The Chool Bus (ch32)

CHAPTER 32: The gang conducts interviews at Oklahoma State University before venturing into the hot spring paradise and pothole central of Arkansas.

Billie was glad to turn the wheel over to Buck after stopping at the National Route 66 Museum in Elk City, Oklahoma. The drive reminded her of that stretch of Interstate 70 between Abilene, Kansas, and Denver: endless prairie grass, crops, and cattle. It was a landscape mostly devoid of civilization, its boredom occasionally shattered by bus-rocking wind gusts and tumbleweed attacks. But Route 66 has a storied history, and Professor T couldn’t help thinking about the wild anecdotes Jack Kerouac included in that classic scroll known as On the Road. He (Professor T) was almost disappointed that the route couldn’t be covered on more of those two-lane stretches where Neal Cassady drove the rattlin’ Hudson like a maniac, pushing over 100 mph, passing semis on the dirt shoulder with inches to spare while talking non-stop about jazz, time, and cosmic revelations.

The trip reminded Jack Dean of those heady years when The Forks made their way around the country with their grunge-metal songs and mosh routines. They were a fairly nihilistic bunch, but not inclined to push as close to the edge as those storied Beat Poets or Gonzo Journalists of post-war America. They were mostly happy to read about the “edge” and experience it vicariously.

There was that wild experiment in Laramie, Wyoming, with that “Fozzy” character, but afterward, Jack was less inclined to get boosted on amphetamines and oppressive heat…sweat flying out of windshields with manic companions huddled in the backseat clutching notebooks, all convinced they were going to disintegrate into the prairie like that flash at the end of the 1971 movie Vanishing Point.

“You know, Buck,” said Jack. “Rodeo cowboys pushing their luck on raging beasts are not at all unlike the crazy beat poets, gonzo journalists, and 27-club luminaries.”

“You mean like Kerouac, Burroughs, and Hunter S Thompson? I get those references, but what’s a ’27 Club’?” Buck suspected this had something to do with Billie’s favorite rock star.

“I’m sure that ’27 Club’ syndrome correlates closely with the age at which young men finally develop some frontal lobe perspective,” said Professor T. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

“Again with the stubborn, sexist omission of ladies as impactful human beings,” Billie said, clearly annoyed.

“Hello?” whined Buck. “What the hell is a ’27 Club’?”

Jack was the Forks’ foremost expert on nihilistic hedonism, so he took over. “Well… it’s a fairly long and sad list of beloved music artists shuffling off the mortal coil at age 27.”

“I, too, had a radical turn of karmic trajectory at that age. I can still see the scene vividly: the day i stopped chasing parties, booze, girls, and cocaine. Walking from the parking lot to my apartment after one of those pointless all-nighters, the sun blazing in my face, i was reviewing all the wasted dollars and precious time spent with people who would never be considered friends. I was 27 when i made that turn. I made it out of that phase alive… the 27 Clubbers did not.”

“Give us some names,” said Billie. “I did read about Cobain being part of something like that,” she was slowly shaking her head. “Twenty-seven is way too young for checking out.” Billie was devastated by the news of grunge’s foremost luminary.

“Okay… but it’s a long, depressing list,” said Jack. “Robert Johnson, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, and Billie’s favorite, Cobain. Neil Young once wrote, ‘It’s better to burn out than to fade away,’ and every member of the 27 Club did just that. It’s ironic Young is still with us, but as a musical journalist of sorts, i guess it’s good he survived the curse. ‘The Needle and the Damage Done’ is another example. It’s like there is a chasm across an artist’s timeline. You either have the will and ability to clear it, or you join the club. You either cross it and gain wisdom as you fade away, or you dispense all the wisdom you have by 27 and check out early.”

Rolling into Cushing Oklahoma, the scent of raw sulfur and heavy hydrocarbons wafted from the tank farms, seeping into the bus through the ventilation and cracked windows. At the fuel stop, Billie asked a local if that was normal. “Oh, that’s a good smell… means things are still hummin’ ’round here.” With a deadpan shrug while paying for her soda and candy bar, she mumbled, barely audible, “…it just smells like money to me.”

In the pre-interview discussions at OSU, Billie pressed on the unique situation Cushing residents face. She learned that despite billions of dollars in oil sloshing beneath and around the town in pipes and barrels, very little of that capital actually sticks to Main Street. Like many legacy energy hubs, the infrastructure is owned by multinational corporations, leaving the local tax base to deal with heavy road wear, crumbling asphalt, and rural infrastructure strain without a fair return.

As a consolation prize for rising to the top of the world’s natural gas producers, Cushing has become ground zero for human-induced seismic activity…the result of excessive fracking. In the 2010s, a rash of earthquakes shook the prairie, including at least one 5.0 magnitude quake that damaged historic downtown brick facades.

If that wasn’t enough, the locals live with the underlying anxiety of residing adjacent to tens of millions of barrels of volatile hydrocarbons. After all, a severe thunderstorm, lightning strike, or grass fire could ignite a biblical holocaust.

As the Cool Bus rolled east through Oklahoma along Route 66 that day, Professor T contrasted the manic bohemian hedonism of his early days with the juxtaposition of On the Road and Vanishing Point’s protagonists. Both Kerouac’s high-strung musings in the careening 1949 “Super Six” Hudson and Kowalski’s white 1970 Dodge Challenger slamming into bulldozers seemed to foretell what was to become of the crumbling “unum” in the USA’s 21st-century “e pluribus.”

NEXT WEEK:
Billie’s Albuquerque speed-bump lesson serves well as the Gang meanders around Arkansas’ hot spring destinations.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch11)

Chapter 11: We learn a bit of Buck Wellstone’s back story and Professor T’s Zoom Conference provides more questions than answers.

The time for Professor T’s Zoom conference had arrived so after grabbing a coffee in the University of Utah library’s lobby and one more trip to the restroom he checked into a reserved study room, settled into a comfortable chair, logged into his laptop, and checked a few emails and social media direct messages. Once all of these preliminaries completed, he logged into the Zoom session which placed him on hold waiting for the attorneys back home to start the conference… a pair of opportunistic shysters, as the befuddled Mork T would later characterize the firm of Scheizer and Bok.

“Good Morning, Professor Thompson,” the conference moderator began. “As indicated in the summons, this is a formal information gathering exercise. There are no charges to answer, but because a complaint has been filed, we’re obliged to interview all relevant parties.”

“Understood,” Professor T had resolved to let the process play out. Once he deciphered the essence of the matter he could better respond.

“Now, Professor Thompson, are you familiar with Abigail Weiser, administrative manager at your current academic post?” The interview was underway.

“Why, yes. I’ve worked closely with Ms Weiser for the last fourteen years,” said Professor T.

“And could you please characterize the nature of your and Ms Weiser’s relationship?” asked the moderator.

“Sure. She keeps the department’s administrative and bureaucratic matters attended in good order. I have found her exceptionally good at her job,” Professor T responded to the question.

“Could you elaborate, Professor Thompson… is there nothing more you would add about a working relationship going back fourteen years?” The questioner was probing for more.

“Well, i try to show appreciation by presenting her with a gift card to the union coffee shop at the beginning of each semester and the department staff chips in on administrative workers day. We all sign a card and try to show our appreciation,” Professor T was wondering where this line of inquiry could possibly be going.

“Please give us a sense for how your and Ms Weiser’s association had evolved over the years,” said the moderator.

Professor T gently rubbed his chin mentally retrieving memories from the distant past. “Well, my time with the department began a semester after hers. She was still getting her bearings as a new administrative manager… basically, we were learning the ropes together. We were kindred spirits, i suppose.” Professor T took a pull from his now luke-warm coffee. “I suppose there was a time when we could have ended up dating, but my policy is against mixing intimate personal relationships with co-workers. I’ve seen how those entanglements can end up, and, well, i prefer a strictly businesslike office atmosphere.”

“Now, professor Thompson, on the day in question, June 1st, will you please walk us through your interactions in the 24 hours preceding your final encounter with Ms Weiser before launching your research tour? Who reached out to whom? What was the tone of the communication?” Professor T blanched at the notion of anything unusual happening on that day.

“Well, frankly i’m not sure what might be special about June 1st, other than that being departure day for the tour,” Professor Thompson was digging for more to go on.

“The complaint alleges there was inappropriate physical contact that day. Can you tell us what happened from your point of view?” The moderator provided a glimpse.

“Oh, okay, yes. Ms Weiser and i were attending some paper work matters, signatures, completed forms, regular operational stuff.” He was starting to remember. “Just as my companions were arriving, Ms Weiser seemed to have tripped over her own feet and happened to fall into me. Of course i caught her and prevented what might have been an embarrassingly comic pratfall. I did notice her countenance was not what you would expect.

Rather than thanking me for preventing the fall, she departed through the office door with a bit of a blushing sneer.”

Professor T blanched at the memory. “I chalked it up to something in her life outside the office. We had finished our business so after her exit, my companions and i made our way to the Union cafeteria for a meal before loading up in the bus and heading West,” Professor T felt sure he had remembered correctly.

“Now, Professor Thompson, the complaint outlines a pattern of lewd talk and groping as a regular feature of day to day work in your office. When you first learned a complaint was filed, what was your immediate response?” The moderator was zeroing in on the point.

“Preposterous,” Professor T was starting to feel his temples heating up. He felt he had always maintained a professional tone in his office, with the exception of those first few months of his association with Abigail it had been so, and back then, the extra-curricular attraction was strictly one way and he made a point to draw boundaries as soon as he was aware of Abigail’s crush. “I’ve maintained a professional decorum with all of my colleagues from day one.” Professor T was satisfied he had made his case.

“Very well, Professor. Thank you for your cooperation. You will hear from us once the preliminary interviews have been conducted and a decision is made as to whether the process should continue or terminate. Good day.”

Once Professor T had his laptop and cables stowed, he made his way to the union cafeteria. His companions were waiting to hear how the Zoom meeting went. As each of the Forks and Buck settled with their lunch tray, Professor T redirected the gang’s attention, turned the conversation spotlight to Buck. “What about your home in Texas, Buck? Can you give us some more of those Southern accents?” Glad to oblige, Buck launched into a story concerning his early Texas memories. He described the ranch he grew up on and the hired hands he had met. 

***

“Cowboys come from everywhere.” Buck was a true lover of the old wild west stories and the life of cowboy ranchers under the endless stars of the Texas sky. “And my dad is the ultimate cowboy.” Buck was on a roll. “He didn’t just read about it romanticizing the old days, he lived it. Dad made a point of giving those rodeo cowboys a fallback redoubt.” He was waxing misty eyed about the lifestyle he loved through and through.

“Did your dad ever hire any desperadoes?” asked Billie, who perked up with this topic. She was feeling kinda cringy about Professor T’s predicament.

“Well, you see, Dad’s attitude was sorta like Tom Joad in Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, everybody’s got their struggle and Dad cast his lot with the doomed same as the rhinestone, bronc bustin’ buckle winners.” Buck was no stranger to dangerous characters and was careful not to put on airs around those polite society would shun. “Besides, the desperadoes had the best stories.” Buck was poised to launch into one when Jack asked about Buck’s mother and what she was like.

“Tell us about your mom, Buck. We haven’t heard about her yet.” Jack persisted.

“Yeah, mom died in childbirth. I would have had a sister, but the baby was breach and they were not ready when the time came. With no doctor within a hundred miles, it all happened too quickly and we lost them both.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to hear this,” said Billie, as the rest of the table nodded in agreement. Professor T placed his hand warmly on Buck’s shoulder, and the gang had a moment of silent empathy before finishing lunch and heading back to the bus. Tomorrow would be focus group interviews… then back on the road.

NEXT WEEK:
Campfire ranch storytime over craft beers.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links