The Fix-It Clan

This tale is a continuation of "Dyno-Might." It moves us into the aftermath of that fateful day. As previously mentioned, Tina and Albert's trailer was blown to smithereens when the over use of dynamite failed to dislodge a bolder in front of their house. So intense was the blast that large chunks their mobile home shot into the air and landed over 300 feet away. Most of the debris wound up on, in, or around Albert's parents home.

One item that did considerable damage was the water heater. It rocketed into the air and landed on the roof of Albert's folks front porch. Now his folks, Wanda Jean and Robbie Ray, were very laid back and pretty much took what ever life handed them in stride. However, a flying water heater apparently crossed some thin line and caused quite a commotion amongst the clan.

Now the interesting thing is that apparently it wasn't an issue of the large smoldering hole it left in the roof of the porch that caused the disagreement. I honestly believe that alone would have been acceptable. The crux of the problem was was that the impact caused by both the explosion and the flying water heater left the porch sitting sharply at opposite angles from the house. It canted off so steeply, that it made it impossible for the senior clan dog "Bare Lee" (don't ask, that's a another story for another time) to lay on the porch without rolling off.

Well about a month passed and the porch still hadn't been repaired. No big surprise there. After all, these things take considerable amounts of beer, tobacco, poker playing, and intense contemplation.

But, as with the passing of seasons, all things eventually take on a new light, and "The boys" finally came up with what they thought was a feasible plan. Tearing down the old structure and building a new one was, to them, an unnecessary amount of work. They reasoned that since the basic framework was sound, there was no need to waste valuable drinking time and energy to tear it down and then just to put it back up again.

In all fairness, I suppose I would have to agree that there didn't appear to be structural damage to the posts. The roof was shot, but the posts and deck looked fairly sound. Really, all in all, from an artistic point of view, it pretty much just looked like a hillbilly version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Because "The boys" had become the brunt of some pretty ruthless jokes after they destroyed half the town while attempting to remove the bolder, they decided to keep their current plan under wraps.

To their way of thinking, the simplest way to fix something that was leaning, was to push or pull it back into a non-leaning position. They were big men so brute strength, a couple of beers, a few sledge hammers, a couple of beers, a house jack, a couple of beers, various other implements, and a few more beers should have done the trick. But to their surprise it didn't. So they came up with another plan.

It is conceivable that the second plan may have worked if it hadn't involved another twelve pack of beer, a very long chain, and a truck that lost it's steering column in the infamous explosion.

Here's what happened:

" The boys" wrapped one end of the long chain to one of the foremost posts on the porch and the other end to the back of the ailing pickup truck. One of them (no one will admit who was driving) got into the pickup truck, took up the slack between the post and the truck, and in their own words; "we gave 'er a gentle tug."

Apparently after a lot of creaking and groaning from the porch, and considerable spinning of the trucks tires, the anonymous driver was told to "hit 'er a little harder and pull 'er more to the left" Now instructions like that are always open to interpretation. I suppose it's a mater of just how much harder "a little harder" actually is. Then there is never ending question of who's left is really left. The latter problem can suddenly become an even bigger problem when someone tries to steer a truck that has no steering.

While this ingenious plan was being implemented, rest of the town, Bruce and I included, had no idea what was going on up the hill. Our perception of that balmy spring day was blissful and positive. Until, that is, the 911 line dedicated to Wanda Jean and Robbie Ray shattered our calm.

I answered the line and said "911 what's your emergency?" (I was required to say that because sometimes folks called to check on the weather or to see if we had ripe tomatoes in sock. Answering the phone in a stiff professional manner sent the message that this was a dedicated line for emergency use only...of course ANY call coming on a line belonging to one of the clan members was always an emergency.)

I sucked in a deep breath and listened as Wanda Jean wailed into my ear "Well they done it! The boys done it! I need an Amb-ba-lance and the undertaker "

My right hand reached automatically for a second line that would dispatched the sheriff, the ambulance, and the volunteer fire department. "What's happened?" I asked as calmly as I could while I punched in various codes to alert first emergency responders.

"Well what happened is that they broke my wind chimes! Every single one of them is busted!" My mind went numb. I couldn't recall an emergency dispatch code for broken wind chimes.. was there one? I tried not to panic. I had been trained to remain calm at all times and to get all the information I could, so I moved past the broken wind chimes and asked "What's happened, why do you need an ambulance and the coroner?"

She shouted "Well it ain't quite happened yet 'cause the boys ran off, but I got the shotgun right here, and when I see them if they are lucky they'll just need the am-ba -lance, but if I'm lucky they'll need the undertaker!"

"Wanda Jean" I said " Put the shotgun down and Bruce and I will be right up." I hung up the phone, and canceled the first response teams. After that, Bruce and I locked the store up and went up the hill to what was going on.

We were surprised, although I have no idea why, to see her front porch strewn out over about a 50 foot area. The bumper of the pickup truck was laying in the middle of the road with a long chain twisted around it. The empty truck was laying on its side halfway down an embankment looking like a charred elephant.

We climbed over the debris, something we were becoming quite accustomed to doing, and reached Wanda Jeans house. Still clutching the shotgun, she stood in the middle of a gaping hole where a door used to be. She was crying and pointing to the ground. Apparently the loss of the porch and a considerable portion of her house didn't bother her too much...but the tangled mess of wind chimes that used to adorn her porch was a transgression not soon to be forgiven.