city of Lell has over 4,000 spies. That’s not counting the taxi drivers, the hotel staff, the Farqat dealers in the casino, the Unie barkeepers, the Antonine fortune-tellers, and the ever-present Koopsie girls, any one of whom will gladly gather whatever information that is requested, for a sizable tip.”
“Lell is where information is acquired, bartered, stolen, resold, confirmed, and falsified. Rumors, rumors about rumors, and the possibility of even more rumors fill the luxury suites with spies of every shape, size, language family, and quadrant of origin.”
Enjoy the City of 4000 Spies series of audio stories!
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies **Series
Part 9
Conclusion**
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Part 1
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Part 3
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Part 6
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Part 2
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Part 4
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Big Chief
An Original Story by Appaloosa Radio
From the continuing City of 4000 Spies Series
Part 5
In addition to his very public royal duties, Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Great Nobleman, operated his nation’s undercover information-gathering activities, its chief spy, as it were.
After the gala dinner celebration honoring the newly arrived Ambassador from the Gela-im Sector, he sat in his private lounge holding a message.
It appeared to be a routine message that had been transmitted through the usual clandestine channels. It was from one of his most trusted agents. A very beautiful woman that he had recruited, trained, and placed in a key position. She was a woman that Rarrko had great affection for, one that he had made love to many times. Her network was one of the most productive that he had ever built. She learned things other agents could not. Intelligent. Resourceful. Very skilled. Very trusted.
Rarrko read the message again.
“To the Director of Special Operations (DSO). Most urgent. Usual manner of liaison with Big Chief under severe surveillance. Believe code marking device in adversary hands. Give directive how to re-establish direct contact with Big Chief. Urgent. Need assistance. Romaine.”
Rarrko knew from the content of the message that his agent was now under the control of an adversary. The phrase “Big Chief” is one that no one in Rarrko’s networks would use. No, they would use a number that PNB7Q would randomly generate for each message transmission. No one was ever named. Never.
And, the message ended with the agent’s real birth name. Romaine Wi Jaa Cert. She would never expose her real name in a clandestine message. Never.
Rarrko knew what had to be done., as much as he disliked doing it. The agent and her entire network must be eliminated. Sanctioned is the word used. Sanctioned before more damage can occur. Sanctioned before the adversary could gain advantage.
But where was she? And who, among Sassko’s many adversaries had her?
Appaloosa Radio offers
Contemplating Evil
An audio story
which includes original, period-specific music
performed by
The Howlin’ Wolf,
Vernon Dalhart,
And Billy Murray
He drew a lungful of smoke from his ever-present pipe. He was now 87 years old. He once estimated that he had spent over two-thirds of his life with a pipe between his teeth, filling his lungs with burning Prince Albert pipe tobacco. To be more precise (since he was one who valued precision and accuracy), his estimate had been that he had spent 68.2 percent of his life with a pipe in his mouth.
He came from a generation of Southerners who believed that smoking a pipe was genteel, the sign of a contemplative gentleman, one who measured life carefully, and reached conclusions only after the consideration of all the available evidence.
He sat on his back deck looking at the hills behind his property. Just the merest hint of fall color. If it does not rain, in a couple of weeks the hills will be aflame with all the seasonal colors, and the looki-lews will be coming up to the mountains from Atlanta for their fall pilgrimage. Restaurants and hotels would be full. Craft fairs. Mountain music. A good time to stay home, he thought.
Still, it was good to live in the Georgia mountains. They understood him as no mortal did.
He sat on his back deck, smoking his pipe, in deep contemplation.
He could have been remembering the good that had happened in his now long life.
But he was not.
Yet, as he sat on his back deck, his thoughts were not on any of these.
Instead, they were on a photograph that had been printed as a postcard.
It was in his always locked gun safe, in a special drawer that had its own lock.
Appaloosa Radio offers
Alligator
A Nell Trustmon Story
In rural mining communities like Boyce, Colorado, the arrival of the “Alligator Man” created a community-wide celebration. How could any of the Lithuanian miners continue to work in the deep, hard rock silver mine when there was a real, live alligator in town? Gotta see that!
Alligators were hardly rare in places like Florida or the bayous of Louisiana. And almost anyone who visited a zoo in one of the major eastern cities could see a tropical display featuring gators. But, here in the high western Rockies, the alligator was a very rare sight.
The alligator came courtesy of a showman and promoter named Clyde Chantt who claimed to have a Ph.D. in reptile herpetology from a university that no one had ever heard of. “Professor” Chantt (as he preferred to be called) travelled among the mining towns of the West driving a 1917 Ford Truck, pulling a large, brightly painted metal tank filled with water and containing a 15 foot alligator. He charged patrons fifteen cents each to watch his “demonstrations” of the reptile’s cunning capabilities. Each “demonstration” ended with Professor Chantt climbing a tall metal ladder next to the alligator’s tank, and then holding out a long fishing pole with a hunk of chicken attached to it. He would encourage the animal to perform, and within a minute or two, the alligator would jump up out of the water ten feet or more and grab its meal from the end of the pole.
In the evenings, after the last feeding demonstration, local children would often slip beneath the canvas fence that the Professor had set up to block the view of the non-paying spectators, and in a mixture of awe and fear, watch the alligator.
Cle Curbo’s fable . . .
“Virginia, you are the youngest and most wise of your siblings, so I will tell you about your mother's family. Maybe you will recognize her in the story of Seven Witches.”
Roomies
Original College Humor
Going away to college and residing in a dorm is an opportunity to learn to live with differences. Roommates can learn how to accommodate the needs of others. However, what happens when the roomie you are assigned to live with proves so different that it almost seems as if he came from another planet. You ask for help in dealing with Seth, but the university can’t provide any.
“OK, if the University won’t help me, then it is up to me. Be ready, Seth, for total war.
I have long been a fan of the James Bond 007 movies. So, my first plans turn to slicing Seth up with a powerful space laser, or maybe filling our dorm room with saltwater and then bringing in a bevy of very hungry tiger sharks. Alligators would work too. Maybe even piranha.
Then, there’s that great Clint Eastwood movie where he climbs a mountain with a group of men who, one by one, mysteriously keep falling off their ropes. He didn’t know which one was his target, so, one-by-one, he eliminated them all. Long way down, Seth!
Or, maybe I could go old school gangster. Maybe I could take him to the lake for a one-way boat ride, and then, when were in the middle of the lake, I could fit him with a custom pair of cement boots.
If I went medieval, then there are all kinds of possibilities. Torture him on the rack. Burn him at the stake. Shoot with a quiver of arrows. The possibilities for inflicting cruelty are endless.
But, I rejected all of those options. Too expensive. Too much work. Too complicated.
Instead, I opted for a low-tech guerilla war.”
College humor based on all-too-true experiences!
(Re-broadcast by special request)
The General Strike
Featuring O.ss.K.ar 44-070-256, Lauren’s personal EeKK//.
Imagine a time (in the not-too-distant future) when EeKK//s do all the work.
In this episode, Lauren joins a "General Strike" to protest a grave social injustice, and O.ss.K.ar 44-070-256 has to take swift action to prevent harm.
The prime task of organizing and coordinating Lauren’s “strike” adventure fell to OSKAR, Lauren’s most personal Eck. OSKAR kept her calendar, managed her health and finances, facilitated her communication, and managed and organized all the other Ecks who supported Lauren’s life.
When Lauren first added the event “general strike” to her calendar, OSKAR was not familiar with the term. It was not in his native vocabulary. From game play, he knew about “striking an opponent” but that did not fit the calendar entry. He also knew about “strikes” in bowling. Sometimes Lauren bowled with friends, and OSKAR kept score, but again the term did not seem to be about bowling. Still, it was on her calendar and OSKAR had to organize for it. First, he noted that the location was not at her work site. Therefore, he reasoned it might be a non-working day. A vacation day? Maybe a personal enrichment day? He was not sure how to code it.
Nonetheless, it was at a location different from where she usually went on Tuesday mornings. OSKAR opened his mapping applications and located the event’s site as a large plaza in front of a downtown office building. So, she would need parking. OSKAR found a parking garage three blocks from the plaza, checked for competitive rates, inspected available police crime reports for the area to see if it was safe for a twenty-seven year-old woman walking alone, and then secured a space with an advance ticket which he filed in the appropriate folder. Finally, he authorized payment and told EDDIE about the route change.
EDDIE was Lauren’s car Eck. Lauren did not actually own a car. There was no need to have your own car since the apartment complex had a sufficient supply of vehicles in its available motor pool. EDDIE located an available vehicle, ensured its functionality, and locked it in with Lauren’s ID. EDDIE would then drive the car to the locations at the times that OSKAR specified. Strictly speaking EDDIE was not Lauren’s Eck. He served all the tenants in the condo complex, but he knew that OSKAR represented Lauren and, thus, could make assignments that Eddie had to comply with.
OSKAR still needed more information about “strike” if he was to be of maximum assistance to Lauren. He sought available online encyclopedias and dictionaries, and he decided that a “general strike” had to do with labor protests, usually involving leftist organizations, and often involved barricades and throwing large cobblestones. OSKAR began to sense their may be some danger involved in the “strike” activity. He changed the conditional setting for the event from green to yellow. OSKAR’s prime objective, the one above all others, was to prevent Lauren from harm.
After Lauren downloaded the Strike Manager’s Handbook, OSKAR (like Lauren) processed the entire document. He had been correct in his belief that the activity might be harmful. The chapter on “provoking police over-reaction” sent a “chill down his spine.”
Revised - November, 2022
It is Just Baseball
An Appaloosa Radio Original Story
When Beck was in sixth and seventh grade, he played Little League baseball for the Mayfield Pirates. They wore uniforms that looked just like the major league Pittsburgh Pirates, but (like their major league counterparts), they finished last in their division. In fact, Beck’s team lost every game in both of the seasons he played. Beck himself had only three hits and one walk over two years. “Easy out!” became his opponents’ habitual taunt.
Still Beck loved the game and felt compelled even as a 31-year-old adult working in a dead-end job in the corporate copy room to follow the major league Pirates assiduously. He used to tape Pirate games so he could re-play them when he came home.
Then one day, Beck’s closest friend, Woody (who was a real computer guy), created a pocket player that picked up the wireless signals in the building. He also tuned the pocket player to receive internet radio and the Pirates radio network. So now Beck could hear the call of the Pirate games live in his earpiece as he worked in the copy room.
Percival was ten-years older than Beck and worked a couple of stations over from him. Like Beck, Percival was an avid baseball fan, but he loved the Dodgers even more than Beck loved the hapless Pirates. Beck asked Woody to also create a player for Percival. Woody was more than happy to do so.
Beck and Percival worked side-by-side in their parallel baseball worlds, not really caring about the larger corporate world around them. Because the Dodgers won far more games than the Pirates, Percival lived in a happier world than Beck.
Finally, after four losing seasons in a row, Beck complained to Woody over a beer that he would give a million dollars to experience a winning season. Of course, Beck did not have a million dollars and Woody knew that. But Beck’s complaint got Woody to thinking. Then, one evening in his small computer repair shop, Woody had an idea. “I’ll bet that lots of guys would pay to experience a winning season. Instead of sending them wireless broadcasts of live games, why not write a program, so that what they’ll hear is always a winning team.”
It took a couple of weeks and some exasperation, but Woody completed his always a winner player prototype.
But it was more than baseball . . . .
The Gatekeeper
An Appaloosa Radio Original Story
1958
He graduated from Florida State University where he had majored in being a fraternity brother. After his college experience, he drifted into what for some types of people is the easiest of all jobs --- selling.
Tony Bochs was a natural. People instantly trusted and liked him. He was not handsome, but he had an easy boyish smile and he always looked at you directly, never turning aside or evading. Easy to trust. Very likable.
Please sign here. Lots of places to sign, way too much paperwork to read it all now. So, sign here and here and her.
Congratulations! You are now a Florida property owner. Lot 117 C of the Whispering Pines Senior Resort Community.
Have you thought about what kind of mobil home that you would like us to move onto your property? Our affiliates over at Action Manufactured Homes have just the one for you. The one that you have always dreamed about. If you wish, I’ll drive you over now and help you get the process started.
They gave him award after award after award. Tony Bochs, salesman of the month. Tony Bochs, salesman of the month. Congratulations! Tony Bochs the 1958 Salesman of the Year.
~~~
His former fraternity brothers never understood why Tony would give up such a good thing and move to Los Angeles. All he ever told them was that he was tired of selling swampland to tourists. They laughed. That was Tony’s perpetual joke. What do you do for a living? Oh, I sell swampland to tourists, complete with alligators and mosquitos.
Selling lots in the Whispering Pines Senior Resort had been a goldmine for him. He now owned his own boat, was buying a house, and he drove a blue Triumph sportscar.
Yet, Tony Bochs had another dream. He had a deep sonorous voice. He dreamed of becoming a voice actor, doing commercials, and narrating films. His ultimate dream job would be to become the voice announcer for a gameshow.
“Welcome to America’s favorite gameshow! Where anyone can win big. Featuring our host!”
Fill in a name. Maybe --- Jack or Pete or Bill or Clint or Johnny
“Tony, please tell them what prize they have just won.”
“They have just won a brand -new car from our friends at Gleason Brothers Buick! Buick the car of distinction. The car of pride.”
Tony Bochs sold his boat, cancelled his purchase on the house, and loaded one suitcase with clothes onto the passenger seat of his Triumph sportscar and began the drive west.
Los Angeles proved not to be the land of infinite opportunity that he thought it would be. After a few weeks, Tony Bochs accepted a job that was very different from what had been his Hollywood dream. He was hired as a student recruiter for a non-descript college located on Western Avenue, in East Hollywood, just down from Barnsdall Park.
Meeting Celeste
An Appaloosa Radio Original Story
When things were going well, when the computer code poured itself freely into its allocated slots, when the iterations, runs and routines worked to perfection, when all the bugs and jinks had been banished. That’s when he took off his shoes, his socks and his shirt and wrote code au natural. He told his colleague and life-long friend, Mike, that when his feet felt the “reality” of the surfaces of the floor, it stimulated the neurons in his brain, made things clearer, opened options that he had not seen before.
In the early 1980s, computer programming was still an activity of white shirts, Snap-On ties, and pocket protectors full of a miscellany of pens.
That was not Rick. It may have been him once, back when he worked in the Department of Defence, running massive IBM behemoths, but it certainly was not him now. Now, he was running his own operation, creating computer schools for kids.
The best idea that he ever had. Creating computer schools for kids! The market was unlimited. The work was straight-forward. Taking computer lessons from a book (that he had written) to a computer-assisted teaching design. Simple code. Nothing that complex.
Yet, there were only the two of them, and the project did have its own obstacles.
Last night at three a.m., Rick had a mental breakthrough. He knew how to solve a problem that had been plaguing them for weeks. He woke Mike at an ungodly hour and they drove to the office, grabbing breakfast sandwiches and coffee on the way. For Rick, it was a monumental day of coding.
For Mike, the work was arduous and, since they did not stop for lunch, very fatiguing.
At a quarter to nine in the evening, Rick decided to turn off the systems. He pulled on his socks and his custom cowboy boots which had been made for him during a trip to Spain. He buttoned his blue-gray silk shirt that he had found in Milan. And, in spite of the muggy, South Carolina heat, he put on his black leather jacket, the one he had discovered in Montreal.
He walked down the open stairwell, then across the parking lot, and over a couple of short blocks to the Ramada Inn hotel where a live band was playing in the Lounge. The Friday night customers were filling all the small round tables around the parquet dance floor. A lot more action than three nights earlier, and this time he had drug along his working partner, Mike.
He brought Mike into the Lounge, sat him at a round table, and ordered him a drink. In the 1980s, South Carolina still required cocktails to be served without alcohol. Customers were handed a small bottle from which they added their own. Mike dumped the whole bottle into his seltzer drink. Scotch and soda is not worth much without the scotch.
With Mike appeased with a drink, Rick appraised the crowd that had gathered at the Ramada lounge.
~~~
While the various personal dramas were continuing on the dance floor, the computer guy left his friend Mike and walked over to where the young woman in the white dress was sitting.
It was a frilly white dress that revealed nothing. Just the kind of dress that southern women would wear to their favorite niece’s high school graduation. Indeed, that is exactly why it had been purchased two years earlier. The family had gone to Atlanta for a graduation.
Not what typically what the swingers wore on Friday nights to area’s the most popular pick-up bar!
Still, he was attracted to her. She was extremely pretty. Dark eyes and dark hair. Tall and probably athletic. He guessed that she wore glasses but had taken them off when she came into the lounge.
“Hello, pretty lady. Would you object if I joined you for a while. I was noticing that your friend left you alone. Thought you might enjoy some company.”
Murder at the Gas Pump
An original audio story for Appaloosa Radio
Coughlin, California has only had one murder. Bernard Winslow Schlafer (the Third) was a scion of one of the Central Valley’s richest and most important families. Yet, when the time came for him to assume responsibilities in the family businesses, he left Coughlin for Los Angeles where he eventually produced a sleazy reality game show entitled, “Seduction!”
Barnie S. (as he now prefers to be known) returned to his hometown to seek additional funding from his maternal grandmother for his television endeavor. On his way back to LA, he stops for gas and lottery tickets at the Log Cabin Liquor and Gas. While he is filling his car, a white sedan enters the parking lot. A man emerges and shoots Barnie S. with an AR-15.
The assassination took less than five seconds.
A Woman of Substance
An original Audio Story for Appaloosa Radio
In dedication to Mrs. Kay Fetner
Eugenia was just thirteen when her father married her off to an older man. This is the story of a girl from Charly, Arkansas who drove her Model A Ford to freedom and a new identity, to become a woman of substance.
~~~
I was playing with some of my cousins and my younger brothers up by the big chestnut tree, the one my Pap always refused to cut down. The tree had the blight and should’ve been cut down and the stump burned. But my Pap liked that tree. He would never cut it down.
To us kids, it did not matter that it had the blight. It was ours to climb on and to hide in. We were glad that he’d never cut it down.
Anyways, I was playing with my kin up by that big tree. Then, I heard my Pap say, “Eugenia!” He said it loud with a stern voice. I knew to come runnin’ when he called me like that.
He was sitting on the porch next to a gentleman wearing his best Sunday go-to-meetin’ dark suit. The gentleman had some gray hair at the temples, and he was beginning to bald.
When I came up the steps to the porch, both men stood up. My Pap spoke.
“Eugenia, I want you to meet Mr. Winston Garrison.”
“Please to meet you, sir.”
My Pap continued. “Mr. Garrison is an Engineer for the Missouri Pacific Railroad. He has a house up in Omega.”
His voice trailed off. I waited for him to complete his sentence.
“Eugenia, Mr. Garrison is going to be your new husband. I’ve promised him that we can make it official next week in the Parson’s House at the Presbyterian Church in Omega.”
I did not know what to say. I simply stood there. I was just thirteen years old.
~~~
Music performed by: Legendary Big Gerry, from his Large and Laid Back album. A selection of traditional Celtic and American music on the hammered dulcimer and acoustic instruments.
Souvenirs I Still Cherish
Helen Stanberry’s Story
as read by Lindsey Beth Hummel
Chapter 5
Breathing Smoke
They say that there is a forest fire burning just east of Deep Gap. The wind is blowing the smoke over here to Todd.
We should not be having forest fires; the mountains always get plenty of rain, especially in the spring. But this year has been different. Almost no rain in March, April, or May. And temperatures have been really hot, above 90 every day last week.
I’m noticing the fire because my lungs are so bad. I can smell the smoke whenever I walk outside. It just cuts into my lungs. I am keeping the windows closed, but it still seeps in through the cracks.
If I have any regrets about the life I have lived, it is my addiction to cigarettes. Now my lungs are so bad, and the fires over in Deep Gap just make things even worse.
I have smoked cigarettes since I was sixteen, well before it was considered proper for Southern women to smoke. Some of the men I dated smoked, so I did. There was no reason why. Neither of my parents smoked, but they never prohibited me from doing so. I was a rich girl who never followed the usual social rules. I did what I wanted when I wanted to. Once I started smoking, once the addiction licked in, I never stopped.
When I was teaching, I never smoked on school grounds. Still, I only lived three blocks from the school. I had a cigarette in the morning, none during the school day, but several in the evening. On non-school days, I smoked all day.
====
Music performed by the California School for the Blind Jazz Ensemble
Souvenirs I Still Cherish
Helen Stanberry’s Story
as read by Lindsey Beth Hummel
Chapter 3: Ralph
Ralph Norris, my cousin, and the driver for the trip, was to my mind a rather handsome young man. He often seemed like Erroll Flynn, jumping into the car without opening the door, climbing up trees to get me a bird’s nest that I had fancied, and swimming out into a lake to retrieve my hat that had blown off.
Regrettably, he was one of those handsome young men who believed that he was a handsome young man. Often as he was driving, he would reach across the seat and touch me. Not in a friendly cousin-to-cousin way. There was no doubt that his hands were prowling into forbidden territory.
Sometimes (maybe more like often), his prowling hands did not bother me. In fact, his touch was rather pleasurable, and much more interesting than the scenery on some parts of the trip. All I had to do to stop it was to do a quick shiver, and the hand would be withdrawn.
The chaperone, Mr. Eggers was in the narrow seat in the back and the Cord’s front seats were luxuriously high. It would be difficult for him to see the prowling hand. Besides, once he had lit one of his cigars, he was in his own smokie world, oblivious to everything else.
It was in the small Maid-of-the-Mist boat at Niagara Falls that I allowed Ralph’s romantic advances to proceed beyond casual prowling. Mr. Eggers said he utterly hated boats and refused to join us on the excursion, so he was not along. Before you board, they make you put on these rubber rain coats and boots. For some reason, my rubber coat stuck to my blouse and did not go all the way down. Ralph, gentlemanly pulled it over my haunches. That touch stirred the deepest romantic urges in me. I turned around, put my arms around his neck and then kissed him.
He was surprised but was not one to waste an opportunity. For the boat trip, we held hands, and snuggled so close that our raincoats rustled in unison. I do not remember how many more times we kissed, but I believe it was somewhere between ten million and infinity.
We exited the excursion still holding hands. However, social reality re-emerged when we saw Mr. Eggers sitting on the dock. We both pretended that nothing had happened.
Souvenirs I Still Cherish
Helen Stanberry’s Story
as read by Lindsey Beth Hummel
Chapter 2: Travelling
I had carefully planned the trip. We would begin in Abingdon, Virginia where my father’s mechanic was making certain that everything on the blue Cord automobile was in perfect running condition. It gleamed in the sun and purred like a kitten. The original car had been a hard-top coupe, but my father had the mechanics convert it into a retractable top convertible.
The only mechanical trouble that we had on the trip was once when the new convertible top got stuck, but Ralph was able to rectify the situation by removing one bolt and replacing it with another. After his fix, it worked perfectly.
We began in Abingdon and drove up the Shenandoah Valley to Charlottesville where we toured the historic University of Virginia and Thomas Jefferson’s home, Monticello.
Our next stop was George Washington’s home, Mount Vernon. Then on to Washington D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia, and the West Point Military Academy.
Here is the full itinerary for the 1938 trip.
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University of Virginia and Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello
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George Washington’s Mount Vernon
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Washington, D.C.
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Baltimore
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Philadelphia
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West Point Military Academy
-
Niagara Falls
-
Ontario Canada
-
Detroit
-
Chicago
-
St Louis
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Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo
-
Salt Lake City
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Yellowstone National Park
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Glacier National Park
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Rexburg, Idaho (where the national education conference was held)
-
Seattle
-
Portland
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San Francisco
-
Monterey
-
Yosemite
-
Hollywood
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Catalina Island
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San Diego
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Grand Canyon
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Navajo Indian Country
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Taos, New Mexico
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Carlsberg Caverns
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Juarez, Mexico
-
Dallas
-
Houston
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New Orleans
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St Augustine, Florida
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Savanah Georgia
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Augusta National Golf Course
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Outer Banks, North Carolina
=====
Includes music by Texas Jim Robertson
The Church-Going Horses
A Nell Trustmon Story
The very first so-called western “ghost town” that I ever actually visited was Columbia, which was dubbed “the gem of California’s mining towns” by the local Chamber of Commerce. My husband’s family owned some property nearby and there was considerable discussion about turning the old, nearly abandoned town into a California State Park. He wanted to go up and see what was happening.
So in May 1941, he flew his small plane up from our home in Newport Beach to the small airport in Jackson, and he invited me along with the proviso that I bring no luggage. I stuffed some nylons and extra undergarments in my purse and off we went. We were able to hire a car from the local Ford dealer and spent three days sniffing things out.
Always the newspaper reporter, my husband, Nolan Trustmon, used the trip to interview some of the old sourdoughs and then wrote a very nice piece about the lynching of one bad hombre named “John Barclay.” (I say “nice” because my husband had an excellent eye for detail in his writing. The incident itself was gruesome and Nolan’s story is probably best viewed today as a piece of Halloween horror.)
The old western ghost town seemed to energize Nolan. He kept saying, “So many stories; such a rich history.” However, to be quite honest the collection of decrepit and crumbling buildings left me unenthused.
I had grown up in New England, and probably would have stayed on the Yankee seacoast my whole life had I not met this handsome newspaper guy from California. I loved the time we had spent together sailing on his boat --- down the Atlantic Coast, through the Panama Canal, up along Mexico’s Pacific Coast, and into California. For me, true adventure came with waves and salt air, and always happened in far-away places.
My first impression of Columbia as a place was that there seemed to be nothing there. Some scrub oak trees, a mish-mash of buildings (some modern and some looked like they came straight from a western movie set), and some rusty equipment that no one had carted away. Compared to the real history found in Boston or Philadelphia, the dilapidated mining town seemed to me to be a nothing. “Why would the State of California spend its tax dollars to make this place into a historical state park?” I asked myself.
My lack of enthusiasm did nothing to dissipate Nolan’s intense fervor. On the flight back, he said, “Wonderful place! Too bad you did not like it.”
As I shared earlier, that trip was in May 1941. Then the War intervened. By February 1942, Nolan Trustmon was a Marine Corps Officer, completing flight school at the top of his class. Over the next two years, he flew forty-eight successful combat missions over the Pacific, but was killed on his forty-ninth.
I still say that “49” (not “13”) is the unluckiest of all numbers.
Nolan was killed in a far-off place that I had never heard of. It took me a half-hour to find it on the world map at the public library.
I share these details because in all of my travels throughout the Western United States (covering well over 300,000 very rugged miles), I never once returned to Columbia.
Appaloosa Radio Offers
The Day They Hanged an Elephant
Story by Joan Vannorsdall Schroeder
published in the May-June 1997 issue of the Blue Ridge Country magazine
available online at: blueridgecountry.com/archive
Featuring the Ballad --
Mary the Elephant
Performed by Chuck Brodsky
From his album Tulips for Lunch
Available through YouTube and Spotify
===
Using original source material drawn from the Archives of Appalachia (housed at East Tennessee State University), Joan Vannorsdall Schroeder tells the story of Mary the Elephant who was hung for “murder” in the Clinchfield Railroad Yards in Erwin, Tennessee during September 1916.
Mary was the star of a two-bit traveling circus that toured the reconstruction-era South. Charlie Sparks, the owner of Sparks World Famous Shows, claimed that Mary the Elephant was "the largest living land animal on earth,” three inches bigger than Jumbo, P.T. Barnum's famous pachyderm. At 30 years old, Mary was five tons of pure talent. She could "play 25 tunes on the musical horns without missing a note.” She was also the pitcher on the circus’ baseball-game gag routine.
Mary was Charlie Sparks' favorite, his cash cow, his claim to circus fame. She was the leader of his small band of elephants, an exotic crowd-pleaser, an unpredictable giant.
In addition to her circus tricks, Mary was the dominant female of the show’s elephant herd.
Rumor and exaggeration swarmed about Mary like flies. She was worth a small fortune: $20,000, Charlie Sparks claimed. She was dangerous, having killed two men, or was it eight, or 18?
On Monday, September 11, 1916, the Sparks World Famous Shows played St. Paul, Virginia, a tiny mining town in the Clinch River Valley, where drifter Red Eldridge made a fatal decision. Slight and flame-haired, Red had nothing to lose by signing up with Sparks World Famous Shows; he'd dropped into St. Paul from a Norfolk and Western boxcar and decided to stay for a while. Taking a job as janitor at the Riverside Hotel, Eldridge found himself pushing a broom, and, then, dreaming of moving on.
Eldridge was hired as an elephant handler and marched in the circus parade that afternoon. It's easy to imagine that what he lacked in skill and knowledge, he made up for with go-for-broke bravado. A small man carrying a big stick can be a dangerous thing.
No one denies that Mary killed Red Eldridge in Kingsport, Tennessee on September 12, 1916.
The details of why and how it happened vary widely.
This is a gripping story that tells more about people and the time than about elephants.
Appaloosa Radio Offers
An original audio drama
from the City of 4,000 Spies Series
Information is Expensive
PNB7Q knew Noble Son Dusko Rarrko from many eons of clandestine work together. Their relationship was as close as a data device and a sentient being could be.
The PNB7Q knew that what was left unsaid was often more important than what was spoken. Many times, a whiff of intuition had more value than volumes of specific, and detailed information.
There was a reason why Noble Son Dusko Rarrko wished to travel to Lell without informing the PNB7Q. Intuition told the PNB7Q that this was not a need for recreation, down time, as Rarrko had called it. It was a trip where Rarrko wished to travel incognito. Not hidden from others, but, rather, hidden from the PNB7Q themselves.
Remember, the PNB7Q was a set of separate data devices organized into a single, systematic vehicle for sharing necessary information among agents and designated decision-makers in real time. Sharing was the operational word. Anyone with the appropriate access would be able to query the PNB7Q and learn both where Rarrko was going and what his purpose was for going there.
The PNB7Q not only created opportunities for quickly sharing information, but also the necessarysupports for collaborative activities. With the assistance of the PNB7Q, Sassko’s agents and its decision makers could act as one organic whole. Sharing pertinent, real-time information, and becoming, as a result, unified for decisive collaborative action.
However, on this occasion, Noble Son Dusko Rarrko was deliberately withholding pertinent information from the PNB7Q.
There was information about this trip to Lell that he did not want shared with others.
The unsaid was more important than the explicit.
Appaloosa Radio Offers
Motorcycles
On the Express Bus 73 A
Chapter 13
At a mountain cabin for a guys-only weekend away.
Larry:
“You know, Charles, sitting here by this fire, I’m wondering about you and your background. What brought you into your studies and what caused you to start doing your graphic novels?”
Charles:
“Well, you know that I am British. Before I came to the United States, I was a teacher. I taught literature at an exclusive private school. Very posh. Upper end. Ties and jackets always.
At Oxford, I had studied medieval literature, focusing primarily on the time before Chaucer. And I had served in the Army. I was in Korea just after the so-called Korean War, monitoring the Demilitarized Zone. In Korea, I studied a holistic approach to Mahayana Buddhism of the so-called wonyung school.
One of the key insights that I learned there is that any individual thing (person, object, force, or phenomena) exists only within the total nexus of reality. Its existence depends on the total network of all other things. It is connected to every other thing. Everything is connected. My teachers said, ‘each individual thing is within all other individual things.’
Each is contained within the other.
Every individual thing exists in a state of mutual dependence on each and every other individual thing. They are interfused within each other. This interconnection is not hierarchical. There is no above or below, more important versus less important. Nor is it a relation of opposites. There are no contradictions. No conflicts. All are equal. All are balanced.
So, Larry, I began my career seeking to unify what I had learned about medieval literature with what I had learned in my study of the wonyung.”
~~~
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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The Compendium
On the Express Bus 73 A: Chapter 12
As I thought about my experiences, I wondered whether the bus was in some way creating the transferences, moving me from my Larry self to the self of others. I asked Charles about my speculation.
Charles provided a thoughtful response.
“In my research, I haven’t found evidence that inanimate objects have power over conscious beings. I believe you are being invited by a person. It just happens, that you and the other self are on the same commuter bus. Your self recognizes a commonality. The other’s self responds. The commonality creates a special bond. One that you both recognize.
So, there’s a special bond, and they welcome you in.
It could have just as easily happened anywhere. Maybe at the bus stop. Or in a grocery store. Or even here at work.”
Charles was right. The transfer of my self from Larry to the elderly Linguistics professor occurred the moment I saw him, walking toward me, at the bus stop. He was walking slowly, leaning heavily on his uniquely carved cane. We had not even exchanged words, just the briefest eye contact.
Professor E.I. Workman had devoted nearly forty years of his life, to studying the federation of languages, which developed in meso-America, before the arrival of the Europeans. He was the co-author of the well-respected, Compendium, and Dictionary, of the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area.
His intricately carved cane had been given to him a quarter century ago, by a tribal shaman during his field work in Nicaragua. Sadly, neither the shaman nor his tribe still exist. Both were victims of the bloody Civil War. The tribal language exists today, only in the pages of Professor Workman’s Compendium.
As I said, I knew all those particulars, even before, he actually reached the bus stop. I was waiting for the bus and then, unexpectedly, I was no longer Larry.”
~~~
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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On the Express Bus 73 A -- Chapter 11: I Never Knew Charles
“Larry. Even though you and I work in extremely close proximity, I don’t think you know much about me.
My avocation is writing, and drawing comic books, or, as the publishing trade now says, graphic novels. My specialties are stories about parapsychology and paranormal experiences. I don’t create fiction. Instead, I research events, events that have actually occurred, and then produce my own graphical works from them. Over the years, I have gathered thousands of stories.”
I think that you have been experiencing self-transference.
Your self leaves you and moves to another. “
~~~
In this Chapter, Larry and his two colleagues, Charles and Doreen, explore the impacts of self-transference after Larry returns to his original self from that of the transfer of Senora Guadalupe Valenzuela.
Larry’s original had moved the self of a hard-working single parent attempting to raise her kids.
Had Mrs. Valenzuela had worked her regular Friday night shift at Easy Ed’s Liquor and Convenience Store, she would have been murdered during the robbery.
~~~
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
Appaloosa Radio Offers
On the Express Bus 73 A -- Chapter 10: Easy Ed’s Liquor
In this Chapter, Larry’s original self transfers into a hard-working single parent attempting to raise her kids. Mrs. Guadalupe Valenzuela is on her way to a new job when Larry thoughtfully intervenes.
Had Mrs. Valenzuela had worked her regular Friday night shift at Easy Ed’s Liquor and Convenience Store, she would have been murdered during the robbery.
~~~
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
Appaloosa Radio Offers
On the Express Bus 73 A
Chapter 9: It Could Have Been Me
Larry ruminates on a terrible accident that happened when he was a member of the Sailing Club.
~~~
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
Appaloosa Radio Offers
On the Express Bus 73 A -- Chapter 8: Gifts
In this Chapter, Larry transitions from the Major Tim Augustine self back to his previous Larry self, but everything has changed. He now has unexpected skills and his attitudes about many things have changed. He feels like a stranger in his own (original) body. Even Doreen, his previously infuriating colleague, has become a friendly supporter. Just plain weird.
~~~
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
On the Bus 73 Express
Chapter 7 -- Gravy
Dr. Neire “Do you remember Major Tim Augustine?”
Larry “Yeah. It seemed so real. Like Larry was gone. Completely replaced by Tim. I was him. Not me.”
~~~
I now think of my self, the me that I am, as connected, tied together, unified. A collective, not a solitary unity.
The best metaphor I can use is music, really beautiful, well-played music.
My roommate in college was a music major, and he used to play his CDs in our room. I was probably the most non-musical person he could have roomed with. I was an accounting major. I never played an instrument. Never sang in a chorus. I didn’t listen to music. I played video games.
Anyway, he had one CD that I really liked. I asked him for its name. He said Dvorak’s String Quartet, called the “American” because it was written while the composer was in America on a visit. I liked it so much that I bought my own copy.
For years, before our company built its new headquarters building, back when I still drove to work, I would play that CD in my car, the American String Quartet. I probably played it a couple hundred times.
When I began thinking about the philosophical question, what is the self, I think of that one piece of music. I know there are four musicians, each playing their own instrument, but to me, they are one. Each hears the others. They exchange musical information. However, in so doing, they become connected, tied together, unified. A collective, not a solitary entity.
I now think that’s what happened that day on the bus. The Major and Larry exchanged information. They became one, unified, connected, tied together.
I have a special ability. Maybe ability is not the right word. Capacity? Sensitivity? Awareness? Connectedness? I use the word ability because I don’t know what to call it.
Something draws me out of my cardboard box, unseals the shipping tape, allows me to become them.
I mean become them. I am not watching them from a distance. No. Larry Connors evaporates. Gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Away.
My self has been transferred to them. I am them. I am no longer the old me. I had been playing the violin, but now I am playing the cello.
I didn’t know what to call the experience. So, I just tell myself that I have jumped from Larry into Major Tim. I jumped from one person’s self to the other’s.
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On the Bus 73 Express
A multi-episode original story
Chapters 1 to 6 RE-CAP
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Larry Connors is just one of the many. He is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analyses, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As the story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
“Hack”
A fictionalized docu-drama
In 1930, the Chicago Cubs’ centerfielder, Hack Wilson had what has been described as the greatest season ever for a National League baseball player.
He led the League with a 356 average, hit 56 home runs, and produced 191 R.B.I.s. He scored 146 runs and drew 105 walks.
In his career with the Cubs, he made over 400 putouts, and he had a throwing arm that rocketed the ball directly from the outfield to Homeplate without a single bounce.
He was often called a right-handed Babe Ruth. Like the Babe, Hack led the league in both homeruns and in strikeouts.
For one season, Hack Wilson was actually paid more than Babe Ruth.
By his appearance, Hack Wilson should never have been a professional baseball player, much less the one player who was paid more than Babe Ruth. He was slightly less than five feet five inches tall and had short (really short) legs and tiny feet. In contrast to his short legs and tiny feet, he had a massive head, probably one and a half times the size of most men. His hats had to be custom made for him.
Some called him a freak.
His fellow players, however, called him “Hack” because his massive arms and chest were the same size as the arms and chest of the world’s strongest man, the very popular professional wrestler, Georg Karl Julius Hackenschmidt, who wrestled under the nickname, the Russian Lion.
The Russian Lion and “Hack” the baseball player had very similar physiques, if you only looked at them from the waist up.
Hack Wilson was a man with a hot temper, climbing into the stands to fight offending fans, and charging into the clubhouses of opposing teams.
He was also a man with an enormous appetite for alcohol. One teammate told the press that he had never seen Hack Wilson completely sober. He would take a taxi immediately after a game to a favorite speakeasy and spend the entire night at the club, and then, in the morning, take another taxi back to the stadium, ready to play a game on no sleep.
In 1930, Hack Wilson was paid more than Babe Ruth. In 1934, he was sacked two months into the season by the Philadelphia Phillies. His contract was picked up mid-season by the Brooklyn Dodgers, but he was released in August of that year, ending his career.
After baseball, he purchased a pool hall but lacked the business acumen to make it profitable. Needing additional funding to keep the business operating, he brought in a pair of partners. However, within a year, he sold his share of the business to them. Hack Wilson fell into a dissolute lifestyle, working irregularly as a bar tender and as a truck driver. When World War Two began, he took a job in a defense factory in Baltimore but had to quit after a year because of his poor health.
Hack Wilson died at age 48 after a fall inside his apartment.
In 1979, Lewis Robert (“Hack”) Wilson was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame by a unanimous vote of the Veterans Committee.
In the docu-drama, baseball great Hack Wilson is interviewed for Armed Services Radio in July 1944.
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Reflexology
An Unsolved Murder Mystery
The small business sat in an Austin strip mall between a pizza place and a nail salon, three doors down from a Japanese Sushi restaurant. On its red neon sign was the single word “reflexology.” The proprietor specialized in what he called “oriental foot massages,” stimulating the nerves, and improving a body’s health.
It was 5:45 in the evening, and in mid-December, it was already dark. The red neon “reflexology” sign was visible across the whole parking lot. None of the signs from the other businesses had yet switched on.
In the foot-massage client waiting area, the proprietor sat on one of the chairs, looking intently at his phone. After five or six minutes, he got up and walked outside. In front of the sushi restaurant was a bench where customers of the Japanese restaurant sat while they waited for their to-go orders. He sat on the bench and lit a cigarette.
He finished his cigarette, glanced at his phone, and then stood up.
Thirty seconds later, he lay on the sidewalk, dead. He fell face down. next to the red wooden bench in front of the sushi restaurant.
No one remembered hearing a shot.
Shoe-Makers and Raincoats
A Lies & Detection Episode
Jonas interviews Soviet Master Spy Leopold Trepper
Jonas builds this episode from The Great Game the 1977 personal memoirs of Soviet Master Spy, Leopold Trepper.
In the interview, he explores how Trepper created a believable covert identity in spite of language issues and close scrutiny by the police. The interview also details how Trepper was able to generate the Red Orchestra spy network from nothing, building it even in the face of active opposition from his Soviet spy bosses.
Finally, the episode tells how turncoats (trusted friends and devoted colleagues) destroyed the Red Orchestra organization from within.
By 1941, Soviet spies had penetrated the German military intelligence service (Abwehr), the German Ministry of Labor, the Ministry of Propaganda, the Foreign Office, and the administration of important German cities, including Cologne and Berlin. In other countries which the Nazis then controlled, Soviet spies had penetrated both the national and the city police, the local transportation authorities, the local telephone systems, and he local banking systems.
There was a long-standing joke in Moscow that Joe Stalin knew what was happening in Hitler’s upper circles before the Wehrmacht High Command did.
This was a joke with considerable truth.
The so-called Red Orchestra had incredible success in acquiring sensitive information and sending it quickly to Moscow. Some have believed that the Soviet Military Intelligence Service brilliantly planned such a successful operation. Actually, it happened in spite of them.
A single agent was sent to Belgium in 1938 and told to “get something going.” Unfortunately, the agent’s superiors in Moscow were victims of Stalin’s purges. So, the agent was left alone without support (or interference) from the Moscow Center.
Leopold Trepper was the so-called “Big Chief” of the extremely successful ‘Red Orchestra” network of Soviet spies which operated in Nazi occupied countries during World War II. At its height, Trepper’s “Red Orchestra” group of spy networks operated in Belgium, France, Germany, Switzerland, England, and the Netherlands.
Hitler regarded the “Red Orchestra” as his principal clandestine threat and assigned an elite group of senior counter-espionage agents (the Special Detachment for Red Orchestra) to track down and eradicate it.
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LILLI
An original audio story
There had been no food in the house for a week. No rice. No fish. No vegetables. The chickens had been killed last season. Even the chickens’ coarse feed was long gone.
Yesterday, Mother found some garbage scraps. Rancid. Smelly. Covered in creatures. She boiled it to make a soup. But not enough charcoal for the fire to heat it. Mother asked the children to eat it. They tried, but soon became sick.
Father had been a relatively wealthy man. In his business, he bought saddles and bridles from the Portuguese traders and re-sold them to the Chinese. His was a well-known business. Many customers came from far away to buy his leather goods. Finely tooled with excellent designs. A quality product for any many who rode a horse.
But Father no longer had money. His business was closed. He had been a man of distinction. A man who made his family proud. No. He was a failure, one who could not feed even his own family.
It was not opium that did him in. No. He never touched the foul weed. He told his children that it was a tool of the demons. A way of draining one’s energy, strength, and character.
His undoing came, rather, from the “numbers room” next to the local opium den. It was, in fact, owned by the same conniving individual. The “numbers room” had a large wooden board with many numbers written on it. Each time a number was drawn, it would be covered by a colored token. Patrons bought strips of paper with numbers printed on it. If the numbers on your paper matched the ones covered by a colored token, you would win.
For years and years and years, Father would visit the “numbers room” and would be blessed with the special gift of luck. He seemed to have fortune in his sleeve. He would win almost every time. Then, one day, the dark forces conspired again. His good fortune turned to bad.
He returned to the “numbers room” the next day, but his misfortune continued. Then, the next day and the next and the next. Then, he had no money. He sold things, but luck never blessed him again.
Finally, he had to leave his lovely home and move to a hovel. He had no pride. He had no business. He had no money. He had no luck. He had no food.
Li Li was the youngest daughter and her father’s favorite. She was small. Yes. But very smart.
Father had nothing else to sell. His two older daughters were already betrothed. One would never sell sons, so Father could not sell his one son. That left only Li Li.
Thus, at age nine, Li Li was sold into slavery. Nearly all the money that Father received for her went to pay his previous gambling debts. The “numbers room” had men who ensured the debts were fully paid.
~~~
When most Americans think of slavery, they visualize enslaved Africans toiling on either a cotton or a sugar plantation of the South. Few think of the equally insidious enslavement of young Chinese girls as prostitutes working in the brothels of the West.
Nearly every western boomtown, whether it was a mining town like Virginia City or a cow town like Dodge City or a transportation hub like Denver, had at least one Chinese-owned and operated brothel. Many of these brothels were quite large, some having as many as fifty women working in them. Most operated close to Chinese-owned opium dens and gambling halls. Very few of the customers of these establishments were Chinese men. The “coulee” wages paid to Chinese men were not large enough to afford frequent visits to the oriental pleasure palaces.
This story is based, in part, on the memoirs of Mrs. Lilli Bardie, who came to the West as a sex slave, but eventually became (it is reported) the wealthiest woman in Idaho. She owned mines, an ore-hauling transport company, an ore stamping mill, various hotels and restaurants, and (probably) a string of brothels. Of course, since she was Chinese, she could
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Unfamiliarity
An original audio story
“With light wings, I did o’er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold me out.”
When I was in high school during the 1960s, I believed that I wanted to write. During my sophomore year, I took a Creative Writing course as my elective.
Three weeks into the course, we shared our first stories. Mine did not go well. Or at least that is what I thought then.
I had attempted to write a horror story based on a visit to a restaurant that I had made the summer before with my slightly older cousin. I remember being shocked that my cousin went behind the lunch counter to cook her own meal. I also remember that the place was run-down, greasy, and downright filthy. A regular pigsty! I remember saying to my cousin that I would never go there again.
In my story, I described the “deplorable, rancid, and greasy” ambiance of the place.
As the class critiqued my story, Mrs. Cornaby, our instructor asked me some really hard questions that I could not answer. Why was I bothered that Dina had gone behind the lunch counter to cook her own hamburger? Did her familiarity with the restaurant bother me? Why? Had I been in the kitchens of other restaurants? Did I know whether this restaurant was dirtier than other ones? What made me think this restaurant was filthy? Give specifics. Provide details. Weave the specifics into your story line. Use them to enhance the story’s narration.
As a sophomore in high school, I was deeply offended by Mrs. Cornaby’s intense questions. So offended that I dopped the course and opted for Advanced Biology instead.
~~~
Now retired, I recently saw an article in Time magazine that has stayed with me. It was an article about Detroit, more specifically about the cement block wall built in the early 1940s to divide the east and the west sections of the city. That’s correct. A cement block wall erected to divide the city. The wall was funded by some of the city’s largest real estate developers. It was designed to separate the city into a “black half” and a “white half.”
Researchers have studied the impacts of the Detroit wall and have concluded that its impacts were enormous.
On over 200 dimensions, the “white” side of the wall was significantly higher (more positive) than the “black” side.
As I said, the study of the impacts of the Detroit wall remained with me for weeks. Then, I realized that my five cousins (although neither African American nor Hispanic) lived on one side of a comparable “wall” and my brothers and I lived on another.
~~~
I re-read the story that I had written in my sophomore class. I remembered again the comments that Mrs. Cornaby had made. I was writing about something, some place, and some people I was not familiar with. I only knew life from my side of the wall.
For that reason, the story did not seem authentic. It seemed contrived, invented, one dimensional.
I spent one afternoon trying to imagine my cousin Dina’s experience, especially when she took me to her place of pride, the restaurant that she was managing. Try as hard as I could, I could only visualize brief snippets. The organizing gestalt was missing. I just couldn't get the pieces to fit.
Maybe it was from frustration. Maybe it was from curiosity. Maybe it was from long-held guilt. I don’t know.
Nonetheless, I decided to fly down to Southern California and go to the restaurant, the one where Dina had worked. I used the excuse that I was looking for background for a new story, but that was not true. I really did not know why I was going.
All I knew was that I wanted to go to the other side of the wall.
=================
Incidental music: Pink Floyd, “The Wall”
Psychiatrist
A Lies and Detection Episode
Featuring an interview with Soviet Spymaster, Leopold Trepper
Jonas Chartogaro is the pseudonym of a recently retired Federal Agent. During his career, he served as a government polygraph examiner with over 25 years of experience. Prior to his Federal service, he worked as a New York police officer, investigating arsons, robberies, and murders. He possesses a Masters degree in American History and now teaches Cryptologic Security at a regional university.
Appaloosa Radio offers stories from his docudrama series LIES and DETECTION. He uses his skills to interview historical people to determine the truth and expose lies. In this mini-series, Jonas interviews Leopold Trepper.
Leopold Trepper was the so-called “Big Chief” of the extremely successful ‘Red Orchestra” network of Soviet spies which operated in Nazi occupied countries during World War II. At its height, Trepper’s “Red Orchestra” group of spy networks operated in Belgium, France, Germany, Switzerland, England, and the Netherlands. Hitler regarded the “Red Orchestra” as his principal clandestine threat and assigned an elite group of senior counter-espionage agents (i.e., the Special Detachment for Red Orchestra) to track down and eradicate it.
The ”Red Orchestra” network was only broken by turncoats from within. Of the nearly 300 agents that Leopold Trepper controlled, only 63 survived the War. The others were captured, tortured, and murdered. Nonetheless, the “Red Orchestra “conducted many of the boldest clandestine missions of the War.
Trepper reported that the “Red Orchestra” was able to complete nearly 3,000 coded radio transmissions to Moscow, of which only about 250 were ever decoded by the German code-breaking teams.
The name “Red Orchestra” was a name applied to the spy networks by German counter-espionage agents. They chose the name because they learned that Trepper’s spies called their radio operators “pianists.”
Interview based on:
Leopold Trepper. The Great Game. McGraw-Hill, 1977.
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On the Express Bus 73 A --- Chapter 6: Re-activation
A multi-episode original story
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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On the Express Bus 73 A --- Chapter 3: Where Possibilities Begin
A multi-episode original story
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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On the Express Bus 73 A --- Chapter 4: Jokes and More Jokes
A multi-episode original story
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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On the Express Bus 73 A --- Chapter 2: Not My Shoes
A multi-episode original story
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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On the Express Bus 73 A
A multi-episode original story
- Chapter 1: Unparalleled View
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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On the Express Bus 73 A --- Chapter 5: Secrets
A multi-episode original story
Many contemporary hi-tech employees ride express commuter buses daily to and from their work sites. Mr. Larry J. Connors is just one of the many.
Larry is a numbers guy, a veritable filing cabinet for numbers, whose speciality is making fiscal projections, doing benefit analysis, and generating cost-to-price determinations. Unfortunately, Larry is also a “quasi social isolate” who stares at his own shoes to avoid eye contact with others. As our story begins, Larry’s personal life has been reduced to doing his laundry, playing with his dog, and watching old, classic movies on television.
One morning, when he boards his usual commuter bus, everything changes. He is no longer who he is. He is now living another’s life and he is a stranger in his own body.
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Dead Man’s Suit
An Original Short Story
Every time he wore it, he thought it had a strange odor. It had been dry cleaned multiple times and no one else noticed any sort of odor. In fact, his wife, Wilma thought he looked “spiffy” in it and loved to see him in the double-breasted, brown suit with the faintest of gray pinstripes. “He looks like a movie star,” she proudly told her sister Grace Lynn. Far better in that suit than in the greasy dungaree overalls that he wore most of the time. But truck mechanics don’t wear suits to work in. They work in greasy overalls. The brown suit was for Sunday church and extra special occasions, like when they had gone to the casino and had a steak dinner for their tenth anniversary.
For their anniversary dinner, Wilma had worn a Kelly-green dress with lots of sparkles that matched the brown suit perfectly. She had even insisted that he pay the $5 to get a special color photograph of them together in their finery.
Harlan Royce was a big-chested man and a double-breasted suit looked best on him. A single-breasted suit would make him look bulgy; he would stick out in the wrong places. But, in a double-breasted suit and with a wider, patterned tie, he looked, well, like a movie star!
Still, every time Harlan Royce wore the double-breasted suit, he noticed the smell. The one that no one else noticed.
~~~
Harlan Royce was 39 when his slightly older cousin, “Cooter”Royce died.
No one who knew both “Cooter” and Harlan was surprised that “Cooter” died flat broke and without suitable clothing for his own burial. No one would be surprised, either, that Harlan Royce paid for the suit that “Cooter” was buried in. Harlan was a hard-working truck mechanic who attended church and remained true to his wife. “Cooter” --- well, not so.
“Cooter” liked to call himself a “rogue” and even had the word tattooed on his left upper arm in red and blue ink. That tattoo was probably the only positive thing to result from “Cooter’s” brief time in the United States Navy. He had been thrown into the brig for stealing government property. A more accurate charge would have been that “Cooter” used Navy trucks to commit felonies, specifically the transport of untaxed liquors across state lines and onto U.S. military bases. “Cooter” called himself a “liquor supplier.” Twenty years earlier, he would have been called a “bootlegger.”
“Cooter” Royce had been a bootlegger before he joined the Navy in a temporary bout of patriotic fever. He was a bootlegger while in the Navy, and he was a bootlegger after his dishonorable discharge.
In fact, he remained a bootlegger for his entire adult life. He was a bootlegger, a thief, a con man, a liar, a womanizer, a “no account” who spent all his money as quickly as he got it.
“Rogue” was an apt descriptor.
Gambler’s Boots
The Robbery of the Overland Express Train
As re-told by Officer JAMES H. KINKEAD
The officer who arrested the perpetrators
In this episode, we share an original historical document. It has not been fictionalized.
Former Washoe County Undersheriff, Officer James H. Kinkead died June 9,1912. Among his papers and effects, Jim Kinkead’s family found a pencil-written manuscript telling about the robbery of the Overland Express Train # 1 on November 5, 1870, and about Kinkead’s role in apprehending the perpetrators.
Central Pacific’s Train No. 1, the “Overland Express,” carried bags of newly minted gold coins for the monthly payroll of the Yellow Jacket Mine. The train robbers believed that they were stealing a haul worth over $60,000.
The manuscript contained a poignant note. “Of the many officers who took a prominent part in the arrest and conviction of the train robbers, all are now dead save me. I was the one who followed the faint, small-heel footprints through the mountains until they led me to the lair of the robbers. I was also the officer who collected most of the evidence used at the trial. For these services, I received most of the large reward.”
Jim Kinkead’s manuscript is now housed in the Nevada State Archives.
Music --- Ballad of the Well-Known Gun by Elton John. Recorded in his Tubleweed Collection (1970)
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Call Her Amanda
A Nell Trustmon Short Story
Taken from her magazine Broken Tree Tales
Nell retells the story of red-haired “Amanda” who may have been the first woman in the mining boomtown of Bonanza, Idaho. In the story, a poker player wagers his wife (“Amanda”) against his previous losses, but the gambler loses.
“Amanda” is won by a miner, but another steals her away. She escapes and seeks refuge with a third miner. Three miners each pointing their guns at each other!
While the story has humor, the real woman “Amanda” died in 1908 in the infirmary on the Challis County Poor Farm. She was not yet 50.
Not yet 50. Used up and discarded like many of the old boom towns themselves.
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Alligator
A Nell Trustmon Story
In rural mining communities like Boyce, Colorado, the arrival of the “Alligator Man” created a community-wide celebration. How could any of the Lithuanian miners continue to work in the deep, hard rock silver mine when there was a real, live alligator in town? Gotta see that!
Alligators were hardly rare in places like Florida or the bayous of Louisiana. And almost anyone who visited a zoo in one of the major eastern cities could see a tropical display featuring gators. But, here in the high western Rockies, the alligator was a very rare sight.
The alligator came courtesy of a showman and promoter named Clyde Chantt who claimed to have a Ph.D. in reptile herpetology from a university that no one had ever heard of. “Professor” Chantt (as he preferred to be called) travelled among the mining towns of the West driving a 1917 Ford Truck, pulling a large, brightly painted metal tank filled with water and containing a 15 foot alligator. He charged patrons fifteen cents each to watch his “demonstrations” of the reptile’s cunning capabilities. Each “demonstration” ended with Professor Chantt climbing a tall metal ladder next to the alligator’s tank, and then holding out a long fishing pole with a hunk of chicken attached to it. He would encourage the animal to perform, and within a minute or two, the alligator would jump up out of the water ten feet or more and grab its meal from the end of the pole.
In the evenings, after the last feeding demonstration, local children would often slip beneath the canvas fence that the Professor had set up to block the view of the non-paying spectators, and in a mixture of awe and fear, watch the alligator.
Furious
D.R. Nichols has integrated rap and narrative fiction to tell of a “demon” driver and his red sportscar.
“You hate me
You know you do
You’d blast me with rockets
Machine gun me to utter annihilation
Demand the fates pelt down fierce brimstone
If you could
If you could
Really,
If I would
Let you catch me
Let you catch me
But you can’t
No, you can’t
No one
Nobody
Can ever catch me.
I’m uncatchable
I’m remarkable
I’m unbreakable
I’m unshakeable
I’m unstable
The legendary
Terror of the road
Furious
Infuriating
Insulting
Fast driving Punk
I drive the Japanese sportscar
That bright red one with the big pipes
The one that cut you off
Darted in and out, back and forth
Lane to lane
All the same
Made you breathe my fumes
Made you listen to my Social Distortion tunes
You hate me
You know you do
You’d blast me with rockets
Machine gun me to utter annihilation
Demand the fates pelt down fierce brimstone
If you could
I do 90 in a 35 zone
Whiz through the orange cones
Like I own
The road
Endangering your stability
And tranquility
And equanimity
I pass where there is no lane
Squeeze in tight
I’m really insane
But it is my game
And here’s my name
The legendary
Terror of the road
Furious
Infuriating
Insulting
Fast driving Punk
I’m insane
I smoke my cigarettes
Blow my pipe
Throw out my trash
As I feel a need
All I care about is speed
Slow-moving old ladies
Who mind the rules
Go slow to save fuel
Use turn signals
Stop at the signs
Sluggish a full block before the yellow
Make me angry
Furious
I’m really insane
But it is my game
And here’s my name
The legendary
Terror of the road
Infuriating
Insulting
Fast driving Punk
You hate me
You know you do
You’d blast me with rockets
Machine gun me to utter annihilation
Demand the fates pelt down fierce brimstone
If you could
If you could
Really,
If I would
Let you catch me
Let you catch me
But you can’t
No, you can’t
No one
Nobody
Can ever catch me."
Roomies
Original College Humor
Going away to college and residing in a dorm is an opportunity to learn to live with differences. Roommates can learn how to accommodate the needs of others. However, what happens when the roomie you are assigned to live with proves so different that it almost seems as if he came from another planet. You ask for help in dealing with Seth, but the university can’t provide any.
“OK, if the University won’t help me, then it is up to me. Be ready, Seth, for total war.
I have long been a fan of the James Bond 007 movies. So, my first plans turn to slicing Seth up with a powerful space laser, or maybe filling our dorm room with saltwater and then bringing in a bevy of very hungry tiger sharks. Alligators would work too. Maybe even piranha.
Then, there’s that great Clint Eastwood movie where he climbs a mountain with a group of men who, one by one, mysteriously keep falling off their ropes. He didn’t know which one was his target, so, one-by-one, he eliminated them all. Long way down, Seth!
Or, maybe I could go old school gangster. Maybe I could take him to the lake for a one-way boat ride, and then, when were in the middle of the lake, I could fit him with a custom pair of cement boots.
If I went medieval, then there are all kinds of possibilities. Torture him on the rack. Burn him at the stake. Shoot with a quiver of arrows. The possibilities for inflicting cruelty are endless.
But, I rejected all of those options. Too expensive. Too much work. Too complicated.
Instead, I opted for a low-tech guerilla war.”
=========
College humor based on all-too-true experiences!
Special Monkey Magic
Featuring Jiminy, the Organ Grinder’s Monkey and the Carousel Cartoon Company of Chicago
In October 1934, during the very worst of the Great Depression, Jiminy, the ever-inquisitive, always impulsive, and incredibly funny Organ Grinder’s monkey died.
He died because the company that his three creators had founded to give Jiminy fun things to get into had failed. The Carousel Cartoon Company of Chicago was no more.
To say that a cartoon character died may not be accurate. To die means that you once were alive. Some would argue that Jiminy was just some India ink lines on a sheet of transparent celluloid. He did not have blood or lungs or a heart. He only did what his animators made him do. He had no will of his own. Alec, Hugh, and Charles would strongly disagree. Jiminy may have not had a heart or lungs or blood, but Jiminy most definitely had a will of his own. He had strong opinions, strong preferences, and equally intense dislikes.
Jiminy was easy to draw. Once a gag had been created, it was easy to place him into it. All of his creators reported that Jiminy “practically drew himself.” In twenty or thirty minutes, they would have a couple hundred cels, three or four seconds of hand-drawn animation. Amazing speed!
On the other hand, drawing the organ grinder man was always tedious. He often had to be done multiple times to avoid making him look too mean. They tried him with his handlebar moustache and without it. They gave him curly hair, then no hair. They made him plump and then skinny. Stood him with one leg forward, then erect. They tried to make him dance, but he would not do it.
The gag that worked the best was the one where jiminy is first the monkey with a cup in his hand collecting coins from the bystanders, then POOF! He becomes the organ grinder, and the man becomes the one forlornly collecting coins in a cup.
The gag worked so well they decided to make it a feature in every Jiminy cartoon. Sometimes, they did it more than once, giving Jiminy different expressions each time. The audiences loved the gag. It was a fan favorite.
Of course, the Jiminy cartoons had other gags. Jiminy would sneak into a very posh, up-scale department store and then bounce around putting on the wigs from the various mannequins, eventually having six or seven on his head. He went to a doctor’s office and then chased the nurses around, holding a gigantic syringe. He rode horses in the Kentucky Derby, winning the race while hiding under the saddle.
He was so easy to draw! He made every gag funny. Comedy was easy for him.
That Jiminy was so easy to draw confirmed what Alec often claimed. He denied that the animators had created him. No! He would say that the artist brought the character to life, like a midwife brings a baby from its mother into life. He argued that jiminy had his own anima, which in Latin meant soul or essence of being. The artist gives the ink lines an anima, their essence of being. But, the artist did not create the character. Jiminy was always there, just waiting for his anima.
Hugh and Charles, over time, came to agree.
Nonetheless, in October 1934, the Carousel Cartoon Company of Chicago stopped making cartoons, and all 291,000 sheets of the animators’ celluloids were placed in locked storage, never to be used again.
Early cartoon animation
Note: The Organ Grinder music was taken from Folkways Records FX 6126, “The Sounds of Carnival”
City of 4,000 Spies: Trip Home
After a short hiatus, Appaloosa Radio has begun production on Season Two of its Podcast. We begin Season Two by offering a new story from the City of 4000 Spies series.
This time Noble Son Dusko Rarrko is in the very distant Ganna 40 Sector on a very hush-hush assignment of an unspecified nature He is working for a sponsoring entity that carries out actions of an indeterminate kind.
Then, he receives a secret message from PNB7Q. “Return home immediately on first available transport.”
Unfortunately, the only available transport is a very slow cargo klunker, designed for carrying extremely heavy loads to and from the mines. It carries passengers only as a necessary courtesy. Sixteen seats. No food. No drink. No entertainment.
Rarrko must spend the next 96 earth revolutions trapped in a 20-meter by 20-meter, very bare-bones passenger comparment with fifteen strangers, bound together by their boredom and monotony.
It turns out to be, as he says later, “a most eventful trip.”
This audio story also pays partial homage to the 1954 film, The High and The Mighty, probably one of the finest “air disaster” films to come from Hollywood. See if you find those elements!
Enjoy Season Two!
Whistler music:
Under Paris Skies. Kunstpfelfer Sirus. Accessed through YOUTUBE on 2-1-2022
City of 4,000 Spies: Trip Home
After a short hiatus, Appaloosa Radio has begun production on Season Two of its Podcast. We begin Season Two by offering a new story from the City of 4000 Spies series.
This time Noble Son Dusko Rarrko is in the very distant Ganna 40 Sector on a very hush-hush assignment of an unspecified nature He is working for a sponsoring entity that carries out actions of an indeterminate kind.
Then, he receives a secret message from PNB7Q. “Return home immediately on first available transport.”
Unfortunately, the only available transport is a very slow cargo klunker, designed for carrying extremely heavy loads to and from the mines. It carries passengers only as a necessary courtesy. Sixteen seats. No food. No drink. No entertainment.
Rarrko must spend the next 96 earth revolutions trapped in a 20-meter by 20-meter, very bare-bones passenger comparment with fifteen strangers, bound together by their boredom and monotony.
It turns out to be, as he says later, “a most eventful trip.”
This audio story also pays partial homage to the 1954 film, The High and The Mighty, probably one of the finest “air disaster” films to come from Hollywood. See if you find those elements!
Enjoy Season Two!
Whistler music:
Under Paris Skies. Kunstpfelfer Sirus. Accessed through YOUTUBE on 2-1-2022
25th Episode!
The Appaloosa Radio Podcast has just posted its 25th episode, bringing Season 1 production to a close.
We have shared some new stories and some old favorites, including Nell Trustmon’s Broken Tree Tales, Jonas Chartogaro’s Lies & Detection, and a newly re-written City of 4000 Spies.
Take your choice: western ghost towns, nefarious atomic spy rings, or Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Nineteenth Great Nobleman of Sassko.
We threw in OSKAR 44-070-256, Lauren’s “EeKK//” and a real-life police show, and several terrific personal dramas from the “Through Panes of Glass” collection.
A very diverse first season!
We are also pleased that the Appaloosa Radio Podcast can be accessed through: Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Podfriend, Castro, Castbox, and Overcast.
We are busy developing stories for Season Two.
As always, we welcome story ideas and audio scripts.
Jim Mounts-Miller, our Principal Creative Producer (PCP) enjoys receiving your comments and suggestions.
Here is his personal email.
jim-j@appaloosaradio.productions
Finally, we extend our “seldom seen” challenge.
ENJOY!
==================================================================
Appaloosa Radio’s “Seldom Seen” Challenge
The urban video poem runs –
The bus was too full
So, I couldn’t get on
I could not go where I always go
My usual
My consistent
My regular
Not possible
Could not go where I always go
So, I took a walk
To places often passed by
But never seen
Appaloosa Radio is issuing a challenge to its listeners. Find a place “close by” but “seldom seen.” A place in your immediate neighborhood or close to your place of work or your school. A place that is close by you physically, but for whatever reason is a place that you seldom see or visit.
Your ordinary, your habitual, your regular means that you go another way.
So, our challenge is to find a place, close by, that you seldom see. Once you have found such places, we invite you to share the stories that you find there with us.
Again, these are places close by, but because of your routine, you never interact with.
Jim-J is the member of our staff who will be coordinating listener stories. We have posted his e-mail address earlier in these notes Send him your stories. We’ll narrate them and post them on Appaloosa Radio.
Find a place, close by, but seldom seen. Share the story from what you find.
He Done Her Wrong ---
Alma shoots Joe
A Nell Trustmon Story from her magazine, Broken Tree Tales
In June 1909, the daughter of one of California’s first ‘gold bugs’ shot her fiancée, the son of a wealthy Portuguese fruit grower. Alma Pike shot Joe Armez.
“Flying over the pretty little mining town of Auburn, California I immediately saw the Courthouse. It is situated on a hilltop that can be seen for miles. Its classic dome gleamed in the afternoon sun. Even from the air, I thought it was an immense showpiece.
When it was built in 1898, the building included four state-of-the-art jail cells. The four cells were adequate for a courthouse that typically handled only a dozen criminal cases a year.
What no one ever thought of was that maybe (just maybe) the Courthouse might have to sometimes house a female prisoner. When a criminal case involving a woman charged with murder occurred in the summer of 1909, there was no place to house her. So, the County created a special cell for her under the main stairwell leading to the front of the Courthouse.
What they did not realize was that in placing Miss Alma Bell in such a public location, she was literally where anyone could walk up and talk with her. And the young Miss Bell was very talkative and more than willing to tell her story to anyone who would listen.”
Episode includes original period music.
· Goodbye Mrs. Durkin performed by Kelly O’Neal. (Taken from a 1968 Ed Sullivan Show accessed through YouTube, January 2022)
· Frankie and Johnnie performed by Jimmy Rodgers (1929 version accessed through YouTube January 2022)
· Beautiful Eyes performed by Ada Jones (1909 version accessed through Playback.fm January 2022)
Original Genius of Pure Brilliance
New York, 2017
International Association for Mathematics conference
“Ladies and gentlemen. The International Association for Mathematics announces its Lifetime Achievement Award to a gifted mathematician whose work has revolutionized nearly every branch of contemporary mathematics. When I say “W. H. N. Goldman” you know I speak of virtuosity, of original thought, of insightful breakthrough logic. When I say “W. H. N. Goldman” you know I speak of one of the modern pioneers of our discipline, a thinker without whom we would not be able to do contemporary mathematics. When I say “W. H. N. Goldman” you know I speak of an individual of extraordinary brilliance. A mind of unlimited capacity. A master mathematician.
We are pleased this evening that Dr. Goldman is joining us for a talk.”
A tall woman wearing a pure white sarong and with extremely long gray hair trailing below her waist comes to the platform and accepts the microphone from the host. Her voice is both confident and clear.
Appaloosa Radio Productions
Offers An original audio drama
Thief!
My cousin, Danny, is a thief.
I know that is not a nice thing to say about a relative, especially a close relative like my Aunt Vivien’s only son. I am Italian and we just don’t say bad things about family. Unfortunately, the truth is, my cousin Danny Mariano was a thief.
I don’t mean, an occasional thief, one who steals ever so often. Nor do I mean an opportunistic thief, one who steals when a chance situation presents itself. No, I mean a perpetual, life-long, unrepentant thief, one who steals from everyone, all the time.
He could have been so much more. He was tall, strong, and extremely good looking. Intelligent and very likeable. He could sell anything to anyone.
But he was a thief. It damaged him and nearly destroyed our family.
Now ---
“Danny Mariano is a thief who is dying. He cannot undo what he has already done. He cannot now become someone other than who he is. Still, I think he is seeking, seeking your forgiveness and your love. AND, I think he knows that you acutely remember all of his crimes. You do not want to forget or forgive or show him love. You wish him no mercy. You seek a dry and severe justice.”
City of 4,000 Spies: Episode 3
I am Jooonni
Rona:
“Cadet Squad Leader Rona EN Beelzie reporting as requested, Sir.”
Commander:
“You may stand at ease Cadet Squad Leader.
“I have been reviewing the performance of this epoch’s graduating class. I am pleased to share that Squad CVZ-678 had the overall highest marks, and most importantly, the highest rate of graduation success of any cadet squad.
“Congratulations on your excellent leadership.”
Rona:
“Thank you, Sir. We have worked extremely hard to perform at the level that the Empire Sha Yot expects for its military officers.”
Commander:
“Based on your outstanding performance at the Military Tactics College, I believe you will prove to be an excellent officer for the Empire.”
Rona:
“Thank you, sir. Your commendation means a great deal to me.”
Commander:
“I see that your specialization is intelligence.
“Cadet, you are about to receive your very first military assignment. It is an assignment that is of utmost importance to the Empire. It is an assignment against our most hated enemy, the Kingdom Gje.”
“However, because of some pathetic treaties that some traitors to the Empire foolishly signed, we cannot deal with our hated enemy by direct military action. We must address the matter through clandestine action.
“Do you understand my intent, Cadet?
Rona:
“Yes, Sir I do. My loyalty to the Empire’s new leader is absolute. I will do all that is within my power to fulfill our national ambitions, to destroy our hated enemy, to restore the fallen honor of the Empire Sha Yot.
“I am ready for this assignment.”
Commander:
“Good. Now, Junior Intelligence Officer Rona EN Beelzie, you are due a vacation, a celebration for your hard work, an extended party, two weeks of pure fun, in the beautiful resort city of Lell.”
City of 4000 Spies
Episode Two
The Beast
Dusko Rarrko, the second son of the Nineteenth Great Nobleman of Sassko, was probably Lell’s most recognizable spy. He was handsome, athletic, and ingenious. He wore flashy high-end fashion and drove a speeder that broke 1.75. He was seldom seen without a bevy of beautiful females and was often described with that old-fashioned word “playboy” (although no one seemed to know what it meant).
He looked the part of a spy. He moved in the nuanced way that spies moved.
If you asked him, “what is your occupation?”, he would smugly smile and say, “I am a spy, of course.” If you would follow up with another question, “who are you spying for?” he would again smirk, “Whoever pays me the most.”
However, he was already wealthy beyond imagination.”
Recently, his routine changed. Now, every morning, he rose early,and took the pleasure boat out to the small Island in the remarkable Lake of The Many Colors. He brought with him a sack lunch and a hat to protect him from the intense solar radiation of the Blue Sun.
During the quadracycle of the Blue Sun, most residents of Lell stayed indoors fearing the epidermal effects of the solar radiation. Dosko Rarrko had the extremely fair purple skin so typical of the people of Sassko. It would have been prudent for him to stay indoors. Venturing out posed a danger to him.
Yet, every morning he took the pleasure boat to the island and paid his admission to the now decrepitate zoological garden.
There, he would sit on a particular bench for an hour or so, slowly eating the contents of his sack lunch.
After finishing his sack lunch, he would take the boat back to his hotel and continue with his regular daily activities.
In a posh city where you can get any pleasure, recreational opportunity, drug, potion, or experience, Dusko Rarrko, the avoid spy, had selected one of the very most sedate of the City’s opportunities.
Appaloosa Radio offers
Hank’s Murder
Based on an actual murder case, fictionalized for this audio drama
“I am Allen Nehering, a retired Detective from the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. I was the Lead Detective for the investigation of Henry Triffitti’s murder. On August 12, 1974, we received a 9-1-1 call.”
“My son-in-law, Hank, has been murdered. His head has been cut clean off. There is blood everywhere. I mean everywhere. He was murdered.”
“I knew immediately that whoever killed Hank Triffitti had to be a massive man. Hank was nearly six feet tall and weighed 179 pounds. I believe that Hank Triffitti had been killed with a single blow. One blow with a sharp weapon that both took off his head and sliced through his left forearm.”
“The owner of Hank’s Gourmet Market he built it into a considerable success. He was now very wealthy. His wife Kailiani and her lover Malachi Taub had the most to gain from his murder.
City of 4000 Spies
Episode One-
The Mineral of Information
It was not his first time visiting the City-by-the-Lake. Indeed, he had been coming to Lell ever since be began his career as a professional spy, some many assignments ago.
But, this time, it served his purpose, to appear to be a first-time visitor, a wide-eyed provincial from the distant, rural sectors. He even chose a cover name that aptly expressed his new identity. His identity device now gave his name as Bruzch Jes Bumpkin, a purveyor of exotic materials, traveling from a sector of no military or economic value. A nobody from a nowhere place.
On many previous trips, he had been easily recognizable as Dosko Rarrko, the second son of the Nineteenth Great Nobleman of Sassko. His arrival was always a media event. He wore the latest, very flashy, high-end fashion. He was nearly always accompanied by a bevy of beautiful females. He moved in the nuanced way that spies moved. He was frequently seen at the gaming tables, wagering many hundreds of thousands.
However, this time he was not coming to Lell as probably its most noticeable spy.
No, this time he came to the lovely City by the Lake as a bumpkin, truly named “bumpkin.”
It was a Rarrko joke. A typical Rarrko joke. One that only he could appreciate.
He knew that the old English word “bumpkin” came originally from the Old Dutch language, where the word “bum” meant one’s rear end, so “bum kin” implied someone who was from the very most anal of realms. In its later English derivation, it came to mean one who was a ‘block of wood.’
So, Dosko Rarrko was coming to Lell as a bumpkin, a block of wood, from the very most anal of regions.
A Rarrko joke. One that only he understood.”
The Denver paramedics were there in just a few minutes. They begin to provide the homeless woman with medical car, and then the loaded her onto a gurney and rolled her into the ambulance. They grabbed Beckie’s coat and threw it over the homeless woman.
I expected Beckie to speak up, to say, please leave my coat. She didn’t.
Later, when I asked her why she had not spoken up, asking the paramedics to leave her coat, she simply said, she needed it more than me.
Here was Beckie Blake standing in the cold, at night, watching her nice coat go away. I could see her shivering, but she did not say anything.
A couple days later, Beckie went to a second-hand store and bought herself another coat. This coat was not nice. It had tears and stains, holes in the pockets. It had a wild floral, almost hippy pattern. Certainly, not something that a woman as conservatively dressing as Beckie Blake would wear.
The worst thing about this coat was that it had a distinctive smell. We all could tell immediately whenever Beckie came in wearing that coat.
Smelly. Ugly. Stained. And, I did not know until many years later, it had been an expensive purchase. It was winter and this was the only coat left in the second-hand store. They priced it as if it had been new.
Beckie had come to Arvada to be close enough to her sons so they could visit her on weekends. Unfortunately, the visitations did not go well.
Beckie’s tiny studio apartment was crowded and in a not-too-nice area. Everyone was crammed into a small space; two of the boys slept on the floor. The youngest shared his mother’s bed.
She did not have cable TV, video games, a basketball court, four-wheel drive ATVs for whizzing through the forest, or a pool with a diving board for doing tricks. Beckie did not ski or snowboard. She drove an old car. Most importantly, she cooked food they no longer liked. Beckie still like to fry eggs in grease, make baloney sandwiches, and serve chocolate milk.
It was a pain for any of the guys to spend the weekend at their mother’s place. They complained often and loudly. They were disrespectful to her, calling her names to her face. Once she become so angry that she slapped one of the guys. None wanted to come back to her house ever again.
As the visitations diminished, Beckie began to call deeper and deeper into a persistent, all-consuming depression.
Beckie’s world lost its colors, going to gray then finally to black. Black as the darkness itself that she felt in every extremity of her body. It sat like a thousand-pound weight on her neck, pressing her down to her knees, to the floor itself. She stopped eating, but the stress itself ballooned her weight. Her voice dropped from her pleasant alto to a deep bass. She began to have delusions, seeing things that were not really there.
One terrible night, the father of evil, Lucifer himself visited her, claiming her sacred soul as his own. “It is strange,” Beckie thought, “he doesn’t look like any of the pictures she had seen.” He bore an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Burton, the very nice mechanic who had worked on her car. “I never knew that the Devil could be nice. It is just part of his trickery. He is the master of all deception.”
Dry Wheat Stubble - Chapter 4 – Lousy Lawyers
Based on a true story. Six chapters.
Mrs. Beckie Parnell Blake thought she was married for life with the perfect husband and three incredible sons.
Then, one day while at her job she received an unexpected phone call. One that changed her life.
“Mrs. Beckie Blake, I am Lisa Paternino and I am in love with your stud husband. He loves me too. So, we’re going to get married. He’s going to divorce you, so he can be all mine. He has such a great body. So warm. So sexy. I just love it when he touches me . . . .”
Sitting in a darkened room monitoring their sixth conjugal visit, prison Sergeant Jeff Blake, overcome by intense emotion, decided to act. As Lisa Paternino started to leave the visitation center, he handed her a note. It simply said, “Call me and we can get together.” It gave her his home phone number.
~~~
Jeff Blake reached for her hand and gently brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Miss Lisa Murray, will you marry me?”
“Mr. Jeffrey Robert Blake, I most certainly will.” She squeezed his hand tightly.
What Lisa had not yet told Jeff was that while she was in the substance abuse program, two remarkable things had happened in her life.
During her third week in the compound, the Denver Police had come to interview her. She did not know that George Paternino’s legal appeals had been granted and he had been freed from prison. The District Attorney had tried to build a new case against him, but without the evidence gathered during the undercover operations, they had almost nothing that could be used in court. Former acquaintances, associates, underlings, and enemies had no desire to cooperate with the authorities. There was no way to make a case.
This meant that George Paternino was free to do whatever he wanted. What he wanted was to be the Colorado drug kingpin again. However, there were others who did not want to give up what they had acquired. Eight days after his release from prison, George Paternino was murdered. Nineteen bullets in his chest and one (large caliber) bullet in each hand.
Dry Wheat Stubble
Based on a true story. Six chapters.
Mrs. Beckie Parnell Blake thought she was married for life with the perfect husband and three incredible sons.
Then, one day while at her job she received an unexpected phone call. One that changed her life.
“Mrs. Beckie Blake, I am Lisa Paternino and I am in love with your stud husband. He loves me too. So, we’re going to get married. He’s going to divorce you, so he can be all mine. He has such a great body. So warm. So sexy. I just love it when he touches me . . . .”
In the thousands of times that Beckie Blake mentally replayed the call from Lisa Paternino, she said she always heard the conversation end with a distinctive witches’ cackle.
Of course, that wasn’t true. Lisa was not a witch. She had no magical powers. She didn’t have a caldron in which she mixed special potions.
It was Beckie’s mind playing tricks on her. Beckie would never call another woman a witch. That would not be a Christian thing to say. But, deep in Beckie’s innermost thoughts, she could imagine a witches’ cackle, reinforcing her perception that weird, black magic had transformed her husband into something he was not.
No Lisa was not a witch. She was, rather, an astonishingly beautiful, and very intelligent, woman. Tall with honey blond hair, violet eyes, and a perfectly trim body. She had begun her modeling career when she was just fourteen. By seventeen, she was a high-priced call girl, prostitute whose regular customers were some of the richest men on the Pacific Coast.
Then she became the wife of Denver’s drug kingpin, George Paternino. He was incredibly rich with a house in Cherry Hills that featured an indoor swimming pool, and both an indoor driving range and an indoor putting green. He drove European sportscars, ate at the best restaurants, and traveled by charter jet.
He wasn’t much to look at (long, hippy; unwashed hair), but he had easy access to every drug imaginable, and his parties were phenomenal with many sports and music superstars. Lisa met him at one of his parties. He asked her out, and on that very first date asked her to marry him.
She did, in Las Vegas, two weeks later.
Unlimited drugs. Massive amounts of money. How could life get any better?
Unfortunately, George Paternino was arrested, convicted, and assigned to a prison outside Geary, Colorado, where he was permitted conjugal visitations with his wife Lisa.
Sitting in a darkened room monitoring their sixth conjugal visit, prison Sergeant Jeff Blake, overcome by intense emotion, decided to act. As Lisa Paternino started to leave the visitation center, he handed her a note. It simply said, “Call me and we can get together.” It gave her his home phone number.
Dry Wheat Stubble
Based on a true story. Six chapters.
Mrs. Beckie Parnell Blake thought she was married for life with the perfect husband and three incredible sons.
Then, one day while at her job she received an unexpected phone call. One that changed her life.
“Mrs. Beckie Blake, I am Lisa Paternino and I am in love with your stud husband. He loves me too. So, we’re going to get married. He’s going to divorce you, so he can be all mine. He has such a great body. So warm. So sexy. I just love it when he touches me . . . .”
In the thousands of times that Beckie Blake mentally replayed the call from Lisa Paternino, she said she always heard the conversation end with a distinctive witches’ cackle.
Of course, that wasn’t true. Lisa was not a witch. She had no magical powers. She didn’t have a caldron in which she mixed special potions.
It was Beckie’s mind playing tricks on her. Beckie would never call another woman a witch. That would not be a Christian thing to say. But, deep in Beckie’s innermost thoughts, she could imagine a witches’ cackle, reinforcing her perception that weird, black magic had transformed her husband into something he was not.
No Lisa was not a witch. She was, rather, an astonishingly beautiful, and very intelligent, woman. Tall with honey blond hair, violet eyes, and a perfectly trim body. She had begun her modeling career when she was just fourteen. By seventeen, she was a high-priced call girl, prostitute whose regular customers were some of the richest men on the Pacific Coast.
Then she became the wife of Denver’s drug kingpin, George Paternino. He was incredibly rich with a house in Cherry Hills that featured an indoor swimming pool, and both an indoor driving range and an indoor putting green. He drove European sportscars, ate at the best restaurants, and traveled by charter jet.
He wasn’t much to look at (long, hippy; unwashed hair), but he had easy access to every drug imaginable, and his parties were phenomenal with many sports and music superstars. Lisa met him at one of his parties. He asked her out, and on that very first date asked her to marry him.
She did, in Las Vegas, two weeks later.
Unlimited drugs. Massive amounts of money. How could life get any better?
Unfortunately, George Paternino was arrested, convicted, and assigned to a prison outside Geary, Colorado, where he was permitted conjugal visitations with his wife Lisa.
Sitting in a darkened room monitoring their sixth conjugal visit, prison Sergeant Jeff Blake, overcome by intense emotion, decided to act. As Lisa Paternino started to leave the visitation center, he handed her a note. It simply said, “Call me and we can get together.” It gave her his home phone number.
Dry Wheat Stubble
Based on a true story. Six chapters.
Mrs. Beckie Parnell Blake thought she was married for life with the perfect husband and three incredible sons.
Then, one day while at her job she received an unexpected phone call. One that changed her life.
“Mrs. Beckie Blake, I am Lisa Paternino and I am in love with your stud husband. He loves me too. So, we’re going to get married. He’s going to divorce you, so he can be all mine. He has such a great body. So warm. So sexy. I just love it when he touches me . . . .”
In the thousands of times that Beckie Blake mentally replayed the call from Lisa Paternino, she said she always heard the conversation end with a distinctive witches’ cackle.
Of course, that wasn’t true. Lisa was not a witch. She had no magical powers. She didn’t have a caldron in which she mixed special potions.
It was Beckie’s mind playing tricks on her. Beckie would never call another woman a witch. That would not be a Christian thing to say. But, deep in Beckie’s innermost thoughts, she could imagine a witches’ cackle, reinforcing her perception that weird, black magic had transformed her husband into something he was not.
No Lisa was not a witch. She was, rather, an astonishingly beautiful, and very intelligent, woman. Tall with honey blond hair, violet eyes, and a perfectly trim body. She had begun her modeling career when she was just fourteen. By seventeen, she was a high-priced call girl, prostitute whose regular customers were some of the richest men on the Pacific Coast.
Then she became the wife of Denver’s drug kingpin, George Paternino. He was incredibly rich with a house in Cherry Hills that featured an indoor swimming pool, and both an indoor driving range and an indoor putting green. He drove European sportscars, ate at the best restaurants, and traveled by charter jet.
He wasn’t much to look at (long, hippy; unwashed hair), but he had easy access to every drug imaginable, and his parties were phenomenal with many sports and music superstars. Lisa met him at one of his parties. He asked her out, and on that very first date asked her to marry him.
She did, in Las Vegas, two weeks later.
Unlimited drugs. Massive amounts of money. How could life get any better?
Unfortunately, George Paternino was arrested, convicted, and assigned to a prison outside Geary, Colorado, where he was permitted conjugal visitations with his wife Lisa.
Sitting in a darkened room monitoring their sixth conjugal visit, prison Sergeant Jeff Blake, overcome by intense emotion, decided to act. As Lisa Paternino started to leave the visitation center, he handed her a note. It simply said, “Call me and we can get together.” It gave her his home phone number.
Magnetic Woman - A Lies & Detection Episode
Jonas interviews Juliet Stuart Poyntz
"There are people who literally are magnetic, who wherever they go or whatever they do, they draw others to them. My guest for this episode is a genuinely magnetic person.
I believe it is because of her personal magnetism, that the Communist Party came to flourish in the United States during the years before World War II. I now believe that without the presence and the work of Juliet Stuart Poyntz, the Communist left in the US would have remained a sorry collection of complainers, dreamers, and cranks.
She was the co-founder of the American Communist Party. She brought discipline, focus, organization, and key people to it.
Much later when she began her secret career as an active Soviet spy, she proved herself to be the most effective KGB/GRU spy working in the Americas.
The Encyclopedia Britannica lists her as: a
· Suffragist
· Feminist
· trade union organizer
· socialist
· politician
· political activist
· Communist, and
· spy.
To that impressive list, I would add that Joseph Stalin called her an enemy of the Soviet State, and personally ordered her execution."
In Josie’s Bible
Glued inside a grandmother’s Bible is a newspaper clipping with a poem on it. During the Second World War, when the conflict and rationing made many things scarce, some women shared poems clipped from the newspapers instead of sending greeting cards or letters. An investigation leads to the discovery of the poetry of James J. Metcalfe, the most popular of these newspaper poets. In the early 1950s, Metcalfe’s poems were read by more daily readers than other newspaper stalwarts, including gossip columnists Walter Winchell, Hedda Hopper, and Louella Parsons; the cartoons of Dick Tracy and Little Orphan Annie; and the advice columnists Ann Landers and Dear Abby. Yet today he is wholly unknown.
From Portraits
by James J. Metcalfe
To Bear My Cross
I turn to You, almighty God . . .
In this my time of grief . . .
I do not beg for comfort . . .
I do not seek relief . . .
I only seek the courage and . . .
The strength to bear my sorrow . . .
That I may fulfill my place . . .
And carry on tomorrow . . .
I do not want to drop my cross . . .
Or fall beside the way . . .
Just give me the grace to serve You,
God . . .
For still another day . . .
Let not my body be broken . . .
Let not my mind grow weary . . .
However much the skies may seem . . .
more dark and dreary . . .
Enable me to do You will . . .
However great my loss . . .
And as Your humble servant ,
Oh God . . .
to bear whatever cross.
© 1954
Appaloosa Radio’s “Seldom Seen” Challenge
Principal contact: jim-j@appaloosaradio.productions
The urban video poem runs –
The bus was too full
So, I couldn’t get on
I could not go where I always go
My usual
My consistent
My regular
Not possible
Could not go where I always go
So, I took a walk
To places often passed by
But never seen
Appaloosa Radio is issuing a challenge to its listeners. Find a place “close by” but “seldom seen.” A place in your immediate neighborhood or close to your place of work or your school. A place that is close by you physically, but for whatever reason is a place that you seldom see or visit.
Your ordinary, your habitual, your regular means that you go another way.
So, our challenge is to find a place, close by, that you seldom see. Once you have found such places, we invite you to share the stories that you find there with us.
Again, these are places close by, but because of your routine, you never interact with.
Jim-J is the member of our staff who will be coordinating listener stories. We have posted his e-mail address earlier in these notes Send him your stories. We’ll narrate them and post them on Appaloosa Radio.
Find a place, close by, but seldom seen. Create a story from what you find.
In this light-hearted story, Nell Trustmon talks about the Sazerack Lying Club, an invention of newspaper editor Fred D. Hart. His 1878 book outsold all of Mark Twain’s.
“This purports to be a book on lies and lying, but it does not treat of the lies of politicians, stock-brokers, newspaper men, authors, and others, who lie for money; neither does it touch on the untruths of scandal, mischief, or malice, but only on those lies which amuse, instruct and elevate, without harm. It is a record of lies told in a club known as the Sazerac Lying Club, whose objects, as its name implies, are lying. A chapter is devoted to the rise, progress, and history of this club, interspersed with these lies. The book contains a number of sketches of odd characters in Nevada, and local narratives of life in Austin, written by the Author, and published from time to time in the columns of the AUSTIN REVEILLE, of which paper the writer has for several years been editor, and which have been clipped from the files of that journal, and made to do service in padding out this book to a sellable size.”
“In the days of the Father of this Country, if we are to believe a little tale about an adventure in connection with a particular cherry tree, lying was looked upon as wrong.
But that was before the time of the steam engine, the electric telegraph, daily newspapers, stocks and stock-brokers, and other modern improvements.
Today, to lie, and lie well, is meritorious, and besides, there's money in it, which of itself is sufficient to make it commendable.”
~Newspaper editor - Fred D. Hart~
Austin, Nevada, 1878
Queen of Lies --- Queen of Spies
A Lies and Detection Episode
Miss Elizabeth Bentley walked into the New Haven FBI Offices and told the agents that she feared for her life. She said that she had been a spy for the Soviet Union, serving both as a courier who had completed over a thousand dead drops and as the coordinator for multiple networks of spies, working in New York City and in Washington, D.C. However, the NKGB (the predecessor to the KGB) had determined that she was no longer sufficiently reliable. “I knew they no longer trusted me. They no longer needed me. They certainly did not want me. I knew too much. My life was clearly in danger.”
During their interviews, the FBI gained her trust, and she began to provide them with detailed information.
“Hello, I’m Jonas Chartogaro, a government polygraph examiner with over 25 years of experience. I am also a former New York police officer. AND, I’ll be interviewing Miss Elizabeth Bentley. She was a former Soviet spy whose confessions to the FBI played a very significant role in shaping America during the late 1940s. Her revelations triggered the extensive anti-Communist loyalty probes that resulted in what came to be called the ‘McCarthy Era.’ ”
“What makes Elizabeth Bentley so interesting is that she was a compulsive liar. She lied to the KGB, she lied to the FBI, and she lied in both her Congressional and her courtroom testimonies.”
“Yet, hidden amongst those many lies were important slivers of truth, truths that eventually broke the back of the Soviet’s most insidious ring of spies.”
Resource:
Kathryn S. Olmsted. Red Spy Queen: A Biography of Elizabeth Bentley. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2002. ISBN 978-0-8078-2739-0.
In this episode, Nell Trustmon tells the story of “George” a western piano man who worked closely with the notorious gambler and boxing promoter, Tex Rickard.
Tex made his first fortune in the Yukon Gold Rush of the late 1890s, running saloons and gambling houses with his long-time partner Wyatt Earp. With a fortune in hand, Tex Rickard arrived in Goldfield, Nevada where he built Nevada’s largest saloon which he called the Northern. The Northern was so large that it had three stages and forty gambling tables. It also was next to Nevada’s largest brothel which Tex Rickard secretly owned.
However, Tex Rickard is most remembered today for staging in September 1906, the prize fight between Oscar “Battling Nelson” and Joe Gans. In so doing, he did what many said was not possible. In less than three months, he put together a championship prize fight that is, today, still regarded one of the greatest ever. And he staged the prize fight just a block from his Northern Saloon in Goldfield, Nevada.
To do so, he raised $30,000 (all in gold coins), made special deals with all the various sports gambling syndicates from New York, Chicago, New Orleans, and San Francisco, and attracted the attention and enthusiasm of the world’s sporting press --- all in a place nobody had ever heard of and could get to only with the utmost difficulty.
Tex Rickard may have been the most brilliant sports promoter of his generation.
Tex Rickard’s next stop was Stingaree Gulch. In a narrow Gulch, just outside the “respectable” mining city of Rawhide, Tex and his various partners opened over 100 saloons, and almost as many gambling dens and dance halls.
In the “Gulch,” Tex created brothels on a massive scale. He printed postcards with photos of scantily clad women and the claim that Stingaree Gulch “had 600 girls on its line --- all nations, all colors.”
“Show this postcard at any bar, and Tex will buy you a round.”
Probably, Tex Rickard’s most audacious pursuit was as the sole promoter of the so-called “Fight of the Century” held in 1910 on July 4th in Reno, Nevada between Jim Jeffries and Jack Johnson. From that one fight, Tex may have made over one million dollars. This was before the income tax, and many of Rickard’s deals were either behind-the-scenes or under-the-table, so no one knows for sure.
It also was the first prize fight recorded with movie cameras.
The fight triggered a massive wave of racial violence, since a black athlete soundly defeated America’s “great white hope.”
Appaloosa Radio is pleased to introduce Nell Trustmon and her collection of Broken Tree Tales
Nell Trustmon was a prolific, Western author who journeyed over 300,000 bumpy miles during the early 1950s to gather stories about the forgotten ghost towns of the Old West. She published many of her stories in her own magazine, the Broken Tree Tales.
She pushed her red 1947 Mercury (which she named Old Bess) through washed out gullies, up sandhills, and along long-neglected wagon trails. Her only companion in her travels was her collie dog “Prospector.” Nell camped under the stars when the weather permitted or slept in Old Bess when it rained or snowed. She recorded her stories wherever she happened to be on her dependable portable Royal typewriter.
Appaloosa Radio has been granted exclusive rights to Nell Trustmon’s Broken Tree Tales.
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The old and very rough pencil sketch is getting hard to make out. It shows a woman’s body lying on a wooden floor. Her pantaloons have been pulled down and she has an arm raised, probably to fend off her attacker. She lies in a pool of her own blood. From the old pencil sketch, you would not know that it is a drawing of Miss Julia Bulette, early Nevada’s most famous and beloved “soiled dove.”
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Some music was taken from the CD “A Large Fury Man with a Wee Cap” performed by Big Gerry and the Pockets O’ Gold. Privately published at Mammoth Lakes, California © 1998.
The General Strike
Featuring O.ss.K.ar 44-070-256, Lauren’s personal EeKK//.
Imagine a time (in the not-too-distant future) when EeKK//s do all the work.
In this episode, Lauren joins a "General Strike" to protest a grave social injustice, and O.ss.K.ar 44-070-256 has to take swift action to prevent harm to her.
Appaloosa Radio is pleased to offer Lies & Detection featuring Senior Polygraph Examiner Jonas Chartogaro.
Jonas Chartogaro was a senior government polygraph examiner with over 25 years of experience, who had previously been a New York police officer. He uses his investigatory talents to interview historical figures to ferret out lies and to discover the truth.
In this podcast series, Jonas interviews infamous KGB spies of the 1940s.
This time he interviews Soviet Spymaster, Major General Walter Krivitsky
The morning fog had begun to lift around the pier, and the weekend tourists were starting to leave their hotel rooms for a day at the beach.
The one-armed guitar player opened his guitar case and carefully removed his Les Paul Deluxe 3 E X model from its well-padded home. He put one foot on the small bench and then rested the instrument on his knee. Some would say that it was remarkable that he could do so much with only his left arm, but for him the routine was ordinary. He held the guitar close to his chest with his chin and then fastened the strap. Once the guitar was secure, he lowered his foot to the ground and stood erect, checking to make certain that everything was comfortable.
It was time to begin his daily show. He plugged the guitar to his battery-powered amplifier. Speaking softly to his guitar, he said, “Time, my sweet, for beautiful music.” He began a soft jazz riff matching his mood and the weather.
Appaloosa Radio offers Contemplating Evil
An audio story which includes original, period-specific music performed by: the Howlin’ Wolf, Vernon Dalhart, and Billy Murray
An elderly college professor contemplates the nature of evil after he finds an old photograph proving that his own father had been an instrumental participant in the lynching of Leo Frank, one of Georgia’s most notorious vigilante murders. FICTION.
I was a rich, white girl who had never chosen to marry. Many of my fellow Southern women would have called me a spinster. I was Miss Hellen Elizabeth Stanberry when I was born and that is how I died. But lonely, I was not. I lived a satisfying (and sexually fulfilling) life of my own choosing. And I did it while teaching school in Ashe County, North Carolina, a forlorn place of high poverty, and limited vistas.
I was a rich girl, the oldest daughter of the lumber baron, S. O. Stanberry. He had sawmills all over western North Carolina, was a partner in the region’s principal railroad, and owned our town’s only bank. He drove either a flashy Packard or a dependable Cadillac. Our neighbors (and employees) drove old, rusted Model T trucks. We had a large, three-story white frame house with central heating and three large bathrooms. Our neighbors (and employees) lived in shanties with potbelly stoves and outhouses built right over their creeks.
My father was a high order Mason, so he was known, and welcomed everywhere. My father was also a Presbyterian Elder, a religious order three steps above the all-too-prevalent Baptists. Because everyone knew my father, everyone knew me. But because they knew my father, they never told him about what I did.
No one ever told him that I smoked cigarettes, drank cocktails, and climbed into the hayloft with many very virile men.
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Lindsey Beth Hummel voices the narration
Some music provided by the California School for the Blind Student Jazz Quintet