The Boaz Stenographer – Page 6

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 36

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman. Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune. She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective. The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 36

I had spent most of Friday afternoon at Paradise Storage in Albertville with the contents of ‘Clinton-5.’ The owners had been generous to allow me to use a spare office in the main building.

Over my thirty-five-year career with the White House, I had accumulated 35 of these plastic, file-storage boxes. The Clinton years, 1993 – 2001 consumed seven boxes. This afternoon, I had been focused on the dark months of 1998 and early 1999 which were enveloped with Clinton’s impeachment process. I knew the transcripts did not contain anything from any Congressional hearing, either the House of Representatives or the Senate, since I had no duties there. It was my personal notes that I was after, the ones I always had created after each Presidential conference, meeting or event, I had recorded.

One note had caught my attention. It was made late on the 23rd of December 1998. Clinton had called a meeting of the full White House staff. The purpose of the meeting was for him to apologize for lying. It was apparent to me that he was truly remorseful for having lied. He gave us explicit details of two times that he had been untruthful. He first referred to the now infamous statement he had made earlier in the year, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.” Later in the meeting, he quoted the second lie he had told, this one in his Paula Jones deposition, “I have never had sexual relations with Monica

Lewinsky. I’ve never had an affair with her.”

I will always have high regards and respect for President Bill Clinton. He, like every other President, had about as many enemies as he did friends. By him feeling it important to meet with his staff and by him encouraging us all to always be totally truthful, my faith in him multiplied. I will forever remember the final statement he made before our meeting disbanded, “There is nothing more important than the truth. Never let your personal well-being tempt you to lie. I wholly failed to fulfill my personal and professional commitment. I will never be able to fully restore my reputation. Please don’t make the same mistakes I made.”

As I returned Clinton-5 to my storage unit, I couldn’t help but relive my last meeting with President Kane. He and his Chief of Staff had openly and unashamedly demanded that I lie. Clinton’s reputation certainly was negatively impacted by his lies, but Kane seemed absent of a moral center to begin with. Lying for him was as natural as breathing. It seemed he believed lying was simply another tool, like a podium or teleprompter, to enhance and clarify communications.

Enough of Presidents and lying for one day. As I passed Industrial Boulevard, all I could think of was Regina. I couldn’t wait to prepare her favorite Lasagna and to hold her in my arms. These were nice thoughts. I wasn’t as confident about describing to her last night’s conversation with Ginger.

After we both ate two servings of my mother’s Lasagna design, we were in no mode to talk. Ever since Regina had returned from her recent Chicago trip we had spent frequent quality time in my bedroom. It would be no different tonight. No doubt I valued our love-making. It was so radically different from what I remembered about mine and Jennifer’s sex life. I also had become quickly addicted to our ‘post-play’ as we called it. We would lay side by side, usually me on my right side and her on her left, with my right arm under her head. She would snuggle down into my shoulder. Mutually, we had adopted a rule, our talks during ‘post-play’ were limited to us, our relationship, our hopes and dreams, and fears. Tonight, we had engaged in a little dreaming.

“Don’t let this scare you or make you feel threatened in any way. Okay?” Regina asked, as the fresh lilac smell from her hair made me think of the ocean for some strange reason.

“Too late. I’m already scared. Just laying here with you is scary.

I’ve given you my body and now you want my soul.”

“Goofy. Hush. Let me talk. I have a question. Where do you see us in five years?” Regina asked raising up on her left elbow and pouring her baby blues into me.

I closed my eyes and hummed. “Oh, mystery woman, I see you a much fatter woman.” I said as I continued to hum.

“Quit. Walt, I’m serious. You are making fun of me and us.”

“You know why? Because I love you when you get a little agitated.

“Thanks, now answer my question. Seriously.” She said laying her head back down on my shoulder.

“Let me first say I’m very biased. I see what I want to see because I am heavily under your persuasion and influence. I see us married, you pregnant, and me pastoring my first church.” I said.

“Let’s go watch TV. You think I’m joking and you’re making fun of me and my question.” Regina said, beginning to sound truly angry.

“Baby, lean over and look at me. I’m sorry. Now, let me tell you the truth, my hopes, my dreams, for us. Regina, I love you with all my heart. I never want to lose you. I want us together forever. I’m not crazy about following tradition and being formally married but I’m not against it. Whatever it takes to make you happy and make you feel secure, that’s what I want. Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

“I do. And, back to your funny little statement. Of late, I’ve wondered many times what it would have been like for us to have married after high school and had children. Now, at 63, I very much regret not having babies.” Regina said with a tear forming in her right eye.

“Baby, all I can promise is that I will do all I can to help you make a baby or two.”

“There you go, making fun of my seriousness.”

“Babe, if I could go back, if I could do it all over, I would have rejected Jennifer and chosen you. I would have married you and helped you make as many babies as you wanted. You do believe me, don’t you?” I said.

“I do. And, I’m totally thankful we had this conversation. I love you Walt and I am yours as long as you want me.”

“Finally, you say it. Forever it is. Now, let’s go downstairs for some Black Walnut. I picked up a bucket today. Also, I have something to tell you.”

“Okay, go on down. I’ll be down shortly, after I fix my face.”

“That may take a while, but I’ll wait.” I said as I dressed in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.

After I ate two cups of our favorite ice-cream, and two bites of Regina’s, I told her that I had taken on another part-time job. At first, she didn’t like the idea, thinking that the very word, ‘undercover’ sounded too dangerous, but then after I told her it wasn’t anything like what she was thinking, anything like being an undercover cop befriending a drug dealer, she came around. I think it was because of her mutual dislike, virtually hatred, for President Kane and his shrinking but still strong constituency.

“Will you have to go to Chicago much?” Regina asked.

“I’m not really sure. All I know right now is that you and I have to be in Tifton, Georgia the weekend of July Fourth.” I said, hoping she would be available.

“What in the heck is in Tifton, Georgia?”

“Ginger has assigned me a job there, a couple of depositions in a Federal case that Maynard Cooper & Gale is involved with. She said they had requested I be the court-reporter if possible.”

“Sounds like a business trip. Why am I going?” Regina said, getting up from the couch and carrying our empty bowls to the dishwasher.

“It’s the Fourth of July. Ginger knew that we, you and I, would be doing something together. She offered to pay for a couple of nights hotel and meals if you would go. Ginger thought that would help me make the decision whether to accept the assignment.” I said.

“That was nice. She didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad she did.

Hey, that’s our first trip since we’ve been going steady.”

“It’s also our first trip since you started making me massage your body.” I said hoping Regina would come back to the couch.

“Sorry, to make you such a slave. Oh, here’s an idea. Let’s do some shopping while we’re gone. You know we’ve been talking about replacing your bedroom suite. You know the one upstairs in that ugly brown-walled room with green carpet, the one with the bed your ex-father-in-law bought you and Jennifer?

“I guess we could, but that bed still presents some wonderful memories.” I said.

“I’ll wonderful your memory Walt Shepherd. Seriously, at least let’s look around. We might get some ideas.”

“Okay, if Tipton is anything like Boaz, it will have an antique store or two. You did mention antiques a few weeks ago.” I said.

“Good. Now I’m getting excited about our trip.” Regina said sitting in my chair slipping on her walking shoes.

“Since I’m being a good puppy dog, you sure you don’t need another massage?”

“Funny, now that you’ve planted your ‘wonderful memories’ in my mind. I wouldn’t want to put you out in the least.”

“Don’t worry. I’m honored to serve you any way I can.”

“I bet you are. Let’s go for a walk Fido.”

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 35

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 35

Zel and Ginger arrived at Trump Hotel & Tower in Chicago Wednesday afternoon at 3:30 p.m. They checked in as Tom and Emily Carter from Atlanta, Georgia. The concierge led them to their room on the 4th floor, where the married couple unpacked their luggage, enjoyed an east view of Lake Michigan and the Chicago River, exited their luxury spa suite, and rode the elevator to the twenty-seventh floor. At 4:00 p.m., Thaddeus Colburn was waiting to open the door after Zel’s five-tap knock. Marc Anderson, Michael Gasaway, and George Perrot were already seated around the large dining room table in the grand deluxe suite.

“Perfect timing.” Thaddeus said as he opened the door, hugged Ginger, and shook Zel’s hand.

After ten minutes of chit-chat and family news, the six settled down for serious conversation.

“Each of you have our agenda before you. It’s rather simple. Develop an action plan to combat the current articles of impeachment.” Thaddeus said.

“Actually, there are three separate articles before the House Judiciary Committee. They are attempting to review and determine which one, if any, should be presented to the full House.” Marc said, all knowing he was referring to the House of Representatives.

“I’m betting Steve Cohen’s articles have the best shot of passing the Committee’s approval.” Michael said. Everyone present knew that Cohen’s articles contended that President Kane should be impeached and removed from office because of his failure to condemn the horrible actions by neo-Nazis, white nationalists and Klansmen in Charlottesville, Virginia less than two weeks ago. Cohen particularly condemned the President’s statement that ‘there were very fine people on both sides.’

“How close is the House to voting to impeach?” Ginger asked.”

“Currently, there are 240 Republicans and 194 Democrats in the House. One seat is vacant. Assuming all Democrats voted ‘yes,’ it would take only 24 Republicans for a majority vote. Our present assessment is that there are only ten Republicans who would cross the aisle.” Thaddeus said.

“I personally don’t think Cohen’s articles measure up to the legal requirements. The Constitution is clear. The President must have committed ‘treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors.’ Failing to condemn the actions of even the Devil don’t appear to me to meet the requirements.” George said.

“I agree with George. This just means we must get more aggressive with our plans. We all know that sooner or later, the President will do something to clearly fall into one of the legal requirements. When that happens, our entire approach changes radically.” Thaddeus said.

“I know we are running a reverse play here: our true mission is to arrange things so that Kane is elected in the 2020 Presidential election, all while telling our level two players, Walt Shepherd for example, that we are trying to stop Kane. Here’s my concern, in the grand scheme of things, what is so bad about him being impeached? Either way, he is out of the Oval Office.” Ginger asked.

“I think it is simple. Impeachment leaves Republicans, especially the evangelical right, the argument that Kane was treated unfairly, that the articles of impeachment, in other words, the indictment against Kane, and then a vote to impeach by the Senate, was all political. I can hear them now, ‘politics as usual, the old guard won again.’ This, I’m afraid, would embolden the Right and possibly empower them to continue the Revolution they embraced when Kane initially announced his candidacy back in 2015. On the other hand, if Kane loses in the 2020 general election, the Right has the wind sucked out of their sails, but they are not completely dead. Don’t any of us ever forget. What we are after is to create a civil war after Kane is reelected to then give his Tribe an opportunity to create a Christian theocracy. This will allow all true Americans to rise up and defeat the traitors, kind of like the Union did with the Confederate traitors in the first Civil War.” Thaddeus said.

Ginger seemed to understand, but asked, “so we continue to eliminate the House representatives who are likely to cross the aisle and vote for impeachment?”

“Exactly. This is exactly what Kane wants to happen. He obviously wants his Republican brand in every seat in the House. The death of Kip Brewer, to all rational people, would be a gift to Kane. It would cause many to ask themselves, ‘could Kane be behind this murder?’ Marc said.

“These same folks would also ask themselves, ‘why would Kane have U.S. Senator Ralph Evanston from Massachusetts killed?’” George said.

“That order was a mistake. It was premature. We should have eliminated another Representative. We are back on track now. Articles of Impeachment, their failure to pass the House of Representatives, has to be our focus.” Thaddeus said.

“Let’s take a break and return here at 5:30 to discuss our next move.” Michael said.

At 5:30, Thaddeus announced Kyle Turner from Georgia would be their next target. “I’ll let George to relay his plans.”

For the next forty-five minutes George described how the life of Kyle Lawrence Turner would end.

Turner was elected as a Republican to the House of Representatives in 2002. For his first six terms (12 years) he never crossed the aisle. He always voted straight Republican. In 2015, he tested the Democratic waters by voting for increased spending to fund President Obama’s decision to increase troop deployment to Afghanistan. In 2017, Turner voted against President Kane’s legislation to repeal Obama Care. Turner comes from a district including Macon that typically votes Democratic but surprisingly, voted for Kane by over 60 percent.

“We believe, with Turner out of the way, Republican Governor Talbot will appoint a diehard Kane supporter, and in the next election, the people of the Sixth District will vote the appointee to a full term.” George said.

“What’s your plan to eliminate Turner?” Thaddeus said.

“Something like what we used with Brewer. The closeup murders are too risky. We are still dealing with serious fallout from the Massachusetts killing. Death from a distance will eliminate Turner. Initially, I had thought it best to use a new assassin, but Marc believes we should stay with the Ivankov brothers from St. Petersburg. Sergei did the honors with Kip Brewer. Semyon has been tapped to dispose of Kyle Turner. Marc, if you will, describe our plan, my sinuses are pouring, sorry.” George said.

“Semyon will enter the country stowed away in Gustav Neilson’s King Air from Toronto. The Ivankov brothers have been hiding out there since the Brewer assassination. Turner is scheduled to speak in Macon on the morning of July 4th at the city’s annual Independence Day celebration. That afternoon, we believe, from reliable sources, that Turner will participate in his family’s annual reunion at Fulwood Park in his hometown of Tifton, retiring at his home that night and spend the next day on Lake Patrick in the Paradise Public Fishing Area. He has followed this routine for the past several years, and we’ve caught scuttlebutt from his Congressional staffers that is his current plans. We have detailed plans for Semyon to camp on the eastern shore of Lake Patrick from July 3rd up until the assassination on the 5th. Our initial plans include extricating him via the Henry Tift Myers Airport two nautical miles southeast of Tifton, but this isn’t final. We’re working through a couple of major issues. Don’t worry, we’ll be ready before July 3rd.” Marc said.

This didn’t satisfy the group. For the next hour Thaddeus and Michael quizzed George and Marc about the risk involved in using a public airport so soon after the shooting. At 7:20 p.m., Thaddeus moved the group to vote whether his idea to use Walt Shepherd and Regina Gillan to unknowingly transport Semyon Ivankov to Boaz, Alabama, was less risky. The motion passed four to two.

At eight-thirty Thursday night Ginger called Walt as he was leaving his classroom at Snead State Community College.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 34

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 34

Thursday morning, I had to fill in for Judge Tyler Broadside’s court reporter, Debbie Simmons, who was sick with the flu. Ginger had called me at 7:30 a.m., just as I was coming in from a walk with Sandi around the pond. She urged me to rush and arrive no later than 8:30.

I rushed too much and was stopped by an Albertville patrol car just after passing Sand Mountain Toyota. The young officer gave me a stern warning but detoured away from a ticket when I confessed why I was speeding. He knew Debbie Simmons from high school and wanted to help. For once, living in a small town paid off.

Once per month Circuit Judge Broadside held a criminal motions docket. The cases he heard were for defendants who had already been indicted by a grand jury. These were cases headed to a jury trial unless a settlement agreement could be reached between the District Attorney and defense counsel.

For six hours, including three hours after a thirty-minute lunch break, I took down every statement made by the lawyers on both sides, the Judge, witnesses, both for and against the motion. The cases ran the gamut, from sexual abuse to rape, from assault to murder. The motions included requests to set bond, to reduce bond, to revoke bond, to suppress all types of evidence. A typical defense motion to suppress concerned traffic stops where incriminating evidence was found. The defense naturally wanted to prevent things such as illegal drugs and dead bodies from being revealed to the jury.

There was one case where I thought Judge Broadside was going to throw an overly aggressive lawyer from Huntsville into jail. Derrick Pratter, in a statutory rape case, was arguing his motion that Judge recuse himself because the alleged victim, a 14-year-old cheerleader from Guntersville, lived in the same neighborhood as Judge. Pratter put on a witness who testified that the Judge was friends with the girl’s parents, and all three had attended Guntersville High School. After the third witness to the Judge’s alleged close relationship with the victim’s parents, the Judge shut Pratter down, telling him, for the third time, his motion was denied. As Pratter returned to counsel’s table, he threw his notepad down and said, I think intending to whisper, “damn Republican.” Judge ordered Pratter cuffed by the bailiff. The only thing that saved him was a local attorney, Bradshaw I believe, asked to speak to Judge in a sidebar. Judge waived me off, so I don’t know what was said. Whatever it was, Judge went back on the record and after a stern warning to Pratter, ordered the bailiff to set him free.

However, the most interesting case was a bond hearing for two brothers from the small town of Grant, Alabama. The 33-year-old twins, Ben and Glen Selvidge, were charged with attempted murder. They had attacked a group of blacks from Huntsville who were visiting Cathedral Caverns State Park, north of Grant. The group was from Union Chapel Missionary Baptist Church.

The brothers had graduated in 2003 from DAR High School, a privately-owned school in Grant, that was opened in 1924 by the Daughters of the American Revolution. According to the District Attorney, about the only thing the brothers learned from DAR was patriotism, and, over the years, their brand had transformed them into white supremacists. Their defense counsel argued the brothers had a legal right to a reasonable bond, but the DA contended, at a minimum, Judge should postpone his ruling. The brothers lived on Winkles Road in an old dilapidated mobile home less than half-a-mile from the southeastern boundary of the 482-acre Cathedral Caverns. They had a reputation of intimidating blacks who visited the cave that held the world record for the largest opening of any commercial cave. In less than a month the Southern Baptist African-American Association was scheduled to hold its annual picnic at the Park. The DA urged the Judge to prevent an explosive situation. The Judge finally agreed to a $100,000 professional bond for each defendant but forbid the brothers from going within 1,000 feet of the mouth of the Park, warning them, if they did, they would be re-arrested and stay in jail until their trials.

The hearings ended a little after 3:00 p.m. Vann was waiting on me at the back of the courtroom. I had reluctantly agreed with Regina’s plea to go with Vann to visit Frankie Olinger at the Marshall County Jail. She believed she had no choice but to help Belinda who had called last night, desperate to do something, anything, to help Frankie get released. Belinda had argued he was being set-up and that they were going to lose their home if he couldn’t get back to work.

Vann knew the jailer who let us visit Frankie in an AttorneyClient interview room. This way we avoided having to talk through the glass and over a phone. I was shocked to see that Frankie had lost nearly fifty pounds. He argued the food was “hog-slop and wouldn’t support a puppy.” I sat beside Vann at a small table with Frankie across from us. I questioned my sanity for coming, realizing that I was suffering from the love bug. Why else on earth would I be here?

“Vann, please help me get out of here.” Frankie leaned over and whispered to Vann.

“What makes you think I have any such ability?”

“You and Pastor Warren are good friends and he’s a powerful man, helped put the DA in his job.”

“Frankie, let’s say, just for fun, that I had the power to unlock these doors and set you free. Why would I want to do that?” Vann asked.

“Because I’m innocent. You guys know me. I’m sometimes a sorry shit, sometimes a bully, but I never killed anybody. You’ve known me since elementary school.”

“Why should we believe you? The evidence seems strong against you. The bullet that killed Kip Brewer was fired from your gun, the gun the Sheriff found at your house.” Vann said.

“I know that, but I didn’t do it. I couldn’t have made that shot. Hell, I do good to hit the outside of a target with that 30-06. Even, if it was 200 feet away. Do either of you think I could have made a shot from, what did the paper say, 644 yards?

“Frankie, you got to tell me more than that. If you want my help, maybe Walt’s help, you’ve got to come clean. Tell us what you know. It is common knowledge you threatened Brewer at the Town Hall and that you are someway tied tight to President Kane’s brigade.”

“Tell the good pastor I am close to spilling the beans on him and Justin Adams.” Frankie said, whispering again.

“What do you mean? Frankie, here’s the deal. You’ve got to be honest with Walt and me. If you lie and use us to get you out of here, you better know it will come back to haunt you. Now, let’s hear it.”

“Okay, but you got to promise me you won’t tell Belinda or

Regina.”

“I promise to use my best judgment. Frankie, you don’t have a lot of power here. Tell us the truth or we’re out of here.”

“You should know this. There’s a war going on within the Republican Party. Kane is trying to clean up the Party, get folks elected in the mid-terms that truly support him. Warren and Justin are both attached to Kane’s hip. They paid me to stir up the trouble at the Town Hall, told me exactly how to do it and what to say. You do know President Kane spent the night at Pastor Warren’s house when he came to Boaz to help Justin kick off his governor’s campaign?”

“That sounds like Warren and Justin, Club Eden for short, put you in a bad place. Made you the most likely suspect in Brewer’s murder.” Vann said.

“I knew that. It was part of the plan, but I was supposed to be out by now. They’re not keeping their end of the bargain.”

“Do you know who killed Kip Brewer?” I finally spoke.

“No, but I know it weren’t me. If I had to guess I would say it’s some liberal, someone trying to frame the President.”

“Is that your original idea or something Warren and Justin may have led you to believe?” I asked.

“I may have heard it when I went to Washington during the inauguration.”

“Tell us about that trip.”

“I got to liking Kane early in his campaign. Warren knew this and invited me to go with him, Justin, a few others to Mobile for the big rally there. After the election, Warren persuaded me the importance of going to Washington to show support. Warren bought me and Belinda a ticket for the inauguration. There, I went to a meeting with Warren. Didn’t see the President but saw his son. He spoke for over an hour and then we broke up into smaller groups. There was about five or six hundred of us. They asked us to join a group called Kane Tribe and said that the President couldn’t change things by himself, that he needed warriors out in the field fighting to spread the revolution.” “That doesn’t answer the question.” I said.

“That night, Warren and Justin took me and Belinda out to eat and told us that the President was going to face tremendous opposition and that he would be accused of fixing the election. Justin said liberals would try to say that Kane had colluded with the Russians to win the election. He said liberals would do anything to make Kane look like a criminal.”

“So, Warren and Justin knew something about Russian involvement back then?” I asked.

“I guess. Warren said that he wouldn’t put anything past the liberals, even making it look like Kane Tribe was killing off Senators.” “He actually said that?” Vann asked.

“If I’m lying, I’m dying. I swear to God.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to go to Pastor Warren and tell him that you are going to spill the beans if he doesn’t get you out of here. Right?” Vann said.

“You got it. And, tell him that I also know he and Club Eden is still dealing with the Russian mob.”

“How do you know that? What are you talking about?” I asked Frankie.

“Let’s just say that I ain’t as dumb as I look. I got me a little insurance when Warren and Justin were asking me to pull the little Town Hall stunt. Freddie is part Indian you know. He’s as sly as a cat. I won’t talk about Freddie right now. Do we have a deal?”

“Frankie, I certainly am against an innocent man sitting in jail. But, I’m not seeing much of a deal here. All I see is you wanting us to do something for you. What are you offering to do for us?” Vann asked.

“Helping you guys with research. Belinda says ya’ll are writing a book. It’s about finding stuff out that could help Kane from getting

President in 2020.”

Vann looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. “So, you’re willing to go underground with Club Eden, Warren, Justin and the rest of them, and feed us information? Have I got that straight?”

“Yep, if you get me out of here pretty quick.” Frankie said, straightening up in his chair and holding out his right hand towards Vann.

“We’ll see what we can do. But, I’m not yet ready to shake on it. Let’s go Walt.”

After leaving the jail, Vann and I walked silently back across the street and around to the front of the Courthouse. As I was about to get in my car, Vann said, “I never liked Frankie Olinger, but, for some strange reason, I have a gut feeling he’s telling us the truth.”

“Let’s think about it before we do anything. Frankie is in a desperate situation. If he’s just a stooge for Club Eden, it seems he knows too much.” I said

“Call me tomorrow when you get a chance.” Vann said getting into his pickup truck.

I just stood there watching him drive off, wondering again, why on earth I had agreed with Regina to visit Frankie in the first place.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 33

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 33

Vann and I, and Regina and I separately, had been talking about my book-writing idea for several weeks. Regina had said it was a miracle both Vann and I had independently dreamed of a somewhat

similar book for years, even before either of our retirements. I emphasized to her that my departure from the White House wasn’t exactly a retirement. “Even more of a miracle she had said.” Of course, she didn’t believe in miracles, but in ten minutes Vann was scheduled to be here for our first meeting to brainstorm whether we mutually agreed that one, jointly-authored book, would fulfill our dreams.

“Book signings.” Vann said as he walked in from the back porch without knocking.”

“If the door is unlocked just come on in.” I said, standing up from my lazy boy. “What are you talking about?”

“Before we go any further, the first thing we need to do is visualize where we dream of having a book signing.” Vann said walking towards the bar with an old tattered notebook in his hand.

“So, you’re thinking if we have a glorious destination in mind that our motivation will be sufficiently replenished for us to properly complete our project?”

“Something like that. So, tell me yours.”

“Well, maybe Northshire Bookstore, either store, the original Northshire, in Manchester, Vermont, or the recent one they opened in Saratota Springs, New York.” I said.

“No doubt my dream choice will be Politics and Prose in your old hometown. You know I was there last June for John Grisham’s, “Camino Island,” book-signing.” Walt said.

“You must have forgotten about me, you didn’t even call.”

“Check your schedule, you were out of town, G7 Summit in

Taormina, Italy, or it might have been your little trip to the Vatican in

Rome and on to Saudi Arabia.”

“That was all part of the same trip, but I thought that was earlier.”

“Might have been, Deb had me pretty busy. I might have forgotten to call you.”

“Whatever. Enough of book-signings and my world travels. Let’s focus.” I said, pouring us both a cup of coffee and settling across the bar from Vann.

“I know we’ve discussed each of our motivations for writing a book, yours is to prepare and send a message to voters that President Kane must not be re-elected in 2020, and mine is mainly, to remind all Americans of our Presidential history and its importance to each of our futures.” Vann said.

“No doubt our goals are hand and glove.”

“Yes and no. I think you will be more interested in the individual trees, and for me, my focus is more the forest itself.”

“Enough abstraction. I hear what you’re saying. My model reader will be someone who voted for Kane in 2016, but whose support has waned.”

“Mine will be those in the Kane Tribe, the radical thirty-three percent, those who will likely support Kane no matter what he says or does.”

“Vann, you’re not making any sense. Don’t you suspect that group won’t even read our book?” I said.

“That’s where you come in, you’re the one who has a storage unit full of Presidential transcripts, from meetings five former presidents held around the world.”

“How does that get into the psyche of folks like Frankie Olinger, assuming he can read.” I said, surprising myself that I felt a little sorry for him, sitting in the Marshall County Jail.

“I haven’t totally figured that out, but I’m convinced our book has to reach this powerful group. Maybe, we can communicate our book to them in other ways, ways they don’t have to read it. Like TV and radio interviews, and a modified town-square idea I’m working on.” “Let’s move on.” I said.

“I agree. Let me ask you a simple question. Why do you think it is important to America, and maybe the world, for President Kane not to be re-elected in 2020? I want to hear you answer this question, even though I think I know what you are going to say.”

“Two broad reasons. One, he is unfit to be President simply from a decorum viewpoint. Even if he were the most competent President we have ever had, he is an embarrassment. I’m glad I don’t have children or teenagers. What on earth is President Kane teaching America’s youth? That it’s okay to be an arrogant, pompous bastard, revealing your wicked heart? Second, he isn’t competent. His narcissism controls his actions. He is a bully and bullies must have their way. He has no knowledge and appreciation of our history. Incompetence in any field is dangerous, but an incompetent President, especially one who is, at best, a selfish child, can, and I believe will, get America into a fight it cannot win, or, at a minimum, cause us either thousands of lives or billions of dollars to extricate us from the mistake.” I said, returning for more coffee.

“I agree, his ability to assimilate relevant material and deduce the best direction to pursue, is seriously compromised by his low intelligence and narcissistic disorder.”

“I’ve never in my life seen anyone who displays such a lack of empathy for other people, and such an insatiable hunger for admiration.” I said, cutting a slice of pound cake DeeDee had dropped off yesterday afternoon.

“Yes, I’ll take a slice of that. If all this weren’t enough, Kane’s dishonesty is likely the chief poison America must deal with. It seems there is no way Kane is going to avoid the Russian investigation.”

“I have a feeling, just a feeling, that Kane’s Russian involvement is on-going. You probably don’t know this, but some kid found a Red Star, as in a Russian Red Star, at the Kip Brewer murder scene. Regina shared that Delton, her crime reporter, had picked this up in his investigation.”

Vann’s eyes opened wide, “that’s either HUUUGGEE,” imitating the President, “or it’s irrelevant.”

“Now, I’m wondering why on earth I’ve agreed to co-author a book with such a retard.” I said taking a bite of my cake.

“I’m going to leave on that insult. Seriously, Deb made me promise to be back in an hour. You know the yard has to be mowed twice a week now with all the rain we’ve been having.” Vann said closing his notebook.

“I need to go too, my weekly trip to Walmart, you know. I’m also going to Paradise Storage and start going through some of my transcripts. You start formulating your outline.”

“I will. Same time next week, here?” Vann asked.

“Yes, assuming I don’t have a deposition with Rains.”

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 32

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 32

For some reason I was nervous, anxious of a sort. Regina had been in Chicago since late Monday and I hadn’t done a good job of occupying my time. I hadn’t heard from Ginger. I hadn’t called her either. About all I had done was teach my night classes. I wanted to talk with Regina about my new job offer. I should have done it last weekend but didn’t for more selfish reasons. We had talked last night, and she had told me she had made a big decision and would share it when she got home.

Her airplane was delayed, and she didn’t arrive in Huntsville until 8:30 p.m. She called me on her cell as she was picking up her luggage to let me know that she was safe and should see me soon. “I can’t wait.” She had said.

At 9:45, I heard her drive up. I met her on the back porch. She had never been more beautiful. Her hair was pulled back and her face glowed with happiness. “You must have learned a way to automate your job at the newspaper, you look so refreshed, or something.” I said.

She smiled and reached out her hand as she climbed the porch stairs. We kissed, and she gently pushed me backwards into the house. She closed and locked the door behind us. I started to talk, and she pressed her right index finger over my lips while her blue eyes poured into mine. “Make love to me.” She whispered into my ear. Again, I almost said, “are you drunk, what’s going on?” when she pulled my head into hers and kissed me, well, like she never had before. I didn’t know what was going on, but I wasn’t against it at all.

She took my right hand and led me upstairs into my bedroom. She walked over beside my bed and turned off the lamp. The bedroom was semi-dark, the only light was coming in from the bathroom and a partially opened door. “Walt,” she said, standing holding both my hands, “the only thing I want and need to say is that I’ve missed you and have, this week, come to truly know, how blessed I am to have you in my life. I feel you share the same feelings. We are finally one in heart and spirit. Now keep your mouth closed unless it helps you show me how much we are in love.” By the time her words fell silent, I was so excited I couldn’t say a word. I did manage to smile and sound out a tiger’s growl, or maybe, it was a kitten’s purr. I’m not sure.

She started unbuttoning my shirt. She pulled my head down to her mouth and whispered, “undress me.” I complied. By the time we stood facing each other, naked, we were both breathing hard as our bodies touched, naturally for the first time. We lay across the bed and forgot, no, were unable, to engage in foreplay. Our union, at first, was certainly physical. At first, I was reserved. Until she whispered, “Walt, my baby, love me like you’ve been showing me, I’m yours.” It was like I had been given permission to let go and be myself. It was like she commanded me to push my feelings, the pent-up loving desires, the ones I had made myself suppress ever since I had seen her last December in Walmart, the first night I had arrived in Boaz.

I can’t explain it, but the physical quickly graduated into the mysterious, into something strongly akin to a spiritual journey. Our bodies were doing what every other loving couple does, but as she guided my face above hers and asked me to open my eyes and look at her, our movements became a song, almost a rhythm of praise and promise. It was an experience I had never had. During all the years with Jennifer, we had only had sex. I never complained. I enjoyed it. Although, after a few years, it became more a physical duty, almost like having to eat every day. That was that, and this is infinitely unique.

As I looked at Regina and smiled, she alternated between pulling my face in for a deep and sensual kiss and whispering, “I love you.” My mind transformed. It was like I believed I was in a dream. This cannot be real. I am making love to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I am making love with the woman who loves me and is, for the first time, sharing her sexy young-adult shaped body with me. I didn’t want the dream to end.

“Walt, baby, wake up.” Later, Regina told me that as our bodies ran out of steam and fell silent and still, I had dozed off, continuing to lay, with all my weight, on top of her. She said that she had wanted to stay right there, right there with me and her, our bodies naked and sweating, all night. But then, she said, trying not to grin, “suddenly,

I had to pee.”

After her little trip to the bathroom, we stood again by my bed and held each other. A little kissing, but mostly just with me laying my head on her shoulder and swaying to a wordless song that no doubt was playing in both our heads.

“I’m starved. Can you promise me one thing?” Regina said.

“Now, I see. You take advantage of me, teasing me that you are giving me the keys to the kingdom, but it was all for a purpose, a very sinister purpose.” I replied.

“No, goofy. Promise me that our love-making isn’t going to make me fat. You can’t drain every cell in my body and then go feed me pancakes and bacon.”

“I promise, but, this time, are you hungry for pancakes and bacon?”

“Yes, I told you I was starving.” Regina said putting on her bra, as I was trying to pull her back down on the bed.

“I’m starving too. But, not for pancakes and bacon. I will never get enough of you. Can I ask you something?”

“Yes but make it quick.”

“What happened here tonight, you’re not going to give me the greatest gift of my life and then take it back, are you?” I said.

“That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard. After what we just experienced, you’re acting as though this was a one-way street. Walt, my baby, I am the lucky one here. I am the one who has received the greatest gift of all. Now, come on, let’s go to Waffle House. There, I will try to explain to you what it means, what I meant, when I said I love you.”

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 31

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 31

The first few weeks of the Boaz Stenographer column were bland at best. The Sand Mountain Reporter selection committee consisted of the senior sports reporter, the Classified-Ad saleslady, and Delton Kittle, the crime reporter. One week the committee choose an entry by Tony Sasser, “the City of Boaz is an idiot for turning down a two million dollar offer from Frank at the Bowling Alley.” Another week, the committee selected a submission by Randy Goings, “Yesterday’s double rainbow. More evidence of God’s unending love.” I was thankful Regina hadn’t asked me to write the SMR’s weekly response column before now.

This week’s selection was submitted by Dale Engles, “If you don’t like statutes of Robert E. Lee and other Confederate soldiers, then get the hell out of the south. There’s plenty of places for you to live in the North.” Finally, something to write about. I needed to conduct my pre-writing first, so I checked out Mr. Engle’s Facebook Page. No doubt he is a devout Christian. He often posts about God this or God that.

So far Engles fit the profile. First, virtually everyone in the South, certainly around Boaz, is a Christian fundamentalist. This means they believe the Bible was written by God, is without error, and is to be taken literally. Yes, these folks believe in a literal Adam and Eve, and Noah’s Ark. I assume Engles is like most all other Jesus believers, he believes God is in control. He has a plan for every follower. Even when the worst things happen, like recently, when the local and beloved football coach died at thirty-nine, God was simply revealing His endless mercy and love. This was the case, even though hundreds had taken to Facebook to shout their support and to declare their undying commitment to pray for the cancer-stricken coach. I have yet to see a single comment that even hints the question why didn’t prayer work.

I was now on a rabbit trail. It was early Sunday morning, way before daylight, and I had to have a draft to Regina by late afternoon, and I had more important things to do today. I returned to Engle’s statement: “If you don’t like statutes of Robert E. Lee and other

Confederate soldiers, then get the hell out of the south. There’s plenty of places for you to live in the North.” I easily concluded this wasn’t the statement of a rational human being. My response had to be, that was what Regina had charged me with when I accepted her offer to prepare a response to the weekly selected statement. A statement that was supposed to be something that a Boaz resident had said, written, or seen or heard locally or nationally. This requirement tied to the name, the Boaz Stenographer. The person submitting the quote had to be totally accurate, since that’s what a real stenographer does, he takes down verbal statements exactly, without change.

I knew Engle’s statement screamed for me to address Robert E. Lee himself. No doubt, he had a great reputation in the South. I assume the general opinion throughout the South, especially among the less educated, is that secession was totally justified. Who were the damn Yankees to tell us Southern plantation owners that we could no longer own slaves? Hell, the Bible supports slavery. No matter what wonderful things that could be said about Mr. Lee, there are a few things that cannot be argued. Unlike George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, both slave-owners themselves, Lee was the only one of these who choose to fight against his country and kill hundreds of thousands of his fellow Americans to preserve his right to own and sell slaves. It was Lee who chose to fight for his fellow Southerners right to sell a black mother to one buyer, and her child to another buyer. Lee was a Virginian and a U.S. army officer before the Civil War started. Both he and Grant were graduates of West Point. Lee could have remained in the federal army and fought to protect the United States of America. Over forty percent of Virginian’s did just that. There is no doubt Robert E. Lee was guilty of treason. Even though he was indicted, he was never prosecuted because General Grant persuaded President Johnson otherwise. Lee’s troops killed at least 360,000 Union soldiers, and Lee led approximately 260,000 Confederate soldiers to their death. Lee’s legacy lives on to this day.

During my research, I found a letter allegedly written in 1856 by Robert E. Lee to then President Pierce. “The blacks are immeasurably better off here than in Africa, morally, physically, and socially. The painful discipline they are undergoing is necessary for their further instruction as a race, and will prepare them, I hope, for better things. How long their servitude may be necessary is known and ordered by a merciful Providence.”

Why did Lee choose to lead the Southern army; was it because of his allegiance to state’s rights? Maybe. If so, he allowed that allegiance to lessen his sympathy toward the suffering slave (which appears to reconcile with what he wrote above). All I could think about was the overwhelming pain and suffering multitudes of blacks endured at the hands of Southern whites/slave-owners–probably, including my own ancestors. Seems to me, I have a lot to be ashamed of and therefore, I should do my best to be slow to speak and quick to learn. Finally, I suspect Robert E. Lee was like most of us, a mix of good and bad, most likely an honorable man. Of course, we all know honorable men are men; they can be wrong. If I had to vote right now whether to leave the Civil War statutes, I would vote yes, leave them. But, that vote wouldn’t represent the result of my careful research and analysis.

The sad thing is that Mr. Engles probably doesn’t care about these facts at all. He has this warped opinion, generated by years of brainwashing, indoctrination, poor education, all included within Christian fundamentalism, that facts and truth don’t really matter. Of course, he would argue differently. He would likely argue, as Lee himself did, that the black man was far better off on a Southern plantation than he was when he was in Africa.

No doubt, Robert E. Lee and Dale Engles, grounded their worldview in scripture. As Lee stated, God was in control, and, if he chose, would free the black slaves in good time. Engles, likewise, would argue for the wisdom of a providential God. Engles didn’t say it but it appeared certain he would argue that if a person is against the Robert E. Lee statute then he is against God. And, Engles wasn’t the only one who likely thought this. I counted over forty comments from others in the Boaz community who felt the same way. Sissy Peterson said, “God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes it is God’s will that thousands are killed. Just look at His commands to the Israelites to wipe out every man, woman, and child in Canaan. But, no matter, God is good, He is Holy good.”

I felt like my little brainstorming adventure had given me enough ideas that I could develop an outline. Writing my article would be the easy part. But, I could do that later. Now, I was sleepy. I walked back upstairs from my study and lay back across the bed. The first rays of the sun were just appearing through a small crack in the blinds. As I tried to doze back off, I couldn’t help but associate Dale Engles with President Kane. No doubt, Engles would be a huge fan. When facts, truth, and reason are relegated to the waste bin, one cockamamie opinion is as good as another.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 30

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 30

Detective Darden Clarke Abbott sat at his desk still puzzled at the red, five-pointed star found a month ago at the Kip Brewer murder scene.

The Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences, so far, had been unable to match the partial fingerprint found smudged on the star with anyone in any known database in America. The father and son duo who found the star had used a pair of needle-nose plyers to lift it from the location where it was found, to place it in a plastic, zip-lock bag.

It was sheer coincidence the red star was found. On Saturday, April 21st, Ronald Simpson and his son Rodney were celebrating the twelve-year old’s birthday with a day of treasure-hunting with Rodney’s new Tesoro Silver uMax metal detector. Ronald was a single parent, a truck-driver by trade, who had obtained custody of Rodney just a few weeks earlier when his mother had been killed in a car accident in Baton Rouge, her and Rodney’s hometown.

Ronald and Rodney lived off Highway 179, in an old 40-foot mobile home, on a dead-end dirt road that curled behind Spider’s Spirits, a small beer and liquor store just over the county line. The two had walked into the woods behind their house and headed straight to Cherryville. It was a nickname from Ronald’s youth and beyond. It was just a camp three-quarters of a mile into the woods. No one knew who named it, but long-standing rumor was that it was a teenage hangout, popular as a place young girls lost their virginity.

The plan was to hike to Cherryville and try their luck with Rodney’s new toy. After two hours, the two got bored with finding bottle caps and decided to turn north towards Kip Brewer’s pasture to see if the highly publicized murder scene was still forbidden to visitors. To their surprise, it was abandoned, except for the crime tape that still cordoned off a half-acre rectangle.

After another two hours of searching, without finding anything, not even a single bottle cap, Rodney climbed a big oak tree that stood next to the barbed-wire fence along the edge of the pasture. It was there the star was found. Fifteen feet off the ground and wedged between two smaller limbs that crossed the giant limb Rodney was sitting on. It appeared someone had probably been climbing down the tree and got a sleeve caught between the limbs pulling off the attached star. The backside of the star contained a tiny loop for thread in sewing it on something like a hat or jacket.

The only thing for sure Detective Clarke and the FBI had been able to conclude was the red star was a Russian symbol often associated with communist ideology. Another fact the Department of Forensic Sciences felt nearly as strong about, was this star, the one found by Rodney Simpson, was manufactured in St. Petersburg, Russia, probably at the metals plant started by Nikolai Kuznetsov, who produced most of the red stars for the Russian army during World War II. The Department’s consultation with three independent international collector’s and metallurgists yielded the same story. The subject red star was authentic Russian, manufactured in the mid to late 1940’s and was commonly used with military uniforms, most often, military hats and jackets. However, the collector’s all pointed out the ease of buying a red star from websites such as eBay, although most were imitations.

Detective Clarke sat frustrated. Today, he had to meet with District Attorney Clay Thompson, who was hosting Trevor Nixon, Frankie Olinger’s defense attorney from Boaz. He was scheduled to arrive at 11:00 a.m. to inspect the red star and the related Forensic’s report. Clarke imagined he could hear Nixon at Olinger’s trial, assuming the case got that far, spinning the tale that the Russian’s had murdered Kip Brewer. Surely, no Marshall County jury would buy into such a farfetched idea.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 29

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 29

Tuesday morning, the nation was still reeling from the Alt-Right White Supremacists march and rioting that took place in Charlottesville,

Virginia over the weekend. It seemed everyone, except the Alt-Right and President Kane, had condemned the violence that had erupted killing one girl. Everyone else, except Pastor Warren Tillman.

I hadn’t heard about the Sunday night service at First Baptist Church of Christ until Vann called me this morning just as I was getting out of bed.

“I called you four times yesterday.”

“I was in hiding.”

“Where?”

“A secret spot. I may want to reuse it.” I said. In the few months I had lived at Shepherd’s Cove I had learned that if I wanted to be alone without threat of a surprise visit, especially from Vann, I had to find a secret spot or two. It was a small library in a neighboring town that I’ll keep secret for now.

“Whatever. I called to tell you about what Pastor Warren said

Sunday night.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I had thought Sunday morning during worship hour that he might have mentioned President Kane’s sleepover the night before. He didn’t, although at the end of the service, he did call for continued prayer for the President and his administration. Sunday night was different. Pretty much the entire service was dedicated to encouraging everyone to support the President. Warren even insisted we skip the song service.

That rarely happens.”

“So, what did the Pastor have up his sleeve?”

“First, a little background. You remember the Flaming Five, don’t you?”

“Of course, the best basketball team in Boaz history, maybe Alabama history.” I said wondering where Vann was heading.

“You’re correct. Originally, that phrase referred to five guys, our high school classmates: Wade Tillman, Fred Billingsley, Randall Radford, James Adams, and John Ericson. Over the years the Flaming Five has expanded its meaning. Now, it refers simply to those five families. I guess both ancestors and all future generations.”

“What does this have to do with what Pastor Warren said Sunday night?” I asked.

“Hold on, be patient. The Flaming Five, these five families, have all, historically, been deep-tied to the Republican Party. And, it seems, that Party has been good to them. It’s been pretty much an equal exchange of favors. The Flaming Five contribute boat loads of money to local, state, and even at times, national candidates. Someway, the money produces an excellent return—favors flow forward to Boaz, anything from prosecutors and judges suddenly retiring or moving, or, most recently, the President of the United States coming to Boaz, Alabama and spending the night with a local pastor.”

“So, Pastor Warren is a diehard Republican? Or, better said, a diehard Kane Republican?”

“Now, you’re getting with the program. Warren started his sermon, I’ll call it that for want of a better term, with the phrase,

‘desperate times call for desperate measures.’”

“I’ve heard it originated with a saying Hippocrates, the ancient

Greek physician. He wrote in, I can’t think of the book’s title.” “Amorphisms.” Vann interjected.

“That might be right. Anyway, he wrote: “For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure, as to restriction, are most suitable.”

“Pastor Warren spent the next twenty to thirty minutes detailing his version of the desperate situation American finds itself. He argued that God had been merciful to have President Kane elected. Warren said that, now, it is clear why God did this. Business as usual wouldn’t get it done. He referenced President George Bush as an example. Warren said that he was light-years better than Clinton but still fit the mold of a career politician, thus unable to clearly see the seriousness of our national condition. Warren touted Kane as a man, although rather crude at times, who was the farthermost thing from a politician that clearly saw the only solution to turn our nation back to God and our founding principles was to ‘drain the swamp,’ quoting Kane’s phrase.”

“I understand you so far. Warren had two points: America is headed off the rails, but God gifted us President Kane, a savior.” I said, tiring of our conversation.

“Right so far but listen to this. He called for the entire church body to pledge activism. Warren said that the heart of the situation, the desperate situation that we find ourselves, is not simply a political one, but a spiritual battle. He said that we must unite behind Kane. Warren compared our President to Moses in the Old Testament. He was not sent by God to make friends and bring peace. Moses was commissioned by God to lead a revolution and to wipe out every enemy that stood in opposition.”

“I thought it was Joshua that was the master warrior.” I said, confused.

“Warren talked about him too. The important part was Warren incited the full membership to virtually a no–holds–barred activism contest. He even appointed a committee to research and recommend specific activities for the church to pursue.” Vann said.

“Anything else? I’ve got things to do.”

“No. The service ended with an altar prayer for Kane, and for mercy for Wade and James.”

“I hear they, for the first time, are truly caught in the cross-hairs, but I don’t want to get into that.”

“Okay, we can talk later, maybe breakfast soon.” “Sounds good.” I said as I ended the call.

Chapter 29 (apparently, I have two chapters numbered 29)

Wednesday and Thursday, I had back-to-back depositions in Birmingham. The last one ended at 3:30. I was hungry and had decided to stop at Johnny Ray’s BBQ at the Colonnade on the way home. As I was leaving the law offices of Riley and Jackson my phone vibrated. It was Ginger from Rains & Associates.

“Hello.”

“Three-thirty is a lot better than six-thirty.” The woman’s voice said without introducing herself. But, I already knew who she was.

“Maybe, sometimes, often not.” I said, trying to be as aloof as she was.

“Walt, I need to see you if possible. Can you drop by the office before you head back to Boaz? Zel is here and we really would love to meet and run something by you.”

“What’s it about?”

“Trust me. You’ll find it interesting to say the least. But, I’d rather not talk on a cell phone.” Ginger said, instructing someone in the background to change it, whatever it was, to next Wednesday.

“I guess I can. I was about to go eat some BBQ. Here’s the deal.

If you will come, Rains & Associates will buy your dinner.” “Supper.” I said to correct her English.

“Or supper if you prefer.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

Zel and Ginger were waiting in the same conference room we had met in when I came for my interview. She had Rita bring me a cup of coffee.

“Sorry you had to endure the stupidity of President Kane last Saturday night. I can’t imagine how difficult that was.” Zel said after hardly any chitchat.

“I’ll live. And, maybe live to see truth and honor whip his you know what.”

“Perfect. I agree totally. I would just add that it is my deep-felt opinion that each of us, every freedom-loving American, must act to see, like you say, ‘truth and honor whip his ass.’ There, I said it.” Ginger said, sipping on a Ginger Ale.

“Walt, Ginger and I have talked a lot about you ever since you came on board. We believe you are the perfect man for a special assignment. Can I take a few minutes and give you a little more background on Rains & Associates and an organization known as the

Constitution Foundation?”

“Sure, you’ve got me here. I might as well learn something.” I said, feeling my stomach growing hungry. I wished now I hadn’t skipped lunch.

“Thanks. Rains & Associates is the creation of Thaddeus

Colburn, a Chicago attorney. He is also a professor of Constitutional Law at the University of Chicago. Rains is pretty much what we have told you it is, a multi-state court-reporting service. Thad started The Constitution Foundation back in 2000 because of the election debacle that put George W. Bush in the Whitehouse. The Foundation’s purpose or mission is simple, to restore America to its Constitutional roots. At the same time Thad established the Foundation he also created a public interest law firm to litigate selected Constitutional issues around the nation. I was lead counsel with the firm for fifteen years. When Kane was elected, Thad asked me to join him and three of his fellow law professors at the Foundation. Our current project, and it is a big one, is to stop Kane, to get rid of this demon.” Zel stopped when Ginger held up a hand.

“Zel, take a breath and let Walt ask a question or two if he wants to.” Ginger injected.

“Nothing really, other than, what does this have to do with me?”

Ginger motioned to my coffee cup and I shook my head. “Let me go a little deeper into the ‘why’ the Foundation believes it imperative to stop Kane.”

“Please do.” Zel said.

“Walt, I know you are very intelligent and well-read. This means you know as well as any American what could happen if the growing divide between liberals and conservatives isn’t peacefully resolved. Zel failed to tell you that I also work for the Foundation. We believe, and we have some solid evidence to support this, that Russia put Kane into the White House. In other words, he would not be there if it weren’t for their involvement. But, we can talk about that another time. Their end game, and certainly that of Kane’s, is to amend the U.S. Constitution and create either a family-style oligarchy or a monarchy like England’s. There probably wouldn’t be much difference.” Ginger said.

“That seems a stretch, a mighty big one at that.” I said.

“But, not impossible. Question: the day before the Presidential election, did you honestly believe that Kane would be elected?” Zel asked.

“No. Truly, I thought there was no way in hell that America could elect such an idiot.”

“Well, they didn’t. Again, it was Russia’s meddling that got it done.” Ginger said.

“If Kane had a two-thirds majority in the U.S. Congress, or the same with the States, then it could happen. There is a fairly simple process, two options, to amend our Constitution. I agree, on the surface, it seems far-fetched. But, it’s really not.” Zel said.

Ginger walked over to a large credenza by the windows and poured her another cup of coffee. “The horrible mess we find ourselves in is not simply a political problem. At its heart, is a religious problem. I must agree with the late Christopher Hitchens. He said, ‘religion poisons everything.’ I would simply clarify or refine what he said, Christianity poisons everything in America. Of course, I’m referring to the current version. You know that religion, including Christianity, is a product of evolution. It has evolved since Jesus, if there ever was a Jesus who walked the dusty Galilean trails.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you here.” I said.

“Let me give it a go.” Zel said, standing up and walking over and closing the conference room’s door. “Walt, you grew up in a Southern

Baptist Church, didn’t you?”

“I did, First Baptist Church of Christ in Boaz.”

“Then, I think you will agree. On the basis of what you learned growing up, it seemed rather odd, shocking really, that Andrew Kane could have garnered such a high percentage of the Christian vote. I know one reason was that they simply hated Hillary Clinton, but a much stronger reason is that Christians want a theocracy. And, now we know, they will get in bed with Satan himself for that to happen. Thus, what we have on our hands is, I’ll put it bluntly, a form that only unbelievers like the three of us would appreciate. What we have is the greatest myth of all time driving the greatest nation on earth, over the cliff. Christians are so brainwashed by what the Bible says, or, at least, what they think it says, they will do anything to control every branch of the U.S.

government.”

“My stomach can’t take much more of this. It was hungry when I arrived, now it’s getting nauseous.” I said.

“Let’s get to the main reason we asked you here.” Ginger said, looking at Zel.

Zel picked up on her cue and said, “we have just touched the surface of what the Foundation has dubbed, the Cane Kane project. Thad and the rest of us want you to work undercover. We failed to mention there is a connection between an organization called Club Eden and the President, a connection that is pivotal to the success or failure of his plans. And, the plans of Russia, I might add. Therefore, you are the perfect candidate.”

“What would I be expected to do?”

“Gather information. It’s that simple. Find a way, or ways, to infiltrate Club Eden and the Kane Tribe. The two are obviously connected. We know that a Frankie Olinger is simply a stooge for Club Eden, but he is dangerous as an instigator. Well, until he was arrested. But, we have reason to believe that he did not kill U.S. Representative Kip Brewer.” Zel said.

“Walt, we’ve kept you long enough. Think about it. By the way, we know about your personal desire to impede the President, and your desire to publish a book before the 2020 campaign cycle. Think of your undercover work as simply research, a way to gather critical information.”

“How did you know about my book desire?” I asked.

“Regina mentioned it the first time I saw her in Guntersville. When I asked her if she knew someone who might want a part-time stenographer’s job, she mentioned you, but corrected herself by saying that you might not have time since you were wanting to write a book.” “Okay, she’s right. Ever since I was fired from the White House I’ve been thinking about what the most powerful way for me would be to oppose the worst President in American history.”

“Walt, thanks so much for coming in. Here’s my card. Call me if you have any questions. Of course, you can also call Ginger. I have a call to make, please drive carefully.” Zel said.

“I’ll walk you out.” Ginger said coming over and taking my arm.

I bought two bags of chips, a Snickers candy bar, and a Coke in the Harbert Square Gift Shop on the ground floor. As I drove home, I fought a two-sided battle. First, I was the warrior, wanting to take up my sword and cut off Goliath’s head, also known as President Kane. But then, I was a weak little coward, wanting to race home, pack my bags, go pick-up Regina, and drive as far away from my life as possible, maybe even leaving the country and fleeing to a remote cabin in Canada where there was no contact with the outside world. The battle waged. Neither side won.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 28

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 28

I had spent all day Monday secluded. I never left the house and didn’t even speak with Regina, other than by text. I even thought about canceling my Steno class but wasn’t yet that far gone. I had always prided myself on being responsible and always keeping my commitments. My promise to Dean Naylor and Snead College wasn’t simply a duty, it was as important to me as eating and breathing. Teaching is what I had always wanted to do. Not only did I need this, but I felt my students needed me as well.

As always, I left Shepherd’s Cove at 4:40 p.m. and drove to the College, arriving in my classroom at exactly 5:00. Even though I was fully prepared when I arrived, I always liked to be an hour early. Mainly, to have the opportunity to talk with students in the unlikely event one or more of them showed up early.

Tonight, I hadn’t fully unpacked my brief case when Felicia Shea walked in. Even though the two of us had spoken privately a couple of times, it was always after class. I wouldn’t say that we had a budding relationship. For the past two weeks she had seemed troubled and distracted. All she wanted to talk about after class was how she felt incapable of helping her mother cope with her step-father’s incarceration. I had tried to encourage her to have faith in the criminal justice system to sort things out. I told her I believed she could have confidence in the system. I don’t think she believed me.

“Good evening Felicia.” I said, as she walked past me to the back corner beside the windows, bumping two desks as she walked by.

No doubt she was frustrated.

She gave me a quick glance but didn’t say a word. I walked back to her desk and said, “are you okay, you look a little flush, maybe have a fever?”

“Hell no, I don’t have a fever.”

“Sorry, would you like to talk?” I said.

“No.”

I turned and started walking back to my desk at the front of the room when she said, “I’m sorry. I never curse. Please forgive me for saying that.”

I walked back to her and leaned against the closest window. “Felicia, I meant what I said at the beginning, the first class we had together. You can talk to me about anything, at any time. I’m here for you, not only as your teacher, but also as a friend.”

“I remember, and I’m thankful for that, but there’s some things that no one can help.”

“Why not try me.”

“It’s funny what you just said. You used the ‘faith’ word, didn’t you?” Felicia said. Before I answered I looked at her and for the first time noticed how much she favored Regina. She was more like her than her mother, Belinda. Even though Regina and Belinda were twins, they were not identical twins. They were both attractive, many would say that Belinda was beautiful, especially when she was younger, but Regina was stunning. I had worn out the word gorgeous, but she was that and then some. Felicia was much closer in looks to Regina, including the deep blue eyes.

“Yes, I did ask you to have faith in the criminal justice system.”

“Then, why does Roger and his friends make fun of me for having faith in God?” I could see she was deeply troubled. She used a Kleenex to wipe her eyes.

“Well, I don’t know why anyone does what they do, what’s their motivation. I do know there is a difference between the two types of faith.” I said, turning a student’s desk around to face Felicia.

“Faith is belief in something you cannot see. Right?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a decent definition. But, isn’t it a little easier to understand, maybe measure, the criminal justice system. It is made of actual written laws, judges, police officers, district attorneys, and juries. Where faith in God is much more remote. I know there is the Bible but most folks know it is full of contradictions.” I said.

“The Bible is true. It is without error. All my life I’ve believed in

God. Now, it seems the world is rejecting God’s Holy Word.”

“It may just be that you are more aware of the rejecting. Social media and the Internet have certainly brought people closer. A person’s ideas and beliefs now are just a click away.”

Felicia got up, straightened her blouse and walked over to the windows behind me. “Just because you cannot see me now doesn’t mean I don’t exist.”

“I agree. I don’t need to see you because I just saw you walk over there behind me. Felicia, that’s not a very good argument.”

“I know. Some days I just want to run away, all by myself. The reasons I used to use with my friends don’t seem to work anymore. I grew up hearing, ‘you just have to have faith.’ It was almost a badge of honor, especially the year after high school I was on mission, to have faith even when things were going bad, even when it seemed God had abandoned us, like when there was a hurricane that killed so many in

Haiti.”

“Could it be that you believe, have faith in God, because that’s what you’ve always done. I assume you grew up in church?”

“Oh yes, I cannot remember a time that I wasn’t at First Baptist Church of Christ right here in Boaz.” Felicia said, now back seated in front of me.

“My story is similar. But, I was lucky to have a high school Biology teacher that took an interest in me and exposed me to what I’ll call, ‘the other side.’ I started reading outside the Bible. I don’t have time right now to go into that but by the time I finished high school, I was pretty sure there wasn’t any type god.”

“I know it’s nearly time for class, but can I ask you one question?”

“Anything at any time. Remember?” I said.

“How can you be happy and find meaning in life if you don’t believe in God and in Heaven?” Felicia asked, sitting up straight and boring her blue eyes into mine.

“I know this is the only life I will ever have. I focus on it and don’t give death a second thought. When I die, I die, and that’s it. It’s over. I like what Mark Twain said, ‘I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.’ Felicia, you must create your own meaning. I suspect, and don’t think I’m disrespecting you, but, I suspect you are feeling the way you do right now because you believe your life has been dictated to you so far. Start exploring the world. I suggest you start looking at the other side. I can help you with that if you want.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m sorry to burden you with this. I know I should have taken my questions to Pastor Warren.” Felicia said and all five of her classmates came through the doorway.

“Felicia, I’m available for you. Talk to the pastor if you want, but I urge you to seek out the full story.”

“Okay, I guess we better move to the front.”

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 27

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 27

After lunch we changed clothes, although I had another suggestion. We also changed our conversation. It seemed it was always difficult for Regina to stray too long and far from her work life. “I’ve been thinking. I want you and Vann to team up and write a weekly column. It will be the Reporter’s response to The Boaz Stenographer.

You two are the perfect duo, both of you have extensive knowledge of American history, and you both have a fully-developed political philosophy. Of course, yours is more liberal and Vann’s is more conservative.”

“I guess my outburst last week over the million comments, all touting Kane’s tweeting about how he may burn-up North Korea, tickled your ear?” I said as I grabbed our fishing gear from the back porch and we headed to the pond.

She opted for the pier, I wandered toward the shallow end hoping to land a bass slithering through the watery grass. We didn’t talk for thirty minutes. Neither of us caught a fish, but that wasn’t a huge priority.

I walked back to the pier and over to Regina who by now was sitting in one of the two heavy wooden chairs my Dad had built out of black locust. They were as stout as ever. “Have I told you lately.” I said and intentionally stopped.

“That’s a song, or in a song. Or, is it a poem?” Regina said taking off her shoes.

“It may be but for sure it is an introductory statement.”

“To what. What have you told me lately?”

“Oh, you’ll have to wait. You know it drives me crazy how you introduce a subject, one that has a little built-in drama, and then you walk off.” I said, sitting beside her and reaching over to hold her left hand.

“I love driving you crazy. That’s why I do it.”

“I figured I’d lose this little skirmish. Back to your idea. It seems to me you are laying my neck in a guillotine. I’m already the town’s punching bag and you want to put me inside the boxing ring?”

“Dialoging is one of the best ways to learn. I figure what you and Vann have to say will be refreshing to the local citizens, all who are ultrarational, educated, and open-minded.”

“What have you been smoking? Don’t you realize that my positions will likely be directly opposite of what most folks around here believe?” I said casting my line in the direction of Regina’s float that hadn’t moved.

“That’s what makes my idea perfect. Two sides warring it out.” “I’ll think about it.”

“Look her Mr. Walt. You can be so blind. Do I have to draw you a map? I’m giving you an opportunity to cut-short your book research by a dozen years, at least.”

“What?” I said, even more confused.

“You keep talking about the two goals you had when you returned from D.C. One, you seemed to have sewed up well. You know, rekindling the flame with that awesome high school girlfriend. And, the second was to write a book, one that would be read by every American and sway their opinion about President Kane. You still have that goal, don’t you?” Regina said, standing and reeling in her line.

“I do. But, what does your weekly column idea have to do with my book?”

“Dimwit, you will learn what makes Kane Tribe tick. That’s tongue tying. That’s five t’s. Six.”

“Maybe you’re right. Again, I’ll think about it. Now, let’s walk to the creek.”

“I don’t go into the woods with a strange man.”

“It’s a forest and the trees are imaginary. And, I’m no man. I’m a god.”

“Finally, I agree. All gods are imaginary.”

Regina and I walked across the pasture and into the woods and to the spring that fed the pond. We sat on the big granite rocks my grandfather had used to protect the cold and bubbling fountainhead nearly a hundred years ago. We spent an hour reminiscing about the time we hiked here in April of our junior year. We did it on a dare, not sure who’s. We had been sitting in the barn loft. It was already late, but it was a Friday night. We had grabbed a flashlight and set off. The dare wasn’t simply to walk to the spring, but to come here and explore the waters, naked. Our first and only skinny-dipping adventure. It nearly killed us both.

The water was like being enclosed inside a deep freezer. Naked. I did like the naked part. It was the only time I have ever been naked with my gorgeously sexy Regina. When we arrived, she had insisted I turn off the flashlight. Now, I remember, she had posed the dare. She had not planned that the clouds would drift away, and the moon appear. That didn’t happen until we had arrived, and the flashlight was off, and we had stripped and stepped into the icy pool. The moonlight was just enough for me to make out the contours of her body. The water wasn’t deep, just midway up our thighs. I got excited. Then, embarrassed. We waded around, her on one side ten feet away, and me on the other. For maybe two minutes. The water was simply too cold. I fought the urge to walk over and embrace Regina, excited as I was, but a competing force of nature forced us to scurry out. We were both thankful we had brought two thick towels. I will never forget what she said as we stood and shivered, “I’m glad to see the god is wonderfully endowed, although I’m sure it’s imaginary.”

Now, after laughing our heads off at what Regina had said, I got to do what I had wanted to do over fifty years ago. I held Regina and told her, several times, how thankful I was that she was my steady, and that she had made me the happiest man in the world. We swayed as the wind picked up. We kissed, and we kissed, until I tried to sing to her the

Rod Stewart song, ‘Have I told you lately how much I love you.”

Finally, we walked back to the house and Regina left. I tried my best to get her to stay but I was no match for her Sunday afternoon Reporter ritual. When she took over as chief editor she had imposed on herself the mandate to have, by 9:00 p.m. Sunday night, a solid first draft of Tuesday’s Sand Mountain Reporter. Walking back beside the pond and grabbing our fishing gear, I had hoped that today could have been different. I had never wanted to make love with Regina Gillan more than I did as I trailed her off the pier. All I could do was think, “Walt, you are one lucky man to have a woman, a 63-year-old woman, with a figure like that.” I almost got excited.