CHAPTER 13 – SHOWTIME

“And ten…nine…eight…seven…” called the floor director.

The television studio was dark. Bill Ratliff stood amidst a pool of light in front of a large box accented with a floral curtained window, where the frog puppet, Gomer, would soon appear during today’s airing of Showtime. I had watched the local children’s show on KRCG-TV every day after school for my entire life. Last year, on my birthday, my mom sent the station a coloring page from my Flintstones book that I had spent hours on, tediously keeping my crayon within the lines. My artwork was featured on air and Gomer himself wished me a happy birthday. Friends and family called me that evening to tell me it was the best coloring page they had ever seen.

“Six…five…four…” said the floor director.

It was almost time. I was going to be on TV. My brother’s Boy Scout troop had been invited to appear on the show. Since my mom was the den mother, and I had become an honorary member of Troop 512, I got to accompany them on all of their fun excursions. The boys teased and picked on me, but I didn’t mind. They were also very protective. Once another troop badgered them for having a girl in their group and a couple of the Troop 512 boys threatened to beat them up.

“She’s more of a boy than the sissies in your group,” said Ronnie, the chubby scout who served as my protector.

“Oh yeah, how about she proves it then,” one called back.

“Boys!” their den mother called. “Cool it!”

“Three…two…” the song, Music Box Dancer played as the show open ran on a large monitor. The tender plinking of a child’s piano was my cue at home to stop whatever I was doing and run to the TV. But today, I was actually there, live, in the studio, for all of Central Missouri to see.

“It’s Showtime, the fun time that’s just for kids,” said the announcer as a montage of highlight clips brought the tender music to life.

“Welcome to Showtime,” said Bill Ratliff. Bill typically wore a short-sleeved, button-up shirt and tie. He held a tall microphone in his left hand, attached to a long cord that snaked across the concrete floor. He was a very serious and gentle man, who could have played Richie Cunningham’s double on the hit show, Happy Days, which aired on KOMU-TV right after Showtime. His blondish-red hair was sculpted perfectly and I realized when I saw him in person that he wore thick make-up and rouge.

“Today we have some very special guests from Centralia, Missouri, Boy Scout Troop 512,” said Bill.

And there, on live TV was a wide shot of our troop. I waved to the TV in the studio, but it appeared I was waving to someone off-set. Wait a minute, what was going on? I stretched my arm as far as I could toward the TV, waving feverish – to no avail. I caught a glimpse of a hand waving out of the corner of my left eye, hidden in the darkness, but silhouetted by a bright red light. I looked in the direction of the hand and the camera operator pointed to the lens that sat below the red light. I waved again toward the camera and glanced at the TV to my right. I was finally waving in the right direction, to my friends and family back home. It was very confusing and I was embarrassed to show my inexperience in the TV world.

“Also visiting us today is the library lady,” he said.

‘Oh great, the stupid library lady,’ I thought to myself. About once a month, they let this lady on the show to read a children’s book to us. Gomer’s friend, Mr. Book Worm would join her and appear as interested in the book as a stuffed hand puppet could. No one, and I mean NO ONE, liked the library lady. She wasted valuable time when we could be watching Bugs Bunny cartoons or The Little Rascals.

“But first, here’s a word from our sponsors,” said Bill.

“Don’t go away, Showtime will be right back,” said a little girl’s pre-taped voice.

“And out,” called the floor director. “Come on kids, let’s line up so you can talk on TV.”

The entire troop rushed to Bill’s side, scrambling for their places in line.

“Me first! No, me first!” they argued.

Suddenly, they saw the camera and lights. Stage fright set in.

“I’m not going first, you go first,” said Ronnie to Clint, as he backed away.

“Here, you go first, Patti,” said Ronnie as he shoved me to the front of the line.

“Okay kids, ten seconds,” said Bill.

I stood quietly and stiffly. ‘Oh no, I’m first,’ I thought to myself. ‘What am I going to say?’ I had seen the show hundreds of times and knew exactly what I was supposed to do, but being in the studio made my stomach flutter and my hands sweat.

“Welcome back to Showtime,” Bill began.

‘Oh gosh, think, think,’ I said inside my head.

“And what’s your name?” Bill asked as he knelt on one knee to place the microphone in front of my mouth. I began nervously rocking front to back from my toes to my heels.

“Patti Crump,” I said quietly.

“Are you part of this troop too?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, I mean, my brother is.” I said. Bill laughed and made a playful remark that I was too anxious to understand.

“Is there anyone you want to say ‘hi’ to back home?” he asked.

“My mom, my dad, my sisters, my grandma, my grandpa, my other grandma and my neighbor, Stacie,” I recited. I had practiced the list over and over as I was falling asleep the night before.

Stacie Gates lived up the street from me and when she found out I was going to be on TV, she threatened to end our friendship if I didn’t say her name. I wanted to say ‘hi’ to all of my friends, but the Showtime producers limited how many people you could list. I knew I would have to answer to Stacie when I got home, so I made sure I said her name.

“Well, thank you for being with us today,” Bill said.

I waved to the camera and quickly exited the set to my seat in a one of the folding chairs lined up in front of a tan curtain. One by one, each of the boys, who were once confident and arrogant, nervously rattled off a list of names to greet.

Back home, when kids lined up to talk, I normally took the time as an opportunity to grab a snack. I hoped my school friends knew to stay and watch today though.

The show went by quickly. Even the library lady was tolerable today. The sound was kept low in the studio when the cartoons came on, but it didn’t matter. I had seen every episode at least ten times.

“Wow, you all are TV stars!” Mom exclaimed once the show was complete. “How does it feel?”

“When can we see it?” I asked.

“It’s live TV, you won’t be able to see it,” she said. “Everyone back home was watching you just then.”

‘What a rip off!’ I thought. Now I would never know what I looked like on TV. Today was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I wondered if I would ever get a chance to be on TV again.

CHAPTER 12 – GRANDMA’S CANDLE

                  Silver Dollar City was proving to be rather deflating for my seven-year-old ego. It seemed everyone was out to make a fool of me and I wondered why the entire park, filled with adults dressed in faded attire from yesteryear, bothered to go to such great lengths to con little children. The whole city was a farce.

                  “It’s almost noon. Let’s head for Molly’s,” said Mom.

                  There was a line outside the restaurant and I could smell the fried chicken, making my mouth water for its crispy, greasy goodness.

                  “Over here!” yelled Dad who had already been seated.

                  We enjoyed Molly’s buffet, filled with southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, while listening to Corey relive the courageous tales of the swinging bridge.

                  “It hangs with just rope and you swing all over the place,” said Corey. “I thought I was going to puke…like this…blech!” he said as he leaned his head toward my plate.

                  “Corey, stop it! That’s disgusting,” said Mom, while Dad laughed at his antics.

                  We finished our meal and planned the rest of our day. Candle-making, wood-carving and glass-blowing were all on the agenda.

                  “I want to make a candle for Grandma!” I said. “Since my pottery didn’t turn out so well.”

                  We spent the next three hours in what I called Heaven. There were craft shops everywhere and we created all kinds of treasures from scratch. It definitely made the trip a success.

                  The candle-making was fascinating and held my attention the longest. Large pots of hot wax stood outside the tiny shop. A woman dressed in a long-sleeved floral dress, apron and bonnet guided me through the process.

                  “Now, be careful, Sugar,” she said. “The wax is really hot and could burn you.”

                  I dipped my flimsy string into the hot red wax time and again, until my candle reached about an inch in diameter. The entire process lasted for what seemed like 30 minutes – dipping, cooling, dipping again. My brother grew tired of the repetition and left his string with my mom to finish, while he and Dad explored Tom Sawyer’s Landing.

                  “Wow!” said Jacki. “Grandma is going to love that candle. You’re doing such a good job.”

                  “And I did it all by myself and didn’t even get burned,” I bragged as I watched the other less-skilled kids touch their candles too soon, causing clumps and valleys to form in them. Mine was near perfect. There was no doubt Grandma would be impressed.

                  Corey and Dad came back, carrying two plates of funnel cakes.

                  “Give me some!” I yelled.

                  We sat along a rock wall, eating our funnel cake while Dad marveled at my artwork.

                  “That is just magnificent,” said Dad. “Are you sure you didn’t have any help?”

                  “No,” I giggled. “I really did it on my own.”

                  Dad placed my candle carefully in the brown paper bag given to us by the shop owner.

                  “Are you kids about ready to head back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house?” Dad asked.

                  “Yeah, I’m tired,” I said.

                  The ride home was quiet. Jacki showed me the bag of rocks she had bought at the rock shop and even gave me one to keep. It was bright blue with white streaks swirling throughout.

                  “Thanks Jacki,” I said. “This will be my lucky rock.”

                  I laid my head on her leg for the duration of the trip.

                 

                  “Grandma, Grandma, look what I made for you!” I yelled as I raced into her house, tripping over my ratty shoestrings.

“Well, what do we have here?” she asked as she tapped her spoon on the side of a frying pan and turned the burner to low heat.

                  “It’s a candle and I made it all by myself,” I beamed.

                  “My goodness! I believe it’s the most perfect candle I’ve ever laid eyes on,” she said as she held the candle close to inspect my handiwork. Grandma would know breath-taking candle-making when she saw it. She was accustomed to seeing failed attempts every day during her leisurely walks at Silver Dollar City.

                  “I’ve got just the place to put it,” she said as she reached above the stove and searched her collection of glassware for just the right holder. She pulled out a narrow red vase and placed the candle gently inside.

                  “Fits like a glove!” she said. “Now I’ll just put her right over here on my special shelf your grandpa made for me. It’ll be safe and everyone who visits can see it.” She placed the vase on the shelf next to a small cup and saucer.

                  “Perfect!” I said.

                  “Oh yes, Patti Duke, it sure is beautiful,” said Grandma. “I can’t wait to show Grandpa.

                  That evening my Aunt Lynn, who was Don’s ex-wife, and Jason ate dinner with us. Jason told us about his new puppy, Rags, who was likely the smartest dog in the state of Missouri.

                  “I taught her to go fetch and she did it on the very first try. I threw a piece of ham and she ran right to it,” he bragged. “And then I said, ‘Rags, jump!’ and she jumped all the way up to my hand and grabbed the entire piece of ham I was holding. She’s a smart one alright.”

                  “That doesn’t make your dog smart,” said Corey. “Anyone can get a dog to eat a piece of ham.”

                  “Does too make her smart!” yelled Jason. He thought for a minute, cooking up another wild story in his head and said, “Just yesterday I got hurt real bad. I saw my life flash before my eyes and Rags? Well, she saved me.”

                  “Yeah right,“ said Corey sarcastically. “What did she do? Save you from a burning building? Pull you out of a well?”

                  Jason contemplated his next move, then said, “I fell down in the road and she pulled me over to the grass all by herself. There was a car coming too and she barked at the car to slow down.”

                  Corey rolled his eyes.

                  “Is that true?” I asked.

                  “Of course it’s true! You calling me a liar?” Jason asked angrily.

                  “Okay you varmints,” Grandma interrupted. “I want you each to draw the best picture you can for me to put in my picture album.”

                  She placed three pieces of onion skin typing paper in front of us, along with hand-sharpened pencils.

                  “I’m going to draw Cubby!” Corey shouted.

                  “Oh, me too,” I said.

                  “Copy cat!” yelled Corey.

                  “Me three!” said Jason.

                  Sketching Cubby was only for the most experienced artists. The teddy bear wore a derby hat and bow tie. Magazines featured Cubby drawings, inviting master artists to try their hands at drawing the friendly cub. My brother had perfected the skill, replicating Cubby practically identical to the illustration. Dad mailed one of Corey’s sketches to the magazine, but we had yet to hear from anyone. He figured it was only because Corey was too young to participate in the highly coveted schooling they offered.

                  I did my best rendering of Cubby, but his snout appeared long and disproportionate to the rest of his face, almost resembling a weasel. Jason’s version was even worse. If one didn’t know any better, you would think cubby was a mouse. As usual, Corey’s was perfect. He had drawn Cubby so many times, that it was likely his hand had developed muscle memory to create his masterpiece with his eyes closed.

                  “Now write your names and ages on those so I can put them in my book,” said Grandma.

                  Our drawings would serve as a sampling of our talents, frozen in time for family members to view for years to come.

                  “But, it’s not my best work,” I complained to Grandma.

                  “Oh, I just wish I could draw like that,” she said. “Now hand it over,” she teased as she formed a pistol gesture with her fingers and threatened to shoot.

                  “Okay, but make sure you tell everyone I can do better,” I said.

                  “Buzz, buzz,” the doorbell rang. Wanda let out a loud holler of excitement.

                  “That must be Cheri and Vicki” said Mom.

                  Within moments, the small house was filled with family members from back home. Cheri, Bruce, Holli and Ladell came in first, followed by Tinker, Vicki and Codi.

                  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why is everyone here?”

                  “Remember Patti? Grandma and Grandpa are celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary tomorrow,” said Jacki.

                  “Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what an anniversary was, but I knew it was a big deal and that Mom and Vicki had recently spent a day in Columbia shopping for a gold cake topper.

                  The house was suddenly full of chaos.

                  “Ladell, quit pulling my hair!” screamed Holli. Grandma chased Ladell into a corner and smothered him with grandma kisses. He giggled and squealed, begging her to stop.

                  “You rotten little scoundrel! You give your Grandma a kiss!” she teased. Ladell finally succumbed to the torture and planted a kiss on Grandma’s cheek.

                  “Now, where’s my sweet little Holli girl?” asked Grandma.

                  Holli shrieked and raced into the family room, hiding behind a chair. “I’m gonna get you!” Grandma called.

                  “No! You can’t find me!” Holli teased. Within seconds Grandma was tickling Holli, causing her to beg for mercy too.

                  “I missed you Grandma!” Holli said.

                  “Oh, I’ve missed you pumpkin,” said Grandma.

                  “It’s Icky, Stinker and Toadie!” I yelled as Vicki and Tinker came into the room, holding baby Codi.

                  “Can I hold her? Can I hold her?” I asked Vicki.

                  “Just a minute,” she said. “She just ate and needs to let her food settle.”

                  “Hi Codi,” I said in my baby voice. “Hi Codi.”

                  Codi was six months old and had the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. Her perfect pug nose sat at a 45 degree angle on her tiny face. She wore a tiny pink sundress and bloomers with a matching bow stuck to tiny sprigs of blonde hair.

                  “Codi, Codi, Codi,” I teased as I poked her belly. “Peek-a-boo!”

                  I continued vying for Codi’s attention and was eventually rewarded with a tiny smile.

                  “You’re a pretty baby, aren’t you?” I said. “Boo-biddy, boo-biddy, boo!”

                  Vicki tried to her best to avoid tripping over me as she held Codi on her hip. Grandma wiggled her way between us to welcome them, but I quickly took my place again, making funny faces at Codi and tickling her belly.

                  Then suddenly, “blech!’

                  “Aack!” I screamed and spit uncontrollably. “She spit up right into my mouth!”

                  The taste of chunky, spoiled baby formula consumed my taste buds and my eyes watered with humiliation.

                  “Get it out! Get it out!” I screamed, brushing my tongue with my fingers.

                  Laughter filled the kitchen as I rolled on the floor, gagging and spitting. Nobody would help. Tears flowed from their eyes as they absorbed every moment of my anguish, first chuckling, then howling uncontrollably.

                  “I told you she had just eaten!” said Vicki as she tried her best to wipe her tears. The laughter continued at my expense.

                  Finally Grandma appeared with a small cup of water to extinguish the putrid taste in my mouth.

                  “Oh Grandma, it tastes horrible!” I cried.

                  “I’m sure it does!” she laughed.

                  I ran to the tiny bathroom next to the kitchen and rummaged my suitcase for my Scooby-Doo toothbrush. I slathered it generously with toothpaste and scrubbed the baby formula taste from my mouth. When I returned, Grandma had organized all the kids around the table to play “Snowing in July.” She gave us each two pieces of paper to fold into tiny squares and cut holes to create snowflakes. We hung the snowflakes all around the kitchen. Holli and I made a sign that read, “Happy Anniversary Grandma and Grandpa!”

                  “My goodness!” exclaimed Grandma. “Is anyone else getting cold in here?”

                  We laughed at her silly joke and tossed scrap paper into the air. “It’s snowing!” Jason cried.

                  “Okay, you kids. It’s time for bed. We have a big day tomorrow,” said Grandma.

                  It took close to an hour to find bedding for all of the kids and another hour to get us all settled into our spots after another musing round of bedtime stories.

                  “Goodnight my little varmints!” called Grandma.

                  “Goodnight Grandma!” we chanted simultaneously, followed by more giggles and squeals.

CHAPTER 11 – SILVER DOLLAR LINE STEAM TRAIN

                  “I want to go to Grandfather’s Mansion now!” shouted Corey.

                  “No, that place is creepy,” I complained. “It’s hard to stand up in there.”

                  “How about I take you on a train ride while they do the creepy stuff,” suggested Jacki.

                  “Okay!” I agreed.

                  I had never actually been on the train before, but always wanted to go. It only ran at intermittent times and my parents had never had the patience to wait for the next departure.

                  “I’ll go with you two,” said Mom. “You boys can go do whatever you want. Meet us at noon for lunch at Molly’s Mill Restaurant.

                  And off we went to the Frisco Silver Dollar Line Steam Train. The smell of funnel cakes filled the streets. I loved funnel cake and Mom had gotten a recipe to make them at home, and while they were a close second, they never quite satisfied my watering mouth like the ones at Silver Dollar City. I realized how hungry I was getting.

                  “Can we get a funnel cake?” I asked Mom.

                  “No, it’s almost lunchtime. Let’s wait,” she answered.

                  “Okay, but don’t forget,” I said. “Can I just have funnel cake instead of lunch?”

                  “No, you need to eat lunch. We’ll get some before we leave,” she laughed.

                  NEXT DEPARTURE – 10:40 A.M., the clock read as we approached the train.

                  “Hurry!” Mom said. “It’s about to leave.”

                  We rushed to the gates and pleaded with the conductor to let us aboard.

                  “Hold up!” he yelled. “We have three pretty little ladies who would like to join us.”

                  The gates opened and we hopped aboard the train. We found open seats next to a group of teenage boys. One whispered something to his friend and they gave each other a devilish grin as they glanced at my sister, Jacki smiled and flipped her long hair behind her shoulder as she took her seat.

                  “Do you know those boys?” I whispered loudly to my sister.

                  “Shhh, no,” she answered.

                  “Then why are they staring at you?” I asked.

                  “Hush, the ride is about to start,” she said.

                  “But I think they know you!” I insisted.

                  “Please, Patti. Hush!” she pleaded.

                  “Welcome to Frisco Silver Dollar Line Steam Train. Please keep your arms and legs inside the train at all times,” said the conductor over a loud speaker.

                  The train began rolling through the lush hills of the Ozarks. From my seat, I could see miles and miles of trees, stretched tightly over the small mountains.

                  “To your left, you’ll see…trees,” said the conductor. “And to your right, you’ll see…more trees.”

                  The audience giggled. A small breeze swept across my face and it felt relaxing, yet potentially very boring, to sit back and enjoy the pleasant ride. Mom was smiling and I could tell it was just the break she needed.

                  “What’s your name?” one of the boys asked my sister.

                  “Jacki,” she said with a shy smile.

                  “Oo-oo-ooo, Jackie Blue,” sang one of the other boys. The group laughed at his quick wit.

                  Jacki rolled her eyes at their sophomoric banter. I had heard my sister listening to Jackie Blue on her stereo in her bedroom many times, but I didn’t know everyone else knew the song too.

                  “My sister listens to that song all the time,” I announced, which sent the boys into a fit of laughter and serenading.

                  “Patti, be still,” reprimanded my mom. “Come over here and sit by me.”

                  “I think my friend likes you,” the boy said to my sister as the boys continued singing. “Hides that smile when she’s wearing a frown, oo-oo Jackie, you’re not so down.”

                  “Well, I already have a boyfriend,” she said as she flashed her boyfriend’s class ring, wrapped tediously in yellow yarn. I remember the night Jacki got that ring. She was so excited and spent at least an hour threading the yarn through the large ring, sizing it just right for her tiny finger.

                  “Oh, ouch!” he exclaimed.

                  Jacki rose from her seat and took a spot next to Mom and me, turning her back on the obnoxious attention she was rousing from the boys.

                  Suddenly, the train came to a complete stop.

                  “What happened?” I asked.

                  The conductor hopped off of the train.

                  “We’re being hijacked!” I heard one of the boys say.

                  “Mom, what does hijacked mean?” I asked. I was getting scared. Hijacked was a word I’d heard on TV shows like The Rockford Files and Quincy Jones, MD, and it was never supported by scenes suitable for children to watch.

                  “See those guys with guns? They’re outlaws and they’re holding up the train,” explained Mom.

                  “What?!” I exclaimed.

                  “Shh, shh, listen,” whispered Mom.

                  I could barely make out what they were saying.

                  “We are brothers, Alphie and Ralphie Bowlin,” one said. “And this is a stick up!”

                  The conductor had obviously come across these misfits before.

                  “Haven’t I told you boys you can’t rob my train?” said the conductor. He continued a verbal war with one of them while the other walked alongside the train.

                  I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because I was focused on the second outlaw who had just boarded the train.

                  “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,” said the Bowlin brother. “I would ask that you remove all gold, silver and fine jewels from your possession and deposit them right here in my hat. That includes jewelry, coins, even fillings in your teeth.”

                  Passengers searched their pockets for coins and tossed them into the hat. Suddenly, I heard a gunshot outside of the train and saw the conductor holding his butt in pain. The other Bowlin brother had shot him! This was serious.

                  The conductor howled in pain while the Bowlin brothers laughed at his comical dance, hopping from one foot to the other to relieve the pain.

“Now, what’d ya have to go and do that for?” whined the conductor.

“Mom, don’t give him all our money,” I whispered. “Hide some of it.”

Mom pulled out three nickels and gave my sister and me each one to place into the hat. I stared at my shoes the entire time, not wanting to make eye contact with the robber.

“You!” he said to one of the teenage boys who had harassed my sister. “I know your momma gave you more money than that. Now come on, give it up.”

The boy searched his pocket and pulled out another coin. The other boys chuckled.

“What are you boys laughing at?” asked the outlaw. “Now that’s gonna cost ya. Come on, empty your pockets before I empty them for ya.”

I continued staring at my feet. I studied the ratty shoestrings in my discount Converse replicas and noticed one shoe was laced tighter than the other. The shoes were hand-me-downs from my sister, Vicki, whose feet were smaller than most third-graders. They were worn and filthy and the strings had long since lost the plastic tips that made it easy to lace your shoes.

I saw the outlaw’s boots walk right past me. My whole body trembled. I wanted to close my eyes and make it all go away.

Soon the Bowlin brothers reunited on the train and thanked the passengers for their participation. Audience members laughed and shook hands with the outlaws as they exited the train. Confused, I looked at my mom for answers.

Mom smiled and giggled. “It was a just an act,” she said. “They aren’t real outlaws.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Mom did her best to convince me it was a set-up between bouts of laughter.

I gave her a stern look and turned away to pout. I had been duped.