Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #235

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Posted on December 1, 2019

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #235

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

From the Ashes

…Fifteen years. 5475 days. A lot can happen in that span of time and it has. In present day 1935, lives have changed…

Judith Eastman, for one, has lost both her husband and brother in the same year, of the same disease. At age 72 she has lived a rich and fulfilling life, but do not think for a moment that that matters now. She would gladly trade all that personal gratification for the companionship she now is lacking.

The Great Depression took its toll on everyone, even those like the Pearson-Eastman’s who were financially immune to bankruptcy.

George Eastman, a man of much wealth and benevolence, lived his last years with a broken heart, so did he mourn for the ruined majority around him. During the Roaring Twenties he gave away more than $70 million to his favorite educational institutions. How was he to know, that would only be enough money to help the worse-off of the worse? He did what he could, right up until his 78 year old heart did truly break.

Harv Pearson had to see all those crushed spirits and forlorn faces twice. Having to see them in person, day after day, is difficult enough. Inserting Judith’s pictures of some of those very same into their magazine, would break his heart as well. He had survived a hurricane, dodged submarines and bullets, but could not, in the end, defeat a human condition in despair.

The Pearson-Eastman Journal, whose gripping photographs and human-interest stories became a monthly fixture in a million American households in 1901, will have life as long as Judith Eastman draws a breath.

Alpha Omega M.D.

Episode #235

page 220

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #178

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Posted on September 24, 2019

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #178

…I would rather be a beat walking cop on the streets of New York, enforcing the truth, than to be the sheriff in a corrupt county…

Top Cat Beat Cop (Officer Dibble)

“You don’t have that Clete punk in custody and some hotshot lawyer is calling the shots. Not in my lifetime.” Hank Blount has been blinded by his usurped power and his racial predisposition.

“I wouldn’t underestimate them.”

“Them?”

“They are employees of Herbert Love. Did you really expect him to stay out of it?” Straight talk usually doesn’t work with Blount, because he always has a way around trouble. “But that’s not the worst of it. The lawyer wants to talk to Charlie’s girl, Hank.”

“You know she is on her way to Panama City. She ain’t pregnant anymore and she won’t be around to tell her story. I am not in the mood to hand over the nigger and that little tramp is history. We’ll have the only witness, the guy who saw them trying to leave the scene of an accident.”

“They saved the girl’s life by prying open Charlie’s roadster and you know how fast he drives.”

“Do you like having a job, sheriff? I butter your bread, so you best decide which side you are on.”

Upon further review, weighing conscience and justice, the Calhoun County Sheriff removes his badge. “You’re on your own, Hank. No way am I goin’ to be part of this big a lie.”

Blount turns to fraud. “Be out of your house in 48 hours. The Bank of Blountstown is calling in your loan. You should have made last month’s payment on time.”

“I told you why we couldn’t, the new baby and all…”

“You better be more loyal in your next job, if you get one,” Blount supposes.

“I may not get a job, but I am sure the district judge will listen to what I have to say.” The sheriff turns the tables. “And it won’t stop with this case.”

For as long as anyone can remember, Hank Blount is without slick retort. His unopposed power seems to be eroding, because of a previously least threatening source: a black man, in a hopelessly incriminating position.

He never calls “his” sheriffs by their names, not wanting to get to know them or their families, in full realization that he may discard them, for the slightest insubordination, at any given moment. “Perhaps I have spoken in haste, sheriff. I know what they teach you in police training, but sometimes you have to skirt the law to achieve justice.”

“Justice? Upholding the law is why I became a peace officer and I have come the conclusion that there is little of that in Blountstown. I would rather be a beat walking cop on the streets of New York, enforcing the truth, than to be the sheriff in a corrupt county.” There are times when morals trump money. “I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping two days from now, but I can assure you that it will be with a clear conscience.”

“They are going to ask why you resigned.”

“I will tell the truth. You will make up something.”

The sandy soil of Calhoun County is shifting as fast as did the bedrock in San Francisco; one is already being reconstructed, the other may not see that day in a Blount’s lifetime.

Alpha Omega M.D.

Episode #178

page 165 (end ch. 9)

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #147

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Posted on August 19, 2019

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #147

…I hope Susan B. Anthony is waiting for you in the lobby – that would fix your wagon!…

“Has Beacon Hill copyrighted the name, Pearson-Eastman Journal?” asks Abbey in typically pointed fashion.

“Well, no, we have been swamped with the addition of Herbert Love to the limited partnership. It’s not like merely adding a name to a document you know,” James dares to clarify.

“If they do not have patent rights to their name, the first issue is fair game for plagiarism, or even worse, another magazine stealing their format ideas.”

“Yes,” he concedes, “I see your point. Sometimes even the senior partners lose track of details, seeing that we have over a one hundred clients that I am aware of. Not the least of them is J.P. Morgan’s scheme to freeze John D. Rockefeller out of the steel business.”

“I guess that makes George Eastman chopped liver?”

“No, but he is a silent partner. Judith is the Eastman in the lead.”

“Perhaps when women gain the right to vote, we’ll get some respect,” Abbeys states emphatically.

“Well, I respect you, honey bunch.” Oops.

“You can take your honey bunch and put it in the cellar next to the old potatoes. When men have the nerve to respect women outside the walls of the home, then and only then will God be glorified and true equality happening for all.”

“I must take my leave Hon…uh, Abbey. The office is expecting me.”

“Coward! I hope Susan B. Anthony is waiting for you in the lobby – that would fix your wagon!”

“I heard she is in a sanatorium, old and crazy I suspect.”

He should have kept walking.

“You best stop at the diner on your way home.”

“What?”

“And you will find your bed-things on the sofa. It will give you time to ponder women’s suffrage.”

This time he moves through the door without clever commentary. The doghouse is a lonely place.

Alpha Omega M.D.

Episode #147

page 135

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode # 131

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Posted on July 31, 2019

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #131

…“We had one lady who claimed that cigars were causing her husband’s poor health. I guess he had trouble breathing.”

“What nonsense,” Statler posits, “sounds like good old fashioned consumption to me?”…

Bad Habits by Dion Ja’Y

The Tallahassee folks on to good food & important friends.

“We make cigars, among other commodities, Mister Statler,” Herb pulls a Loyal Campbell from his tweed jacket pocket, handing it to their sponsor.

“There is nothing like a good cigar after a good dinner,” he bows his head in gratitude, passing it under his nose, looking at the wrapper ring. “Is that you?” He asks of Willy, referring to the representation on the ring.

“Yessir, it is.”

Herb continues his thought, “Yes, well, if you can imagine this, we had one lady who claimed that cigars were causing her husband’s poor health. I guess he had trouble breathing.”

“What nonsense,” Statler posits, “sounds like good old fashioned consumption to me?”

They finally gain a private room, apart from the commercial banquet facility. About sixty guests are presently mingling, including the Presidential host. He seems completely at ease, appearing to have shed any and all problems of his life and the world in general. Gone, for the moment, are worries about his dear frail, convalescent Ida. The Boer War in South Africa and “Boxer Rebellion” fade to the background, especially since he has a second in command to rely on. Teddy Roosevelt, whose motto is, “Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.”, is the perfect second term Vice-president; young, capable and right there for the Republican party should William McKinley choose not to run for a third term.

Two long tables flank the room, each filled to capacity with every manner of salad, entree and gourmet dish. If any in attendance goes home hungry, the onus is on them.

The President sees Statler, as well as his Florida friends enter, capping his mental list of invitees. “May I have your attention,” he clinks his brandy snifter with handy silverware. “I see my table has arrived, so without further ado, please indulge your selves in God’s generous blessings!”

The crowd needs little of the prompting, having already staked out their seats, at one of the six circular oak tables, as well as exactly what crystal plate or dish in the buffet they are going to attack first.

McKinley wraps his arms around as many of his Southern folks as he can, separately or at one time. They follow his lead to the feast. “Do not forget to bring your plate. I so enjoy being able to serve myself, don’t you. Ummmm, this looks good, shrimp cocktail. Doesn’t this rice look special…, Florentine is it not, Lady Ferrell?”

Martha, who waits directly behind, answers, “Pilaf with almonds, I believe,” having the unique opportunity to correct a President.

Jacob Haley and Jacques Francois help Willy and Amanda sort through the culinary montage, when they’re not screening the room for potentially single females.

Alfrey is attached to the Endlichoffers, which is no surprise, but is helpless in consoling Ziggy about the apparent oversight of schnitzel or Hasenpfeffer.

Alpha Omega M.D.

“No apologies – this is from 1941”

Episode #131

page 120

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #22

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Posted on March 26, 2019

Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #22

…Ferrell’s Folly – While the Cat’s Away…

John Ferrell’s (78 RPM) affection for Strauss comes to a scratchy end, begging attention; getting attention, diverting his attention from the balcony and Olla, who is frozen in place with an arm load of bedlinens. It takes a second or two, but he realizes that he is not alone in the house. With dress draped on his left arm, he ascends the winding staircase to speak to his maid in person.

“Would you draw me a nice hot bath, Olla? Oh—and would you hangs this on our bedroom door?”

“Yessir, Master Ferrell.” She boldly holds the dress up against her black satin uniform fancifully.

“Isn’t it beautiful? Mrs. Ferrell should love it.”

“It’s a dress fit for a queen!”

Her statement plants a seed in Ferrell, a thought that had not occurred to him. Change Martha’s hair color to black and deepen the hue of her skin and you have Princess Olla; she having a “Heinz 57″ blend of ethnicity. Her skin is quite fair, even considering her Seminole and black roots.

In fact, if she carried her breasts at a higher plane, with the aid of the newly engineered brassieres, the two women would be indistinguishable from a distance, that from a man’s eye.

Getting back to his original thought, before he began musing about what Olla’s body looks unclothed, he orders, “While I have my bath, please put on that dress for me—and let down your beautiful hair.” His musings are bleeding into his reality.

One hour into his bath, the ruminations remain unimpeded. His daydream fantasies have expanded parts of him at the thought. He has never seen Princess Olla, born Laura Bell, attired in anything other than her uniform and wonders how the satin finery of the privileged will look on her.

“Laura Bell?! Bring me a fresh towel; I seem to have gotten this one soaking wet.” He dips it into the cooling water to prove his point.

As you might think, Laura Bell arrives at the master bath looking every ounce her princess-ly designation. She even had the initiative to find high heeled, high buttoned white shoes that would match the dress. If facial makeup were applied to her face, any man would be proud to have her on his arm; whatever the occasion, cotillion or inauguration.

As a towel bearer, her garb belies an awkward gate, yet she complies out of servitudinal obligation. Aside from that commitment, she must fight her own female attraction toward her employer, having self-imposed chastity since leaving the Apolachee reservation at age 12; a female neo-slave now 20 and ready to fulfill her womanhood.

Any barriers on both sides are lowered. Troublesome as the situation is, they are spontaneously unaffected by the outside world.

It is wrong, yet he looks at it as a gesture of caring and she is conceding her virginity to a man she respects and admires.

“Go into the bedroom and turn down the bed.” A spell has come over him, all of his senses vacating the premises. “I will towel off.”

Alpha Omega M.D.

Episode #22

page 21

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 208

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Posted on January 16, 2019

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 208

…“Marty, how’ve ya been man?” Ace likes Martin’s spunk, pretty cool for an egghead…

Without intentionally searching for it, Willard knows what it’s like to be a part of revival.

“Ever since that 3rd crusade event – what is that, a month and a half ago, I haven’t had so much as a hair out of place. The first two nights, however, I could feel something tugging at me or someone hovering around me, lurking.” Willard Libby knows full well that he has been the focus of a battle much bigger than him alone.

“Now you know what we’ve been dealing with all this time, with all the bad people, evil spirits and the devil himself doing more than nagging at us. On the other hand, we can sense that God is on our side, angelic intervention, if you will miraculous events and recoveries and now we get an instruction booklet on how to beat Satan at his own game.” This is one pumped Private Eye. “It is so significant that Billy buses have made a right turn from Iowa and they are headed back for an outside meeting at Kominski Field.”

“It cannot be both Constance, it is either Comiskey Park or Wrigley Field.” Martin Kamen is the resident baseball fan in and provides the proper stadia clarification.

“Marty, how’ve ya been man?” Ace likes Martin’s spunk, pretty cool for an egghead.

“With you guys out of town, it has been a breeze; no fires, kidnappings, hospitalizations, ice storms, or power blackouts.” He looks around and ducks his head, highlighting the possible dangers expected with their return.

“Can Billy count on your part of the live presentation on April 28^th and maybe 29^th too?” Connie asks.

“I have been talking to some other colleagues lately and I bet I could get them to join in, for a display of universal support,” Martin has bought in.

“You have a week and a half to work on that. Ace and I are going to have posters printed up. I called Eddie D and he said he would put them up around town.”

It is time to get busy.

Constance Caraway P.I.

Forever Mastadon

page 174

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 198

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Posted on January 4, 2019

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 198

…Wouldn’t you know, both liver & onions and meat loaf are not a part of today’s menu…

The would-be diners look at each other and say jointly, “We’ll have the fish fry.”

“That is locally caught perch with rye bread and a choice of coleslaw or french fries,” the waitress, a young woman with a farm girl look, recites by heart.

“Can we have both,” asks Ace. “We are starved. It’s been a long drive.”

“Chicago… that will be $1 dollar extra.” She is unintentionally ambiguous.

“Is the dollar for coming from Chicago or the extra food?”

She ignores the question as stated, “We get a lot of folks from Chicago in here, but you two are way more polite than most; you don’t even sound like you’re from the north. I’m good at guessing where a folk is from.”

“Give it a shot darlin’. I’ve got an Alexander Hamilton here that says you can’t guess what states we are from.”

She looks around, after seeing there are no other customers, then offers, “The lady looks like a true Southern Belle, maybe Georgia or the Panhandle.” She looks at Ace from his head and stopping at his feet, “You sir are from Texas.”

“Tallahassee, Florida,” CC raises her hand, while Ace adds, “Austin, Texas and I bet my rattlesnake boots gave me away.”

She grabs the $10 Silver Certificate and stuffs it into her apron, “Do you want tartar sauce?”

“I like you, you, you are ____,” prompts Ace?

“Polly, Polly Pabst.”

“I like you Polly Pabst, but I wouldn’t play poker against you; you’re cold.”

“I have a mortgage to pay.”

“We are headed to Oconomowoc; do you have a name of a good place to stay for a couple days?” Constance is planning ahead.

“Cooney is only 20 miles away…we have a cute motel on the north side of Eagle, you can’t miss it. Are you two married?”

The would-be overnighters look at each other and say jointly, “Yes-no, no-yes.”

“I ain’t being nosey, just that the older gentleman running the place used to be the preacher over at the Lutheran church and his wife is a bit of a prude.”

“We thank you for the head’s up,” Constance locks arms with Ace as they head out. “What is the Saturday Special?”

“Hasenpfeffer stew.”

“What kind of stew is that?”

“German for good, let’s go dear.”