A brush with an old sage:

Lights Out

by Hal Swift

            It’s one of those evenings between Christmas and New Year's, when Shorty's Place is packed with people—most of ‘em long time patrons.  They're still in a holiday mood, but many've come in to help Shorty undecorate the place.

            Old Charley Walker and Miz Abigale are here, helpin' Waco Walmsley and his niece, Sioux t'do some of the packin'.

            Logan West and his old Paiute pal, John C. Fremont, have brought their banjos, and are helpin' t'keep the mood happy while ever'body else does the work.  Musicians are good at this sort of thing.  Yeah, they are.  I know, because I used t'be one.

            A lotta folks are helpin' Shorty to take down and box up the decorations they put up for the Christmas holidays.  I ask a few of 'em if the music is helpin' any, and they say it is.

            Dave P. Fisher, famous author, actor and cowboy poet is here with ‘is wife, Kathy and their three daughters.  And they're all helpin'.  Dave just carried out the big Christmas tree and put it out by the county road to be picked up tomorrow for recyclin'.

            Sheriff Freddie Marks, and his Deputy, Anson McBean, have been helpin' but they're playin’ scrabble now at a table with state trooper, Harley Farley, Mailman Dan, and letter lady, Dawn.

            Rockin’ Ron, the famous DJ is settin’ quiet for a change, talkin’ with Dizzy Don Roberts, another famous DJ, and along with Montana Mac Mcart thry're talkin' sports.

            Sergei Shevelevsky, the town blacksmith is there, along with his old circus pal, Big Jim Miller, owner of the Drytown Mercantile Store.  You’ll recall Sergei, seven-and-a-half feet tall, was a circus giant, and Big Jim. his black sidekick, was the circus strongman.

            Robert O. Smith, officially the Strongest Old Man in the World, is here.  He got that title, y’know, by way of him bench pressin’ better'n 600 pounds like it’s a feather pillow.  That, of course, makes ‘im a natural t’be settin’ at the table with Sergei and Big Jim.

            Miz Margo, the town librarian, is at her usual table over by the kitchen door, makin’ notes for a book she’s writin’.  Johnny, the newspaperman, and his bride, Miz Patty, are at the same table, but just holdin’ hands, and lookin’ goo-goo eyes at each other.

            Shorty's old shipmates, Smitty and Ol' Vern, are over in the corner, watchin' an old movie on the TV.

            Miz Jones, with her son, Josh, along with Miz Russell, and eight of her fourteen kids, are over in the other corner, packin' the lights and ornaments into big storage boxes.  Mayor Geno is right there with 'em, down on 'is hands and knees, sealin' the boxes with sticky tape.

            Shorty is bein’ awful quiet for a night when the place is packed with noisy folks drinkin’ fresh churned buttermilk, as well as his homemade sasparilla.

            He motions to Sioux to come over to the buttermilk bar, and whispers somethin’ in her ear.  She gasps, and covers her face with her hands.  Shorty hugs ‘er, and walks her over to the piano.

            Sioux sets down, then at Shorty's nod, she plays one of her famous ATTENTION chords that causes ever’body to quieten down.

            Shorty walks to the center of the room, and says, "Folks, listen up now!  I have an announcement to make!"

            Immediately, there’s a lotta speculative chatter springs up around the room.  Waco stands and says, "Okay, folks, Shorty ain’t gonna be able to make ‘imself heard with all this noise goin' on!  Let’s hear what he has t’say!  Go ahead, Shorty."

            Shorty says, "Well, folks, when you all leave here tonight, and I turn out the lights," he takes a deep breath, "it’ll be for the last time."

            If you thought the chatter was loud before, you oughta hear it now.

            Anson McBean says, "Why, Shorty?  What's happened?"

            Johnny the newspaper man says, "Aren’t you makin’ enough money here, Shorty?  If you’re low on cash, or can’t pay the rent, we’ll all kick in and see that it gets taken care of."

            Shorty says, "No, it ain’t that.  I think most of you know that--as Johnny pointed out--I’ve been just rentin’ the building and grounds here.  Never felt the need to look into buyin’ it.  Which is maybe somethin’ I should of done.  No, what’s happened is… the owner of this property has sold it to the state, and they're takin’ over the whole shebang for a public campground and park."

            Anson says, "But Shorty…"

            And Shorty says, "I'm sorry, Anson, this is the way it’s gotta be.  I got nothin’ t’say about it.  Now, ever’body drink up, and sing some songs, and maybe even do a little boot-scootin’ dancin' if y’feel like it.  But let’s not turn this into a wake for a dead saloon."

            Sioux begins playing one of Shorty's favorite songs, "Camptown Ladies."  Then Logan and Old John join in with their banjos and, y’know, y’just can’t play sad songs on them things.

            From way back somewheres, Sioux recalls the melody for a song called, "Sweet Betsy from Pike."  It’s an old familiar song, which Sioux starts off in its normal lively tempo but eases it back to a slow waltz that seems better fitted to the mood of the evening--that and the dancin' ability of some of the cowboys in the group.

            With the quieter music, some of the men clear the tables and chairs out of the center of the room, and several couples get up and start dancin’.

            At five minute til two, as he does every night, Shorty blinks the lights and calls out, "Okay folks, it’s time t’hang up the banjos, close the cover on the pianna, put the chairs up on top of the tables, and head on outta here!"

            Sioux says, "Oh, Shorty!  We just can’t!"

            And Miz Patty, and Miz Margo, and Dawn the letter lady, all say pretty much the same thing.

            But Shorty says, "I’m sorry folks.  I truly am, but this is lights out for Shorty's Place.  And there’s nothin’ I can do about it.  So, get your stuff together now, and head for the door."

            Well, they do, of course--but slowly.  Everyone stops at the door to t'say goodniight to Shorty, and while they do, they look back at the room they’ve spent so much time in, and where they've enjoyed the company of so many friends.

            Finally, Shorty's the only one left.  He pauses at the door, then turns off the main light switch.  He locks the door, and steps out into the dark parking lot.

            Ever’body who was inside is outside now, talking quietly.  After all, Shorty’s Place has been like a second home to a lot of ‘em.  The night is cool, and you can smell the sagebrush from up on the hill behind Shorty's Place.

            Well... what used t’be Shorty's Place.

            Shorty says, "Come on now, ever’body.  It’s hard enough for me t’have to turn out the lights here for the last time.  You hangin’ around here don’t help none."

            Sioux speaks up, "Shorty, we just want to say what we haven’t said before, that we consider you one of the finest people we’ve ever known.  You’ve been like a father, a son, a brother, or uncle to just about every one of us here."  Sioux’s voice breaks here, and she begins crying softly.

            A few others in the crowd do likewise.

            Anson McBean’s clear, Irish tenor voice rises into the cool night air, "For he’s a jolly good fellow…"

            Others join in, "For he’s a jolly good fellow…"

            Waco’s deep, rumbly bass, and Sioux’s mellow contralto, join in, 'till there's about a hundred-and-fifty people standin' there, all holdin’ hands, right up to the song's ending, "Which nobody can deny."

            There is quiet applause, but no cheers.

            Except for the muttering of the ol' hoot owl that hangs out in the willow tree at the west edge of Shorty's parking lot, the gathering is mostly silent.

            Quietly, one by one, folks go up to Shorty to shake ‘is hand, give ‘im a hug, or a pat on the shoulder.  Until finally, he says, "Folks, I gotta go now, or I’m not gonna be able t’drive myself home.  I’ll miss ever one of you, and I wish all of you the very best that Life can bring.  I ain't goin' anywhere... not just yet, anyways.  So I'll be seein' you around town."

            Anson says, "Gee, Shorty, now that your place ain't gonna be here any more, what are you gonna do?"

            Folks getting into their cars and pickups pause to hear his answer.

            Shorty looks up at the full moon, just comin’ up over the Hot Springs Mountain Range, and sighs.

            "I dunno, Anson," he says.  "I dunno."

•••

Dear Friend,

            This is to inform you that--as you may have guessed by now--this episode of "A Brush with an Old Sage" is my last.  Like most storytellers, I like to see a tale have a proper ending.  So, with this one, the adventures of the folks of Drytown come to an end.

            Thank you for all the kind things you've said about my stories.  Know that your comments were, and are, greatly appreciated.

            I have enjoyed being a part of the Nevada Observer family, but I feel it's time for me to move on down the trail.

            If you get lonesome, come see me at the Bar-D Ranch. It's at

 http://www.cowboypoetry.com/halswift.htm/

            Or, visit The Nevada Observer's Nevada Literature section. Here, you'll find all fifty-eight episodes of "A Brush with an Old Sage."

                                                                                                                Hal

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You can eMail Hal at hal_swift@yahoo.com

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(Ed. Note:  For a closer look at Hal Swift's cowboy poetry, go to http://www.cowboypoetry.com/halswift.htm )

For all of Hal Swift's TNO columns, see TNO's Hal Swift page