Hollywood

by Ed Nelson

  The Richard Jackson Saga

  Book 3: Hollywood

  By Ed Nelson

  This is dedicated to my wife Carol for her support and help as first reader and editor.

  Also the BHS class of 1962 just because.

  “That is exactly how it happened, give or take a lie or two.”

  James Garner as Wyatt Earp describing the gun fight at the OK Corral in the movie Sunset.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Copyright August 2019 by E. E. Nelson

  Eastern Shore Publishing

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  We were back at school on Monday the fifth of January. Before the Christmas vacation started it seemed like it would be a long time. Now that it was finished it seemed to have gone too fast or was too short. The only good thing about being back in school was we could see each other’s new clothes. We were all about the same age and growing, so ninety percent of our presents were clothes.

  It wasn’t so critical for the guys. Girls needed to stay in the main stream of fashion or they were whatever girls were when their clothes weren’t the current styles … frumpy, odd, or weird. I don’t know. Having heard enough giggling over the years I knew that it could be a social disaster to have the wrong clothes. No matter how new the clothes were.

  Guy’s clothes didn’t change that much, so it wasn’t the same problems. Jeans were jeans; khakis were khakis, the brand name didn’t matter.

  With guys what mattered was your haircut. The jocks wore a flattop. A college cut was required for those having thoughts of an advanced education or trying to look preppy. Rebel types wore their hair the same as Elvis, heavy on the grease, long sideburns and ducktails, at least until the Army drafted him.

  The last haircut you wanted was the pineapple. This was a lock of hair left in front and the rest cut down with a number two guard on the clippers. At the start of a summer this is the haircut parents would get their small kids to last the season. Melvins, dorks and nerds kept their hair this way.

  Then of course it needed to be kept trimmed, so there was the Saturday ritual, of a trip to the barber shop. We didn’t think or talk about it, we just did it. You had to keep it above your ears in what was called a whitewall. If you wore glasses the last thing you wanted was the hair to go over the sidebars. They had raised the cost of a haircut to fifty cents last year so this was serious upkeep.

  I kept my college cut trimmed every Saturday if I could. If I let it go two weeks Mum would tell me I needed a dog license. If I missed a Saturday I almost always went on Monday and never past Tuesday.

  The most interesting girls were those who switched to a new bra style. The ones that stuck out a lot were called ‘Nose Cones.’ That or ‘Headlights.’ Of course any bra was also called an over the shoulder boulder holder. Yes, we freshmen had a lot of class.

  Boy’s heavy sweaters with reindeer were the in thing this year. I didn’t have one, but thought they were okay.

  Restarting classes was the usual commotion. It was like we had never been to school before. Two weeks off and we had forgotten everything we had learned this year. We were into the fourth week of this six weeks grading period. In two weeks the first semester exams would start, so next week teachers would be starting to review for the tests.

  I have been carrying straight A’s so it wasn’t a dreadful prospect, but I was still going to be prepared. I had already gone over the material that would be presented this week, so I started my own review a week early. This should give me a firm foundation for taking the tests.

  At lunch time the usual gang was at our table. We all shared what we got for Christmas. Tom Wilson told us about an Aunt that had knitted him a sweater. The only problem was that one arm was about two inches longer than the other. His Mom forced him to wear it when his Aunt visited. It isn’t that funny really, but the way Tom described it we were all in stitches.

  Tom and Tracy had matching sweaters to show they were a couple. Cheryl and I hadn’t exchanged presents. We were in sort of no man’s land. We liked each other and had done things together, but hadn’t been on an official date. Yet, at the same time other people treated us as a couple.

  I decided to move things forward and asked Cheryl if she would like to go to a movie on Friday. She accepted quickly then asked me what was playing. I had no idea.

  Tom Morton told us it was, “North by Northwest,” an action movie with Cary Grant. I liked the action part, and Cheryl liked Cary Grant so it sounded good. From the looks Cheryl and Tracy exchanged I had done the right thing on cue.

  The rest of the school day was spent in getting back into the swing of things. There was no big news or gossip from over the holidays so that was a good thing.

  I went home and did my practice typing. I realized that I had plateaued at forty words a minute without errors. This was respectable considering I wasn’t going to be a secretary. A professional would do a hundred words a minute or more.

  With the goal of being able to type achieved, I had to find some other skill to master. Later, I realized that I had a good basic knowledge of Spanish. At least I could carry on a conversation. My understanding of grammar left something to be desired.

  Mrs. Hernandez was back from Miami and she was vibrant. Visiting her relatives had done her a world of good. She told us that more and more Cubans were fleeing to Miami all the time.

  She told us that there were now parts of the city where Spanish was the only language heard. Until the mess with Castro was taken care of it wouldn’t change. She thought it might be as long as five years until most people could go back to Cuba.

  That sounded like a long time to be in exile. Then I remembered the outcomes of World War II and other wars and thought they might be lucky if it was only five years. On a more cheerful note all this conversation was in Spanish and was very rapid. Even Mary who didn’t understand the gist of the conversation understood the words. She told us if they wanted to go home they should call a taxi. Eddie told her it would have to be a water taxi.


  She replied, “Then Mr. Jingles could take them home!”

  Dad had some interesting news at dinner, he had inquired about the ownership of the four houses on Bellefontaine Island. They had all been for sale for back taxes. He had purchased them for five hundred dollars each. We now owned the entire Island!

  We planned to check the houses out this Saturday. We would probably have to tear them down and build one cottage. It also brought up what we were going to do with the boathouse. It was way oversize for one family’s boat or boats, but now we didn’t want to sell it and share our Island.

  After dinner and helping with the cleanup, I finished typing copies of the last of the Blackhoof papers. Tomorrow Mr. Redfoot would be stopping by our house. We had been told to expect him around four o’clock, so I would be home from school.

  That night I didn’t feel like reading. I was thinking about summer fun at the Lake with a speedboat and a new cottage to stay at. This balanced against working on a steam ship for the summer and seeing the world. I fell asleep quickly. This having to get up and go to school had left me tired!

  Chapter 2

  At least that’s what I thought when I woke up on Tuesday.

  The boilers must have been working overtime because the school was so warm it was hard to stay awake. All the teachers knew this, so they worked with us.

  As Mr. Hurley said, “If I nod off while giving a lecture it must be terrible listening to it.”

  In the afternoon it had cooled down enough that we survived the day. I heard Miss Bales set a record for how many kids she gave detention.

  At lunch I found out that Cheryl and I were going on a double date with Tom and Tracy. They wanted to see s movie, and apparently it would be better received by the Colonel if we doubled for our first date.

  Tom would be driving, so I could be in the backseat with Cheryl. If we didn’t double date we would have to get a ride with a parent. I bet the Colonel hadn’t thought of that.

  After school I went straight home. I was looking forward to meeting Mr. Redfoot. I wondered if he would be wearing full regalia. When the doorbell rang I was first there.

  Standing outside in an overcoat, fedora and business suit was a gentleman holding a briefcase. He introduced himself as Alex Redfoot of the Shawnee Tribe. He asked if Richard Jackson was available.

  I invited him in and introduced myself and the rest of the family. As he shook hands all the way around, I inspected him. He was nothing like I thought he would be.

  He had high cheek bones and dark hair going grey. It looked like he had a good sun tan for this time of year. His features were strong, but not over the top. Since I knew he was of Indian heritage I could see it. If I hadn’t known, he would have been just another man on the street.

  We invited him to the kitchen and offered coffee. He turned it down explaining he would like to see the items and didn’t want any liquids near while he examined them. I had set the box out on the kitchen counter. Mum had picked up several pair of disposable white cotton gloves at the pharmacy. Mr. Redfoot and I donned a pair each.

  I opened the container and set each of the medals out on the table. He extracted the photographs that had been sent to him from his briefcase. Before he started he said a phrase that I didn’t understand, since it wasn’t in English that wasn’t a surprise.

  He explained, “I was afraid I was on a fool’s mission. I will check everything, but I know it is real. I was giving thanks.”

  He then proceeded to examine everything carefully. Even to the extent of pulling a magnifying glass out of his case. He compared everything to our photographs and then to another set he had brought with him. He explained that these were pictures of known examples of the actual medals from various museums.

  “No one museum has a collection of all the medals. They are individually rare, as a collection I can’t even begin to guess.”

  He then proceeded to review the letters. I gave him a typed copy of each of the letters. He asked who had done this. When I explained that I had read and typed out the copies, he just nodded his head and continued his review.

  He looked at each of the letters, which he compared to photographs of similar documents signed by each of the authors.

  He showed us other known copies of the various signatures that in every case matched the signer of each letter, but that the main text had been written by a secretary.

  He explained that was expected for this sort of letter. It wasn’t a personal letter but a government letter. The signer would have stated a need for the letter and a general thought on its contents. He would have then reviewed the letter prior to signing it.

  In the case of the King of England it would have been presented for his signature and he would have done so without even reading it. Running a large empire didn’t give the King time to review anything involving natives outside of his colonies.

  After he was finished reviewing everything, he placed the medals back in it the box. The box was removed from the kitchen table. Then he took us up on the offer of coffee. By this time Eddie and Mary had lost interest and were watching TV. Denny had chocolate milk, while we drank our coffee.

  Mr. Redfoot asked me, “Rick, according to your letter you were the one who made this historical discovery. Would you tell me how it came about?”

  I then related the entire chain of events. Wanting to write about the Ohio tribes and then learning of the Bellefontaine Gazette from Mrs. Rupert. How when reading it I realized that if Chief Blackhoof had ever received the Jefferson Medal it had probably been part of the theft.

  I continued with the set of lucky circumstances that had me at the Manary Blockhouse and discovering the hidden compartment.

  “Rick, I think the Shawnee were the lucky ones. The discovery was lucky, but being found by someone of your ethics is the truly lucky portion. I have to ask you again. What would you like from this?”

  “I have thought this through and discussed it with my parents. The satisfaction of returning this treasure to where it belongs is all I desire.”

  “Have you thought about how it should be handed over and then the discovery made public?”

  “We thought,” sweeping my hand around to indicate the whole family, “that we would have my parents hand them to you in our lawyer’s office tomorrow. That way it would be a witnessed, signed transaction. There would be no question that we were giving this to the Shawnee Tribe, and not a personal gift to Mr. Alex Redfoot. No offense meant but I realized after reading about Captain Lewis that the white man does not have a monopoly on dishonest people.”

  “None taken, actually I feel more comfortable doing it that way, this keeps everything honest and above board. I will have a signed and witnessed handover to the tribal elders, so I cannot be accused of any misconduct later. These are worth a fortune on the collectors market.”

  “How will you announce the discovery?” Dad inquired.

  “We will tell the world we found them in our archives. We just won’t tell how long they were there. Since your letter we checked and we actually have a box marked Blackhoof that contains some of his personal possessions.”

  “We will state that we recently opened the box and found these in the contents. Not specifying the contents were placed there several days earlier. This will keep all the other potential claimants at bay.”

  Mr. Redfoot continued, “I think that the Shawnee owe Mrs. Rupert a small debt. Do you think she would like to have a true trade tomahawk and a peace pipe?”

  “She would be thrilled. How will you explain to her why she is receiving it?”

  “It will be a vague letter stating that it is for her work in preserving the tribal history of the Shawnee Indians in Ohio. There will be a letter of authenticity for each item along with the thank you letter signed by our Principal Chief.”

  After that arrangements were made for my parents to meet with Mr. Redfoot at Eugene Burke’s office. As he was leaving he handed us each his business card.

  “I should have don
e this when I first arrived.”

  The card read, Chief Alexander Redfoot, Shawnee Tribe, Head Curator, Shawnee Tribe Heritage and Cultural Museum.

  That evening I read more about Natty, Uncas and Chingachgook. It was a shame that Wah-ta-Wah died.

  Chapter 3

  Tuesday was a bright clear day, a wonderful day to be alive. It was still the middle of winter but there was a hint of warmth in the air. Dad called this the January thaw. I ran for my full five miles and could really tell it. The winter downtime had really hurt my stamina.

  At breakfast we discussed our day. Mum and Dad were both going to our lawyer’s office to turn over the Shawnee artifacts. After that they had to attend a closing on another unit that we had purchased. Later in the day they were jointly interviewing several young ladies to staff the office downtown.

  Dad had tried to take care of the office himself, but he had to be out maintaining units, clearing new units or looking for housing to purchase. He was almost never in the office. This defeated the purpose of the office. There were two part time employees who took care of electrical and plumbing issues.

  The family was still doing the cleanups and painting of new units, but that was getting to be a bit much. Denny had really stepped up and was making himself some serious money helping Dad on the weekends and after school. One weekend Dad paid him fifteen dollars for all his help.

  He was spending some of his money on new clothes. He was in middle school where the boys wore blue jeans and checked shirts. He was looking more and more preppy junior high all the time with khakis, pinstripe shirts with a pull over sweater. The number of telephone calls for him from girls had also increased.

  The only interesting thing in school was when I made a mistake in world history. The question was, “What is the old name of Istanbul?”

  I replied, “Baghdad.”

  I was accused of reading too much Arabian Nights. I had to blush on that one.