The Whole Town's Talking

by Fannie Flagg

  Elner took the baby rabbit, examined it, then handed it back to her and nodded yes. Then Hanna Marie quickly wrote down her next question. “How can you tell?”

  Elner looked over at Norma for help. “Oh Lord, Norma, I can’t write that down.”

  Norma laughed. “Well, you’d better write something, or else she’ll just keep asking.”

  Elner took the pad and wrote, “Girl bunnies have shorter ears.”

  It was a lie, of course, but it must have satisfied Hanna Marie, because she was on to the next question.

  “Aunt Elner, can we go and see the baby goats now? Please!”

  Elner put her tea down and stood up. “Oh, sure, honey. Come on, Norma. Let’s go see the goats.”

  Norma shook her head. “No, you all go. I don’t care much for goats. They smell. So if you don’t mind, I’ll just sit here and observe from afar.”

  “Well, okay, but hold the fort down till we get back.”

  As they went down the steps, Norma called out, “Linda, you hold on to Aunt Elner’s hand now.”

  Norma smiled as she watched Hanna Marie and Linda head off to the barnyard with Aunt Elner, so excited. She remembered when she had been that age she had felt the same way, coming out to the farm to visit. So much in her life had changed since then. Everything but Aunt Elner. She was still the same sweet person she always was. She even looked the same.

  * * *

  THE WHOLE TOWN’S TALKING

  * * *

  by Mrs. Ida Jenkins

  The whole town’s talking about the new pink stoves and refrigerators now offered. What fun. Finally the kitchen doesn’t have to be the same old black and white dull affair it was in the past.

  Also, there is much excitement about the new planned community being built right off the new interstate highway. As we are so close to Joplin, Husband Herbert tells me that within a year, over 75 affordable brick ranch-style homes will be ready for commuters. So many new young couples are needing housing. Husband Herbert says this will be a real boon to our downtown and schools.

  Some say that a weeping willow tree brings bad luck. Well, I have it on good account that under one of the lovely weeping willow trees that line our lake, Miss Edna Bunt said “Yes” to Mr. Ralph Childress. By the way, did you know that the willow’s origin is China? We don’t agree with their Communist policies, but we do love their trees.

  Have you done your Christmas shopping? I haven’t. However, downtown is so festive and merry with all the lights strung across Main Street, it makes it all such fun. We love the music piped from the stores now. Have you seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in the hardware store window? Yes…it glows!

  By the way, a fresh sprig or two of holly placed upon a mantel or holiday table is so festive…don’t you think?

  * * *

  1956

  At the city council meeting that May, as they discussed whether the town needed its own police department, Merle Wheeler brought up a good point. He said, “I don’t think it’s good for a town not to have some kind of law and order. It looks like we don’t care.”

  “I agree,” added Glenn Warren. “And we don’t want to have to call in the Joplin Police every time we have a little problem. Besides, we have to think about the future. I heard this new rock and roll music is a Communist plot to lower the morals of our young people. Have you seen that Elvis Presley guy? Who knows what they will start doing next? We need to be ready.” It was put to a vote and passed.

  At the same meeting, Mayor Ted Nordstrom brought up another excellent point. “Listen, while we’re at this, don’t you all think it’s time for us to have an election? I’ve been doing this for a long time, and somebody else might want a chance to run for mayor.”

  Herbert Jenkins quickly spoke up. “It would just be a waste of time and money, Ted. Nobody is going to run against you…and for God’s sake, don’t give my wife any ideas about running for mayor. She’s never home as it is.”

  Later, when newspaper owner and editor Cooter Calvert covered the meeting, he reported the yes vote to create a local police department. But he did not include anything about a possible mayoral election. He knew it was withholding information from the public, but Ida Jenkins was already driving everyone in town crazy with all of her hare-brained projects. If she ever became mayor, there’d be no telling what the woman might do.

  Lucille Beemer had been at Still Meadows for quite a few years now, and she still loved her job. It was fun to see all the different reactions from people who arrived there, especially the ones who had been so terribly sick, to not have any more pain and to suddenly feel light as a feather. And every day was a surprise. You never knew just who might be coming up next.

  Lucille Beemer didn’t know it, yet, but in a few days, she was going to be in for a surprise herself.

  Lucille had just finished greeting Mrs. Koonitz and welcoming her to Still Meadows. She no sooner had gotten her settled in when another resident arrived. “Good afternoon, and welcome to Still Meadows,” Lucille said. “We are so happy you are with us, and we will do everything we can to make you feel at home. May I ask, to whom am I speaking?”

  “What?” said a man, who was still clearly a little confused.

  “To whom am I speaking?” she repeated.

  “Oh. I’m Gustav…Gustav Tildholme.”

  If Lucille hadn’t been dead, she would have fainted. This time, she really was speechless.

  After a long moment, Gustav said, “Is anybody there? Hello?”

  “Gustav, it’s Lucille Beemer. Do you remember me? I used to be your teacher?” She waited, but he did not answer. He obviously didn’t remember her, so she continued on, trying to hide her disappointment. “Well, there’s certainly no reason in the world you should, it was so long ago. I just want to let you know that you are up at Still Meadows, safe and sound, and you have a lot of family and old friends here that will be so happy to say hello. Shall I tell your mother you are here or would you rather rest first?…Gustav?”

  “Do I remember you? I never forgot you for one minute. I even remember what you were wearing the last time I saw you.”

  “Oh.” Lucille was taken aback. “Do you?”

  “My God, yes. Is it really you?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  Suddenly, a flood of memories came rushing back, and Gustav was once again a big, handsome, strapping boy of sixteen, and she was still the pretty young teacher of eighteen with roses in her cheeks.

  Gustav never saw the little spinster with gray hair and glasses she had become. She never met the bald, wrinkled old man that he was today. In each other’s eyes, they would always be young.

  They both had so many questions they wanted to ask, but Gustav’s parents could not wait another minute and called out, “Hello!” and soon others were joining in to speak to him as well.

  Katrina said to Lucille, “It must be so nice for you to have Gustav here. I remember that he was always one of your favorites.”

  “Oh yes,” replied Lucille. “He always was.”

  * * *

  THE WHOLE TOWN’S TALKING

  * * *

  by Mrs. Ida Jenkins

  Criminals, beware! This week, the whole town’s talking about our very first officer of the law, Mr. Ralph Childress, a recent graduate of the Police Academy in Kansas City. I am sure with Ralph on the job, we will all feel much safer. So when you see him in his brand-new black-and-white police car, give him a wave.

  By the way, Ralph’s lovely bride, Edna, is also not unknown in these parts. As you all may recall, last fall, she was a finalist in the Pillsbury Bake-Off contest with her one-of-a-kind sweet-and-sour double cream apple pie. Yum yum. Ralph is the son of Mary and Richard Childress. Edna is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. D. Nobblit of Second Avenue South.

  We were saddened to hear of the death of Elmwood Springs native Mr. Gustav Tildholme, who still has several cousins living in the area. Mr. Tildholme was buried here last week. Arvis and Neva Oberg, who own the R
est Assured Funeral Home and were in charge of the interment, said that dozens of condolences came in for Mr. Tildholme from all around the world. I am told that Mr. Tildholme had been quite successful in the import-export business and owned companies in many different countries.

  P.S. Make sure your roses are watered. And don’t forget to watch out for aphids. Remember, ladybugs are your roses’ best friend.

  * * *

  Some time later, after Gustav had said hello to everyone, he and Lucille continued their conversation where they’d left off.

  He said, “I always thought about you, always wondered how you were doing. After I left, I had some crazy notion that I would come back with lots of money, buy the old farm, and—”

  “Oh, Gustav, I wish you had written.”

  “I should have. But then I heard you were engaged to be married, so I just didn’t.”

  “But…I was never engaged to anyone.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “No, Gustav…that was wrong.”

  “I heard that you were…so then I just took off. Jumped on a freighter and just traveled the world. Japan, China, India, South America, you name it.”

  “Oh my, Gustav, all those exotic places. But then, you always did so well in geography.”

  “Yes, I guess that was the one subject I really liked. So…you never married?”

  “No…never.”

  Gustav said, “Good God, all these years, I thought you had. I was a fool to run off like that. Too much pride, I guess. I wasted all that time. Always looking for someone like you. I even married once. A really nice lady in Rio de Janeiro. But she was not you. I should have just come home….How could I have been so damn stupid?”

  “Oh, Gustav, it’s not your fault. I could have written to you and asked you to come home…I suppose I was just too afraid of what people might say. But we can’t do anything about the past. You’re here now, and that’s all that really matters…and if you had come back, you might never have seen the world.”

  “That’s probably true…but what about you, Lucille?”

  “Well…I was lonely at times. Luckily, I had my students. And you know, Gustav, to this very day some of my old students still come out and visit me. Can you imagine that?”

  “I can. You were a wonderful teacher.”

  “Oh, thank you, Gustav. It means the world to me that you thought so.”

  It was true. She had been a wonderful teacher. Lucille’s life had been, in some ways, a lonely life, but a fulfilling one. She loved watching all of her students grow into adults. And then teaching their children, and later their grandchildren, had brought her a lot of comfort.

  She didn’t know it, but she had changed so many lives just by being there year after year, and by saying the right things at the exact right time.

  One student, a frail boy who some of the other boys sometimes made fun of, had gone on to become a very successful playwright in New York and had written to tell her about something she had forgotten:

  Even when I was failing math and everything else and I was feeling so bad about myself, you sat down with me and said, “Honey, there are those who do well at math, and then there are those, like yourself, who have been blessed with a creative mind and a wonderful imagination. I just know you are going on to do great things.” You’ll never know how you changed my life that day.

  Sadly, she had not lived to hear it. But when that same student won the Tony Award for “Best Play of the Year,” he had ended his acceptance speech with these words: “Last of all, I’d like to thank my sixth-grade teacher, who believed in me when nobody else did.” He then raised the award up in the air, looked up, and said, “This is for you, Miss Beemer.”

  —

  AS LUCILLE BEEMER HAD learned over the years, people may never really know why their lives turn out the way they do, but in the end, they usually turn out exactly the way they’re supposed to. She had lost Gustav for a while, and it had been hard, but she had him now forever and just maybe…even beyond.

  After Gustav had been at Still Meadows for a couple of years, he said to her, “Honey, listen. If one day, I should leave here before you do, remember this: No matter where I go…or wherever I am, I’ll wait for you. I’m not going to lose you again. No matter what, I’ll find you.”

  Old Man Hendersen suddenly called over. “Good God almighty. How long are you two gonna keep all this love mush up? You’re making me sick.”

  Gustav laughed and yelled back, “Forever, you crazy old coot. Go back to sleep.”

  —

  DOWN IN ELMWOOD SPRINGS, things continued to run pretty smoothly. People were laughing at Candid Camera and The Red Skelton Show and enjoying The Garry Moore Show with funny girl Carol Burnett. Elner Shimfissle, who had just gotten television out at the farm, never missed The Lawrence Welk Show. Her mother had played the accordion, and she liked his playing and loved to watch Lawrence and the “Champagne Lady” dance. And all the young girls were in love with Tab Hunter.

  By 1960, Sweet Clover Dairy had expanded its products into six states. It not only was providing a lot of employment for locals, but it had become a real source of pride to the town.

  When Glenn Warren attended a dinner for Midwest store owners, held in Cincinnati, he asked Mr. Sockwell of Little Rock, Arkansas, if he had ever heard of Sweet Clover Dairy butter. Mr. Sockwell said, “Sure, they stock their products in all the local markets in my area. The wife buys the milk and cheese, too…why?”

  “That company was started in my hometown.”

  “Really…Huh…”

  “Yes, by a Swedish fellow named Nordstrom. My dad was good friends with him.”

  Ander and Beatrice had done so many things that had endeared them to the community. In 1949, they had started a college scholarship fund and had funded the building of the local hospital.

  Ander had also put up the money to bail Tot Whooten’s husband, James, out of jail on numerous occasions. When he brought him home for about the fifth time, Tot said, “Ander, thank you, but you ought to just let him sit in jail for a while….He’s just gonna do it again.” And, of course, he did.

  —

  NORMA’S DAUGHTER, LINDA, WAS now attending Dixie Cahill’s School of Tap and Twirl. Tot Whooten’s daughter, Darlene, had been attending, but Dixie called Tot one day and told her that it was best that Darlene not come back. Dixie said, “Tot…Darlene is never going to make a dancer, and I hate to have you spend your hard-earned money on something that is never going to pay off.”

  —

  IN OCTOBER OF 1963, when Mayor Ted Nordstrom passed away, there were more than two hundred people at his funeral. His sister, Ingrid, was at the graveside service, and it was good for Katrina to see her daughter again. Ted’s passing was a great loss for the town, but his transition up to Still Meadows was an easy one. So many people couldn’t wait to talk with him, and he felt the same way. The first day, he told his old teacher, “Just think, Miss Beemer, I was able to say hello to my mother and my son on the same day.” There was something so comforting about that to Gene. Having his father join him at Still Meadows made him realize he would never be forgotten.

  Later, Gene said to Ted, “Hey, Dad. I haven’t seen Marion or Dena in a long time. Are they all right?”

  “Oh, yes, son. They’re fine. The only reason you haven’t seen them is that Marion had to go back home for a while. I think somebody in her family was sick. Anyhow, she then went to New York and had a really nice high-paying job in some big fancy department store. I think it’s called…oh, I forget…your mother knows. You wouldn’t recognize Dena now. Marion just sent us a picture of her. She had her photograph in Seventeen magazine. A regular grown-up girl now.”

  Gene smiled at the thought of his daughter being a teenager now, busy running around doing teenage things, as he once had.

  At the next Elmwood Springs City Council meeting, Glenn Warren was appointed the new mayor. He said, “Geez, fellows, I don’t know. Being mayor is a big responsibil
ity. Can’t we have an election?”

  “Now, Glenn,” said Merle Wheeler, “you were Ted’s best friend. You need to do this.”

  Trapped. He finally agreed.

  When Glenn went home for lunch to tell his wife, Ola, he was surprised when she met him at the door with a great big “Hello, Mayor Warren.”

  “How did you know? It just happened.”

  She laughed. “Verbena Wheeler called me.”

  “Oh. She couldn’t wait to get on the horn and spread the news, could she?”

  “No.”

  It was true. A piece of information like that was like a piece of hot coal to Verbena Wheeler. She just had to get rid of it as fast as she could. By two o’clock that afternoon, everybody in town knew that Glenn Warren was now the mayor of Elmwood Springs.

  Up at Still Meadows, nature was putting on a wonderful show. Just last week, a large hawk suddenly flew up out of a tree, and the bright moonlight turned his wings as white as snow as he sailed over the hill and down into the valley.

  And when the big jet planes started flying over, they too became part of the big show. It was amazing how many planes they saw flying over at night; big planes, little planes, their red and white lights blinking in the dark night sky.

  The first time one old Norwegian farmer saw a jet, he said to his grandson, “You mean to tell me there are real, live people riding in that thing?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve flown on a jet—went from St. Louis to New York on one.”

  “And did you feel like you were sitting in a bird?”

  “Oh, no. No, it’s too noisy for that. And the wings don’t flap.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Well…you get inside a tube that looks like a long, skinny bus. You find your seat and strap yourself in, and in a few minutes, they turn on these big loud engines. Then they drive down the runway as fast as they can, and before you know it, it lifts up off the ground, and you look down and see the ground way down below, and you are up in the clouds, on your way.”