by Mic Roland
The tires are probably flat.” Martin muttered to Margaret. “I haven’t ridden that thing in ten years.”
Dustin pumped up the road bike’s tires with the little hand pump. It was slow work. Judy wiped off the dust and cobwebs, trying to avoid eye contact with Martin. Nonetheless, he could see her eyes were red and puffy. He shook his head. It was so quick and easy to be a jerk, but it took so long for others to recover from it.
Martin carefully poured some gasoline into one of the half-gallon milk jugs he had been saving.
“What’s that for?” Dustin asked.
“A fair trade for Walter. If I’m going to ask him to stay on the air longer than he planned to, I’d better be willing to pay for it.”
“But you said we had to conserve…”
“Yes I did, and we still do. But if a quart of gas will help Judy over her problem, it’ll be worth it.”
“I packed you each a little cold supper to take along.” Margaret held up Martin’s gray backpack. “We don’t want to impose on Walter and Sally: expecting them to provide you with a meal. That’s not nice these days.”
Martin, Dustin and Judy biked up Old Stockman Road, even though it was the long way around. It saved them trying to bike up Stockman Hill. Town Hill was no cakewalk, however. They had to walk their bikes up. There was a little activity around town hall, but by and large, few people were out.
At the curve to Haverhill road, Martin could see Jen working Jasmine in her paddock. She had Jasmine harnessed up to a delicate-looking four wheel buggy of some kind. The horse was getting more accustomed to her new duties as a driving horse. She made tight turns around the barrels without a step out of place.
The coast down Wilson Hill would have been more of a welcome relief from the work of going uphill, if it were not for the windchill. It stung the cheeks and forehead to the point of causing a headache. Martin was feeling his lack of training on the bike during the long ride up Walnut Hill. Back in the day, hundred mile days were no big deal. Ten years off the bike had taken its toll. This five-mile ride was tougher than he imagined. Nonetheless, he was not about to whine or complain, but kept up with the two youngsters despite his thighs aching. Windchill was no longer a problem: sweat was.
“This place on the left,” Martin hollered. He tried not to sound out of breath, which he was. “With the rock wall.” Dustin waved to acknowledge and turned into the driveway.
Martin tried some discrete rapid breathing before knocking at the door to raise his oxygen levels — hopefully above the panting-for-breath level. He did not want to appear as wiped out as he felt.
Radio & Forgetting O-Hi-O
No one answered the door. Martin began to dread that they came all that way only to find out Walter and Sally were not home. All the windows were dark, but that was true of nearly every house — even if the people were home. With the rumor of trouble from passing beggars, having lit windows was a beacon for trouble.
Happily, Sally was home. The door opened a tiny crack, then wider. “Martin? Martin Simmons?” Sally asked.
Martin hoped she had trouble recognizing him right away because the daylight was fading, not because he was so wiped out from his ride that he looked like someone else — someone sweaty and ragged. “Yes. Hi. Um…I wondered if I might ask Walter a favor. Is he home?”
“Certainly!” Sally flung the door wide. “Come in, come in. And who is this with you?”
“This is my son Dustin and his wife Judy.”
“Is that lovely Susan with you too?” Sally peeked out into the darkening yard.
“Lovely Susan?” asked Dustin.
“Never mind. Um, no. Just us.”
“Pity. Oh well. So, you wanted Walter. Come sit at the table. I’ll fetch the kettle from the fire and make you all a nice hot cup of tea. You must be cold. Wal-ter!” Sally shouted as if calling hogs.
“What?” came the annoyed response from a back room.
“You’ve got company. Come in here.” Sally’s hostess smile quickly returned as she faced Martin. “He’ll be right along. I’ll go get that kettle.”
Walter’s approach could be tracked by the increasing volume of his grumbling. “Who in blazes goes calling these days? People don’t just ‘have company’ anymore, they…Oh. Martin. It’s you. What brings you way out here so late in the day?”
“Hi Walter. Actually, I came to ask you a favor.”
“Not sure what I could do for you, but ask away.” Walter sat down slowly, lowering himself into his dining room chair.
“Were you planning to go on the air this evening?”
“Sure, at 6:00. My usual three minute check-in.”
“Were you going to…” Martin felt awkward asking for favors. “…were you going to ‘work the skips’ tonight?”
“Hadn’t planned to. Just did that Sunday night. Trying to conserve my fuel, ya know. Why?”
“Well, we were hoping to hear some news of what’s going on out there, in the world. Judy here, my daughter-in-law, was a real fan of keeping up with the news before all this came down. She would really like to hear, first-hand, what was happening farther away than Mass.”
“Oh. News fan, eh?” Walter chuckled. “Atta girl.” Judy smiled nervously.
“But, I know how precious fuel is, so I brought you this.” Martin pulled the former milk jug out of his backpack. “How much air time would a quart of gas get us?”
“Aw, Martin, you didn’t have to do that. For a news fan, and a lovely young lady, I’d have done it for free.”
“Thanks Walter, but seriously, I want you to have this quart of gas. Would that get us an hour of air time?”
Walter frowned as he stared into space, calculating in his head. “Probably about an hour, if the rig is all I have running.”
“Great.” Martin was relieved. “We’ll take no more than an hour.”
“Sounds like a deal.” Walter leaned forward a couple times to build up momentum for standing up. “I’ll just take this quart and put it in the genny. Gonna go on air soon for my check-in. Oh hey. That reminds me. You got a message yesterday.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, yeah, now where did I put that?” Walter rummaged through his desk with one hand, still holding the gas in the other. “Here we go. I’ll spare you all the call-sign code stuff. It’s from a Lindsey. Says, ‘married Jake. All ok on farm. Buckets’.”
“Married Jake?” Martin leaned back in the chair. It was momentous news coming out of the blue. Even though they hinted that their dating had marriage as a possible outcome, he had to sit awhile and digest it. Walter toddled out to start up his generator. It was nearly six o’clock.
“You okay, Dad?” Dustin asked.
“Yeah. It’s just big news…all of a sudden. But, I’m also really relieved to have heard from her. Wonder how she found out about the ham radio thing? Doesn’t matter. She did, and I’m glad. Married, huh? My little girl, a married woman.”
Martin stared into space, reflecting on the news. He had always imagined he would walk her down the aisle and put her hand in the groom’s hand, stare him in the eye and say ‘you’d better take good care of her.’ It was a fatherly dream of his. From the news Walter just handed him, he would not have that opportunity.
“Jake’s a cool guy, Dad. He’ll be good for her. They were talking about marriage stuff anyhow, so it’s no surprise. Besides, he was always into hunting and stuff. That’ll be really important nowadays. And, she’s on his folks’ farm. Couldn’t pick a better place to hole up through all this.” Dustin was painting as rosy a picture as he could.
“Excuse me,” Walter speed-shuffled past them to get to his radio set. “Don’t want to be late. I haven’t had to buy yet.” He flipped some switches and pulled the mic close. “CQ CQ K1NTZ at the top of the hour. CQ CQ K1NTZ.”
“N1WGF,” crackled the speaker with a woman’s voice. “Back at you, Walter.”
“KA1YRK, at the top of the hour,” crackled another voice.
“HA!
At last! I wasn’t the last one this time!” exclaimed the woman. “I claim a double chocolate eclair! Woohoo. Double chocolate, Ray!”
“Yes, dear,” crackled the other voice wearily.
“Calm down, you two,” scolded Walter. “We’ve got business to cover and only three minutes for it.” Walter, Ray and Joyce swapped messages. Joyce conveyed messages that came from her area leader. Ray had a message to pass back. They then turned to local news.
“Sounds like the Mass orders are more than just hospitals now,” said Joyce. “From what I got from my contact out in the Berkshires, it sounds like they’re trying to convince people to leave their homes in the countryside and move into the cities. People out his way are being told that Springfield will be a safe place and how the countryside is a dangerous place these days.”
“What’s the danger?” asked Ray.
“He didn’t say. Actually, he didn’t know. Authorities just talked about dangers.”
“Well, times up, folks. We’d better sign off. 73s all. Talk to you tomorrow at the regular time. K1NTZ clear.”
“73s,” crackled Ray and Joyce. Walter shut off his radio equipment then shuffled outside to shut down his generator.
“It will be awhile before he goes on to his skips,” said Sally. “Can I get you all some supper? I’ve been saving this can of tuna for a special occasion. Don’t get many visitors these days.”
“No, but thank you,” said Martin. “We brought some supper with us. How about we just eat ours with you and Walter?”
“That would be lovely. Let me get some more hot water for another cup of tea. I see your cup is empty.”
Martin, Dustin and Judy ate the flatbread, slice of cheese and apple wedges that Margaret had packed for them. Walter and Sally each had a slice of bread and a chicken broth soup with a few green beans floating in it. The Simmons household was not the only one conserving against an uncertain future.
No one seemed to notice the meager fare. They were too busy telling their stories. Dustin told his harrowing tale of the Georgia-New Jersey man and driving blind. Martin told of Cupcake and Andy, though he avoided the hotness details for Judy’s sake. Judy was mostly silent, but listened intently as Walter told some of the things he had heard on his radio.
“Seems like it might be late enough,” Walter glanced at the clock. He pushed back his chair. “You all gather ‘round the set there. Pull up some chairs. I’ll go fire up the genny again.”
Judy sat nearest Walter’s chair. She had an eager look.
“Lessee…” Walter sat down and turned some knobs. “I got something here the other night.” Nothing came through but static. “Okay…maybe this one.” Something buzzed through the static. He turned another knob. The sound improved but resembled someone speaking Spanish through a kazoo. Walter turned the big knob very slowly.
“Skips aren’t so good in the cooler weather,” Walter said apologetically. “So we won’t be getting Rio or Paris, or anything.” He resumed turning the big knob. After turning it all the way to the stop, he frowned at his equipment.
“I’m gonna try something unusual. Maybe I can get some skips on FM. Usually too much local clutter, but nowadays…” Walter put on a pair of headphones, flipped a couple switches and stared at a small meter as he slowly turned another knob. He would occasionally pause, but shake his head and resume turning the knob.
At one point, Walter tensed up. “Hey, hey. I got something….hold on…” He fiddled with another piece of equipment that had not been turned on before. “Yeah, uh huh. Okay, how’s this?” Walter flipped a switch so everyone could hear.
“…most of their equipment was rescued from the arts center fire last week. In the best show business tradition, the directors have set up the available musicians in the old Orpheum Theater on North Broadway. KYWA wanted to bring to you this live performance of the Wichita Symphony Orchestra.
“While this might be the last performance for the foreseeable future, the musicians have called this their one small act of defiance against this present crisis: proof that our city is not decaying into barbarism like so many others.
“Since the Orpheum is located near our broadcast studio, we were able to arrange this live feed. We must also thank all of those who donated fuel to run our generators. Thanks to your generosity, you have made this night possible for everyone in our radio audience tonight.
“As I sit here in the balcony, waiting for the orchestra to enter, I am struck by the timeless of this scene. The Orpheum is a 1920s-era theater and we are broadcasting live, like a 1930s radio show. The Orpheum seats a little over a thousand, and it is packed here tonight. The improvised oil lamp stands along the walls provide a warm, if marginal lighting. A line of camping lanterns line the edge of the stage — improvised footlights …Oh. The musicians are coming onto the stage.”
The sound of applause and enthusiastic cheering erupted.
“It looks like three quarters, or so, of the performers were able to make it for tonight’s performance.”
The sound of tuning up instruments mingled with the continued soft applause, created a chaotic din.
“And here comes the conductor, Hagen Daniels.”
Loud cheers from the audience drowned out the vigorous applause.
“We now present the Wichita Symphony Orchestra playing Johannes Brahms’ Symphony Number Four in E minor.”
The cheers slowly died down. A long moment of silence was broken only by the occasional cough from the audience.
The music burst forth from Walter’s speakers with an unexpected richness. Everyone seated around the radio set stared intently. No one moved throughout the entire first movement. In the dim lamplight, Martin could see the wet track of a tear on Judy’s cheek.
Part way into the second movement, an intermittent skip grew into more obvious gaps of silence. They were easy to ignore at first, but became longer and more intrusive.
“Shoot,” Walter stood up and adjusted another knob. “I think we’re losing it.” Despite his efforts, the music finally stuttered out. Only soft static remained.
“Sorry, everyone. I’ll see if I can get something else.” Walter slipped on his headphones. He began flipping switches and twisting knobs like Oz behind his curtain.
“Are you okay?” Dustin asked Judy.
She nodded. “That was so…beautiful.”
“Really? You never liked classical music.”
“I didn’t, but that sounded… I don’t know.…it sounded kinda sad, somehow…and yet at the same time hopeful. I liked that. Can you get it back?”
“I don’t think so, miss. Sorry,” said Walter. “Let me see what else is floating around out there.” He turned a knob while looking in the distance at nothing, like safe-crackers do in the movies.
“Can I get you some more tea?” Sally asked. “Maybe a slice of bread?”
Martin was still quite hungry, but he declined the bread. Who knew how much food Walter and Sally had — or did not have. Nonetheless, the rules of hospitality dictated that she offer. “I’ll take another cup of tea, if that’s okay.”
Sally smile broadly. The rules of hospitality were satisfied. “Sure. I’m sure the kettle is hot by now.” She hurried out to the living room.
“I think I’ve picked up something else. Hold on.” Walter adjusted a small knob until a little red light flickered on. “No idea what it is, or where it is.” He pulled off his headphones.
“…have less than eight hours left to comply with the situation commander’s order to vacate the facility. Thus far, those behind the barricades have shown no sign of dismantling their barriers or preparing to withdraw. In the Army’s searchlights, I can see a yellow flag flying the workers hoisted below the American flag at the center of the Acre Fresh warehouse compound. We hope to stay on the air to give you live coverage of this tense situation.”
“Wonder what that’s all about?” mused Dustin.
“And where,” added Walter.
“This whole confrontation ha
s escalated far out of proportion, if you ask me. It would not have come to this ultimatum by the Army’s situation commander if the Governor had simply ordered the state police to force the workers to comply with the executive order. The Governor’s comments that state police are for public safety and not federal collections is clearly contradicted by the danger everyone is facing down there. This could be a public safety nightmare.”
“If the state police had been sent in earlier, all those other people would not have been able to join the workers inside the Acre Fresh compound, escalating the situation. It was only after units of 99th Regional Security Command set up roadblocks on Gilchrist Road by the overpass and south, where the train tracks cross, that the area was secured. Now, no one is being allowed near the site.”
