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Awards Banquet I'm not saying my wife, Johnnie, is getting absent minded, but something happened last night that makes me wonder. Three of my old hunting and fishing buddies were going to the Arlington Sportsman's Club annual awards banquet with me. Because it was a sportsman's club, we decided all four of us would wear our camo hunting clothes. My wife thought that was silly. "You will be the only ones there without a suit and tie." That didn't make a bit of difference to four "died-in-the-wool" hunters like us. Besides none of us liked to wear suits and ties anyway. We gathered up at my house the night of the banquet all dressed up in our finest camo hunting clothes ready for the big night. Everyone was excited and ready to go. Just as we started out the door my wife hollers, "Wait a minute, you idiots, I made some ar-doo-ies and you're not leaving until you eat every one of them." She made us sit down at the table on the front porch and she served her "ar-doo-ies." I noticed the neighbors across the street staring at the four men in camo clothing sitting on my front porch eating. I wondered if they would call the police and report a new militia group. But back to my wife being absent minded, or maybe it's "Old Timers Disease," who knows? After we had been gone for about an hour Johnnie noticed that Jeff had left the lights on in his pickup. She decided she would turn them off so they wouldn't run his battery down. She went out to Jeff's pick up, grabbed the door handle and pulled. "0h, pooh!" she thought, "It's locked." But that wasn't the only problem. When she pulled on the door handle the alarm went off. Lights started flashing off and on, the horn started blowing, and a voice was saying, "Stop crook or I'll shoot!" Well I guess those neighbors had called the police after all, because just as all this was happening a squad car pulled up. Hearing a loud voice hollering "Stop crook or I'll shoot," both cops jumped out of the squad car, drew their guns, and shouted "Freeze!" My wife did just that. Not because of the cop's order, but because the alarm scared the "do-do" out of her. It took an hour to convince them that there was no militia group, and she was not stealing Jeff's pickup. If there's one thing Johnnie is, it's stubborn. She set out to turn off the lights in Jeff's pickup and she was going to do just that, even if it hairlipped the president. She called one of the guy's wives and asked her to come drive her over to the banquet to get Jeff's keys. When Janie got to our house they got into her car and she asks, "Where to?" Johnnie told her, "Over to the college. I remember the last time I went, it was in Hereford Hall at the college." So Janie zips over to Hereford Hall. They drive up and down the parking lot looking for a parking space. "That's funny," said Johnnie, "I don't see the ice cream truck." (That's what she calls my pickup.) I've got a home made camper on my pickup. The pickup is red and the cab over camper is white. Pat, one of my other buddies in our "militia group" was a welder and had made it for me. But that's a whole 'nother story for a different time. Not finding a parking space, Janie pulls to the curb right in front of the hall where Johnnie said the banquet was being held. Johnnie jumped out of the car intending to run in, find our table, and get Jeff's keys. Just as my wife was getting out of the car up walks this policeman who says, "Ladies you can't park there." Now Johnnie's a little old lady of sixty-five, and she is getting absent minded or something. She also has a short fuse when things aren't going her way. Last night, things defiantly were not going her way. She turned around facing this policeman and said, "Listen you big city soldier, this has not been one of my better days. If you don't get out of my way I'm going to turn you over my knee and give you the spanking of your life." This six foot tall, two-hundred-pound policeman was so taken aback that his mouth dropped open. He took Johnnie's arm and said, "Yesum, let me help you up the steps. Y'all can park there as long as you want." Johnnie went into the building and over to the door of the banquet room. What she saw was a room full of people having fun by the car load. They were dancing and singing. This confused her. She didn't remember any dancing at our past banquets. Maybe they decided to do something different this year, she thought. She couldn't see me with all the people dancing, so she steps into the room and shouts "Loren, are you in here?" The music is so loud that no one pays her any attention. Now, the policeman had gone with her every step of the way to help her in any way that he could. Before he knew what was happening, Johnnie reached over, snatched the policeman's revolver out of his holster, and fired a shot in the air. As you can imagine the room became instantly quiet. Johnnie yells, "Loren, if you're in here you better answer me!" The policeman finally comes out of his "stupor" and grabs his gun out of Johnnie's hand. He hustles her out of the building, pushes her into the car with Janie and yells, "Go!" All Janie knows is that she heard a shot. Then she sees this wild-eyed cop hustling Johnnie to the car. He all but throws her into the car and yells, "Go!" Janie doesn't take time to ask questions, she just burns rubber for a block getting out of there. After they're back at the house and have a cup of coffee in their hands Janie asks, "What happened back there?" All Johnnie would say was, "I don't want to talk about it." Janie asked her if she found Loren. "I don't want to talk about it." "What are we going to do about the lights being left on in Jeff's pickup," Janie asks. "I don't want to talk about it!" Later that night when I got home from the La Quinta Motor Inn where our banquet was held this year, Johnnie and Janie were sitting in the den drinking coffee. I ask them how they had spent their evening. Together they said, "I don't want to talk about it." Strange! Copyright © 1999
Loren Moore
About the Author
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Born in a oil company camp near Gladewater, Texas, in 1932, Loren Moore married
his high school sweetheart, Johnnie Pritchett, in the year he graduated.
From there, he moved to Arlington, Texas, where he worked as an assembler at
the General Motors plant and stayed until he retired as manager of the
paint shop.