Aid de Camp

The Chool Bus (ch7)

Chapter 7: After a successful initial run, the Forks return home, Mr. Wellstone’s application is approved and he joins the gang for a long push through the Western States. 

Now, as we have yet to describe Professor T. to any satisfying detail, please indulge this brief meta moment as we more properly introduce this slightly enigmatic character. Mork J. (Jehosiphat) Thompson was born in a Kansas small town, a little over 20 miles due South of Junction City, training ground for the U.S. Army’s oldest active-duty infantry division, “The Big Red One”. Council Grove was named after an agreement between American settlers and the native Osage Nation allowing settlers’ wagon trains to pass westward through the area on the Santa Fe Trail. Pioneers from the established Eastern states gathered at a grove of trees so that wagons could band together for their trip west. Council Grove’s first post office was established in 1855, several decades ahead of the remaining soon to be established Western townships. 

Many a cross-country sojourner East and West can testify, and joke about the flat, treeless landscape that characterizes the western two thirds of the Sunflower State. But Council Grove is nestled in the fabled “Flint Hills”, some of the more interesting topography in a mostly flat landscape where natives jokingly claim the state tree is the telephone pole. Due to its rocky soil, the early settlers were unable to plow the area, resulting in the prevalence of cattle ranches as opposed to the crop land more typical of the Great Plains. 

And like his Flint Hills birthplace, Mork J.Thompson is a flinty soul. Almost preternaturally averse to conformist sentiments, Mork Thompson will go out of his way to defy popular trends. Short in stature, stout in constitution and bodily girth, he exudes a stern, almost severe, yet melancholy countenance. His olive skin browns fast and easy in the warmer months, rendering him fairly dark in the summer and walnut olive in the colder months. An avid reader, this habit serves well in the profession that claimed him after the “Great Recession (2007-09)” cratered the Internet enterprise he went to work for after the Forks gave up the ghostly rock star dream. Although accidentally landing in the halls of higher-ed, he adapted, and his voracious reading habits served him well contributing to the larger discipline through multiple published research papers and essays, as well as his unique brand of mentorship provided to the student population.

With this latest funding grant and burning question, he was able to reassemble his favorite team for a year long expedition exploring public sentiments on politics and culture in the United States of America. Where the data leads is still a big mystery, but The Forks have the means of nimble travel, and subsistence through the generous research grant. Professor Thompson is confident the eventual publications will shed illumination on the origin of the nation’s “fibrillating heart”. If voters and policy makers can use the results to make positive changes for the sake of the nation’s health… success!

And so, we pick up where The Forks left off, conspiring to add a fourth teammate in the person of Buck Wellstone. They say timing is everything, and with Mr. Wellstone, he was between gigs. Recently earning his undergrad degree and ready to continue in higher-ed, at least for a Master’s Degree as his undergrad advisor told him the master’s degree was statistically the best choice for “return on investment” potential. Lifetime income stats showed a rather large gap between those with a high school diploma and those with a master’s degree. His serendipitous encounter with the Forks and their research mission looked to be a perfect opportunity for facilitating his transition. 

In the short time he had known The Forks he had grown quite fond and attached.

Professor T. impressed him as honest, true and genuinely committed to the American experiment. For some reason, Jack Dean was reserving his normally suspicious tendencies after watching Mr. Wellstone effortlessly defuse the potentially volatile situation in Fort Collins, and his unhurried Southern Gentleman countenance. But, if Mr. Wellstone was truly honest, he would tell you it was Billie that attracted him to the Forks most earnestly.

Billie notwithstanding, he saw Professor T. as brilliant, if innocent, a slightly vulnerable soul in need of a loyal aid de camp. Mr. Wellstone understood and believed in the mission depending on this tight-knit team and the Chool Bus on which they rode. When he saw that Professor T. failed to see danger brewing in Fort Collins, he intervened to the satisfaction of all involved, the suspicious locals went back to drowning their sorrows, and Professor T. retired his rather conspicuous recording rig. “Wow, that could have gone sideways in a hurry,” Jack had mused as Professor T. dismantled the recording rig. 

“Ah, ‘twern’t nuthin’. That feller weren’t no Curly Wolf,” Buck drawled with his thickest cowboy affect. This, he did every once in while, never failing to produce a grin on Billie’s secretly admiring countenance. Later that evening, Professor T. received clearance to process Mr. Wellstone’s application. Just a couple more hurdles to clear. Mr. Wellstone would sit for an interview with a department search committee, and his references would be contacted. The processed would be completed in a couple weeks, then The Forks +1 would resume the Westward push, first stop, Salt Lake City.

NEXT WEEK:
The Forks prepare for a long swing through the western states. Professor T. ponders a vivid dream and Abigail Weiser takes advantage of his unsuspecting nature. 

GO BACK => (Preface & Chapter links)

Image Credit: Meta AI

The Chool Bus (ch05)

Chapter 5: Where The Forks recruit another member. Buck Wellstone applies for graduate assistantship and joins the project as Professor T.’s aid de camp. 

The crisp morning air in Fort Collins was a refreshing difference for the Forks as each performed their morning necessaries preparing for the next stop. Larimie, Wyoming was but a short jaunt away, but no one was feeling rushed as the events of the previous night were still ringing in their collective gizzards. Billie couldn’t remember the name of the good natured southern gentleman that had intervened in the misunderstanding triggered by Professor T.’s silly looking recording rig. But Jack did, and he also recalled inviting Buck Wellstone to join the forks at a popular Larimie brew-pub once the focus group interviews were conducted and the Forks were ready to relax for the evening. 

“Buck Wellstone is his name, and he’s interested in applying for a graduate assistantship in our department. He wants to join us on the tour,” said Jack.

“I don’t know if we can get through the application process quick enough for next semester, but we do have an opening,” said Professor T. “Did you say he was meeting us in Laramie?”

“Indeed he is,” Jack responded.

“Good. I can check on his eligibility on the road, and i’ll give him the standard interview while in Laramie. If his references check out, maybe…” Professor T. was secretly hoping this would work out as Mr. Wellstone had a refreshing positive vibe. Smart, funny, physically imposing, and genuinely interested in the research the Forks were conducting and the tight-knit camaraderie displayed by this motley collection of humanity.

The Chool Bus rolled into Larimie in time for the gang to grab some lunch and get freshened up before gathering participants for the focus group interviews. And, as expected, the room was divided as the nation’s fibrillating heart seemed to be in this culturally-fraught era. But, the session was conducted professionally, and participants behaved respectfully. As soon as they got started, it was over. Participants went their separate ways and the Forks pointed the Chool Bus toward the brew-pub designated for rendezvous with Mr. Wellstone.

Now, the Forks had plenty of experience in Wyoming, and after everyone was settled into a pleather-cushened booth, each their own chosen libation working its social-lubrication magic, Professor T. mused about a two-week engagement the band played in Riverton, Wyoming in the early 90s. In Professor T.’s recounting, the gig felt like a lifetime trapped in a malfunctioning deep freeze. December in that desolate outpost was a symphony of howling wind and sub-zero temperatures, a perfect recipe for laryngitis. Professor T., at the time, known as “Mork T.” (Mork T. and The Forks… get it?),  fueled by a steady diet of codeine cough syrup and still clinging to his delusional dream of rock stardom, chased those nonexistent high notes across a well lit stage in a room full of barely interested strangers. Needless to say, it went about as well as a fleshy juke box in a howling sauna.

As is often the case, one anecdote leads to another with this group so Jack, musing about post-Forks times, recalled a highly-unlikely story where he, partnered with a gonzo ski-resort co-worker, someone that went by the alias, “Fozzy” (for the sake of anonymity).

Now, this Fozzy character, a Laramie-educated electrical engineering savant with a graduate school acceptance letter burning a hole in his pocket, held a peculiar belief: That Laramie Wyoming, was a magical land where cops were blind to the transgressions of the gloriously intoxicated. This, of course, was a theory ripe for testing by these two nihilistic souls clinging desperately to the wreckage of their semi-feral animal-house-esque existence.

Imagine, if you will, a “borrowed” car (ownership and registration a fiction at best), fueled by cold beer (courtesy of the nearest liquor store), hurtling towards Laramie like a pair of wobbly missiles. The speedometer, a mere suggestion, registered a healthy too-damn-fast, a testament to their utter disregard for both the law and their own mortality.

Several beers and a vanished sunset later, they rolled into Laramie like banshees on Adderall. To their utter disappointment, the flashing blue lights they so richly deserved remained stubbornly absent. Finally, in a moment of glorious absurdity, Fozzy managed to run a red light, narrowly missing a cop car pulling out of a parking lot.

“Well, this is it,” Jack chuckled, fresh with i told you so energy dancing in his eyes. “Busted! Hauled off to the drunk tank, a glorious, self-inflicted martyrdom!”

The officer, a woman with a withering gaze that could curdle milk, approached Fozzy’s window. The story Fozzy concocted to explain their lack of documentation was a masterpiece of nonsensical bravado, worthy of a Bugs Bunny episode. Miraculously, it worked. The officer, perhaps amused by the sheer audacity of it all, subjected Fozzy to a “sobriety dance” (how he passed remains a mystery). Deemed sufficiently non-threatening, they were banished from her sight with a stern warning and a $25 fine, payable through a conveniently located “after hours” slot at the courthouse.

And so Fozzy’s theory was field-tested and determined factually sound. Or perhaps, the officer had simply taken pity on these two hapless fools.

As Jack recounted this delicious slice of youthful debauchery, Mr. Wellstone’s countenance danced between mild astonishment to dubiousness as he wasn’t sure how much of this was exaggeration and how much was outright fabrication. As Jack was winding down, Mr. Wellstone’s expression softened as he seemed to recall his academic advisor complaining about drunk drivers skating by with impunity in their wild-west college town. Jack swore the story was mostly true to a detail, and since the rest of the Forks had already heard the story (several times), they vouched for Jack because they knew this “Fozzy” character, and the story tracked.

As the evening progressed, Mr. Wellstone made a strong impression on Professor T. that he was serious about joining the Forks on their tour, applying for the open graduate assistantship, and eventually earning an “informatics/new media” master’s degree from their University. “I can’t promise anything at this time,” said Professor T., but we have room for one more on the Chool Bus, and your assistance was greatly appreciated in Fort Collins. If Jack And Billie, agree, we’d be honored to have you aboard.”

“I vote, eye,” said Billie, with a sly grin.

“And i concur,” said Jack lifting his glass for a toast. With that, all raised their glasses, and so it was settled. The Forks had a new roadie, and Professor T. gained a loyal aid de camp.

NEXT WEEK:
Chapter 6: Where The Forks begin their time in Montana with a relaxing day in the steamy drink at Chico and Jack calls Bullshit on a wild Park Ranger’s story.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links