Terry

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Posts by Terry

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  3

  Starman - the astronomer clown

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  this is a childhood memory.

  i and a few other scraggly urchins stood awkwardly in a circle surrounding "starman" as he demonstrated one of his baffling magic tricks.there was a garden faucet suspended in mid-air with water running out!head scratching followed.. "how do you do that, starman?".

  wayne, the mean kid from down by the tracks demanded to know.starman turned the spigot and the water ceased flowing.

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  Terry

  There is no field of human endeavor in which you can rise high enough to allow you
  to question basic assumptions of that field.
  Apostate is the dirtiest word of all.
  While heroic in some sense of letting the public discover dirty secrets, "whistleblowers"
  are damned, tortured, imprisoned, and all but destroyed.
  
  Perhaps families, institutions, religions, and society itself are most fragile because of the glue holding it all together being "assumptions" which must not be questioned.
  
  Curiosity dismantles a working mechanism. But all the King's horses and all the King's men can't put Humpty together again.
• 
  3

  Starman - the astronomer clown

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  this is a childhood memory.

  i and a few other scraggly urchins stood awkwardly in a circle surrounding "starman" as he demonstrated one of his baffling magic tricks.there was a garden faucet suspended in mid-air with water running out!head scratching followed.. "how do you do that, starman?".

  wayne, the mean kid from down by the tracks demanded to know.starman turned the spigot and the water ceased flowing.

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  Terry

  THIS IS A CHILDHOOD MEMORY

  I and a few other scraggly urchins stood awkwardly in a circle surrounding "Starman" as he demonstrated one of his baffling magic tricks.
  There was a garden faucet suspended in mid-air with water running out!
  Head scratching followed.
  
  

  "How do you do that, Starman?"

  Wayne, the mean kid from down by the tracks demanded to know.
  Starman turned the spigot and the water ceased flowing. He cocked his head toward Wayne and forced a smug grin.

  "I do it very well, I'd say."

  Each visit from Starman was special for one or the other of us. He would select one child and go off with him (some place out of sight) to tell a tale of astronomical interest, circus hijinx, or magic.

  I was the youngest kid on the block and never got chosen.

  I asked the older kids but nobody said a word.

  "Starman said if we tell--he'll stop coming around. Magic is secret and we swore."

  My feelings were hurt. I was the odd boy out. This wasn't unusual. I never fit in any place either on my block, at school, or at games the others played.

  "Who is that strange man?"

  My grandmother had noticed with her keen eye. There was something dark in the tone of her query.
  She definitely refused to accept my reply.

  "He's an astronomer-clown who knows lots of magic. He lives in the circus and ---"

  Grandma interrupted immediately. Her face was flushed.

  "Next time that man comes around you come straight in the house and tell me. You hear?"

  This frightened me but I didn't know why. I was worried I'd end up being blamed by the others if Starman stopped coming around. I did agree to report any astronomer-clown sightings, however.
  _____

  Years later, I was reading a comic book and came across an advertisement for a book revealing magic tricks secrets and it brought to mind that summer when Starman stopped visiting.

  I had dutifully made my report and was told in no uncertain terms to remain inside the house while Grandma went out to speak to him.
  I was at the window straining to hear but the two of them were too far away.l

  Starman was wearing what he always wore; baggy khaki pants and a Hawaiian shirt. He never looked my Grandma in the eye and seemed to say very little. She was doing all the talking.

  He had turned to leave but the police car came around the corner and he froze in place.

  My heart almost stopped. The neighborhood kids would find out about this and I'd be blamed! I didn't see any of them because he hadn't had time to round anybody up thanks to my intervention.
  I remember the black and white police car and how the little red light on top revolved a bright flashing sentinel as I stood at the window without understanding any of what I saw.

  A minute or so later, the police drove away and Starman walked off sadly, unmolested by the law.

  My grandma had nothing to say to me. She shut me down completely.
  The astronomer-clown never returned.

  
  _______
  One of the young kids who lived three blocks away was named Don Jetton. He and I walked home from Morningside Elementary school together sometimes. He wasn't exactly a friend, but neither was he a bully like most of the others.

  I screwed my courage to the hilt one afternoon and asked him.

  "Why do you think Starman stopped coming to see us?"

  He froze for a moment in mid stride. His face paled.
  I watched a flicker of pain pass over him.
  "I told my Mom. I broke my swear. She made me."

  This brought immense relief!
  I was bracing myself for accusation--but all that paranoia went away suddenly and I broke out in a beaming smile.

  I was emboldened.
  "What did you tell your Mom about Starman?"

  He stared at me with a strange expression.
  "Mom told me to never ... ever talk about that."

  I could see he wanted to tell me. What should I say?
  How could I convince him it was okay?

  As I was scheming in my head, Don Jetton turned to me and straight away let it all out in a streaming confessional.

  "He explained about the Big Bang and how many billions of years ago stuff suddenly happened and ...also how you could tell how old the universe is by something called redshift and... I can't explain it. I just listened and didn't ask any questions."

  "Why does any of that need keeping as a big secret?"

  "Cuz at the end of it all he was telling me...he leaned in close and whispered something in my ear."

  I waited until my patience ran out. Which was about five seconds.

  "Well, don't just stand there--TELL ME."

  I can't describe the guilty look on Don Jetton's face but it looked like he was about to pass out.

  "I'm waiting. Just say it already."

  He swallowed hard and made his decision. He pulled near and leaned toward my ear which caused me to pull back. I don't know what I was thinking he was going to do. Well, maybe I do. I thought he was going to kiss me. He didn't.

  He whispered so softly I made him repeat it.

  As soon as he told me, I had to stand pretty quietly for about a minute. My wheels were turning.
  I took what he said and matched it with the mysterious behavior and secrets and one kid at a time going off conspiratorily with Starman where nobody could see what was going on.

  Finally, I nodded with understanding.

  I suppose I could understand the anger my Grandma showed and why she didn't want to say anything.

  Back then, in the 1950's, such matters were very very scandalous in the South. After all, it was the so-called Bible Belt.

  There were things you could never tell a child--especially somebody else's child.

  Starman had whispered forbidden words. Three of them.

  The astronomer-clown who was a magician had revealed a very creepy secret.

  "There's no God."
  _____
  
  It baffled me why his mere opinion
  Upset so many parents.
  Did parents believe his secret was dangerous because - like Santa-
  It was true?
  
  Or were adults in a kind of World of Wrestling conspiracy of fakery and pretending it is real
  and any whistle-blower was dangerous to their sport?
  
  I can't say. Can you?
  
  We all see the water flowing from the faucet - right?
• 
  29

  The "Good Old Days" - what made em' good?

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  have you ever heard the phrase:.

  well, since i can't sleep tonight - you're gonna hear my version of what it means.. .

  so, just suck it up and deal.. .

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  Terry

  Have you ever heard the phrase:

  THE GOOD OLD DAYS?

  Well, since I can't sleep tonight - you're gonna hear my version of what it means.

  So, just suck it up and deal.

  _______

  ______

  
  

  Once Upon a Time there was RADIO.

  Every home had a radio.

  Radios were a BIG piece of furniture not as big as a refrigerator, but taller than your little brother, Timmy.

  
  

  1930s

  The golden age of radio — the period when radio reached its peak popularity with general audiences — was in the 1930s and 1940s. Strangely, part of this period was during the great depression in North America when people were doing without most luxuries, and even a few seeming necessities.

  
  

  Radio was a SHARED EXPERIENCE.

  Cultures which didn't like each other - without realizing it - shared the same love of the same radio dramas.

  THE SHADOW

  DICK TRACY

  GANG BUSTERS

  AMOS n' ANDY

  LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE

  THE LONE RANGER

  And on and on and on ...

  Think about that for a second, will you?

  Even people who hated each other sat down at the same time

  in front of a radio and listened "together" and laughed or cried about the same thing.

  A cultural miracle.

  
  

  People shared the SAME source: Radio.

  A window to the world.

  
  

  "Who cares?"

  "So what?"

  
  

  You don't want to miss my point: Radio was the glue which bound people together culturally when they didn't even know or like each other.

  
  

  Radio was imagination.

  A radio play took place inside your mind.

  The vividness was better than movies. Don't laugh. It's true.

  
  

  We all sang the same songs.

  We all laughed at the same (clean) jokes.

  
  

  Radio plays, mystery serials, soap operas, quiz shows, talent shows, daytime and evening variety hours, situation comedies, play-by-play sports, children's shows, cooking shows, and more.

  
  

  During the 1930s and 1940s, the leading orchestras were heard often through big band remotes, and NBC's Monitor continued such remotes well into the 1950s by broadcasting live music from New York City jazz clubs to rural America.

  
  

  The Golden Age of Radio featured the celebrated Italian conductor Arturo Toscanini conducting the NBC Symphony Orchestra, which had been created especially for him.

  
  

  At that time, nearly all classical musicians and critics considered Toscanini the greatest living maestro.

  
  

  Popular songwriters such as George Gershwin were also featured on radio. (Gershwin, in addition to frequent appearances as a guest, also had his own program in 1934.) The New York Philharmonic also had weekly concerts on radio.

  
  

  CULTURE was being formed and people glued together in their hearts and souls.

  
  

  That's what was "GOOD" about the Good Old Days.

  
  

  As a boy growing up in the 1950's, I listened with my great-grandmother, my grandfather, and my mother ...SHARING

  their tastes in music, humor, and a sense of what was fun.

  
  

  Today (need I remind you?) families are in individual bubbles, sealed off from each other with separate tastes, ideas, and living in different worlds. The 30s 40s 50s were NOT a Golden Age for ethnic groups or women. I'm not saying that. God no. I'm just focusing on what is called an ETHOS. (Look up the word). The absence of that ethos has made a big difference in our Society. That's my point. There shall be no new Good Old Days because of its absence.

  
  

  And that, my friends, is why we seem to be living in THE BAD OLD DAYS.

  We don't share the same collective tastes around a central space at the same time.

  
  

  We aren't together because we aren't together.

  
  

  And it will prove to be our undoing as a species.

  
  

  ____
• 
  9

  Step 1 : Steal a cadaver (Check!)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  step 1. steal a cadaver (check!).

  i live in fort worth.

  fortunately, he preceded me by half a century!.

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  Terry

  Interesting responses my little essay has attracted.
• 
  9

  Step 1 : Steal a cadaver (Check!)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  step 1. steal a cadaver (check!).

  i live in fort worth.

  fortunately, he preceded me by half a century!.

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  Terry

  
  
• 
  9

  Step 1 : Steal a cadaver (Check!)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  step 1. steal a cadaver (check!).

  i live in fort worth.

  fortunately, he preceded me by half a century!.

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• 

  Terry

  
  
  
• 
  9

  Step 1 : Steal a cadaver (Check!)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  step 1. steal a cadaver (check!).

  i live in fort worth.

  fortunately, he preceded me by half a century!.

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• 

  Terry

  Step 1. STEAL A CADAVER (Check!)

  ________________________

  I live in Fort Worth. For a time, so did serial murderer Henry Howard Holmes. Fortunately, he preceded me by half a century!

  Henry was an industrious young man who'd eventually become an extraordinary serial killer.

  Did he know his destiny? Hard to say.

  Here is what is known and true.

  Henry was a medical student with a wild imagination.
  There were all these dead bodies lying about and nobody to exploit them for profit. If only somebody could concoct a scam and collect money from insurance companies using those corpses...hmmm?
  
  
  
  

  Henry to the rescue! He was methodical.
  First things first ...and so on.

  Step 1. Steal a cadaver (Check!)

  Step 2. Steal the identity of the deceased. (Check!)

  Step 3. Take out a life insurance policy. (Check!)

  Step 4. Name yourself beneficiary in case of death. (Check!)

  Let’s cut to the chase...you’re getting ahead of the story. Obviously, Henry was able to collect plenty of money. After all, he could provide proof of death, right?

  The fun part was setting up an accident and positioning the body. Sound like a hoot? Well, for a future serial killer it sure would be!

  This sort of fraud was more exciting than some of Henry’s earlier schemes, profitable as they were, such as Mail Order cures for alcoholism. (Synopsis: stop drinking.)

  Then there was the wonderful contraption Henry invented which extracted “illuminating gas” from the water. (Do I have to tell you our boy had piped in natural gas from the city pipes?)

  Investors were impressed.

  The money rolled in. Henry rolled out.

  As Henry grew more sophisticated in his thinking, he turned to marrying rich widows!

  These women’s assets found their way into our ‘hero’s’ bank account shortly before the honeymooners went off on a trip around the world. Henry always came back. The spouse never did turn up! Divorce was unnecessary.

  30 years passed from the corpse theft days. All sorts of criminality found its way into Henry H. Holmes’ biography. Cattle theft was the least exciting, while hotel building proved to be one of the grandest and most grisly schemes this man’s twisted mind embarked upon for murderous purposes.

  I live in Fort Worth. For a time, so did serial murderer H.H. Holmes. In fact, Henry built a fabulous hotel in my fair city. The year is 1885 and the location was at the corner of Commerce St. and 2nd St.
  
  

  H.H.Holmes had married a railroad heiress in Cowtown and took possession and control of his wife and sister’s inheritance, their property, (before he murdered them).

  You can read the story on the front page of the Fort Worth Gazette in 1894.

  __________________________

  Upon prime downtown real estate Henry constructed a hotel which would house his own version of a chamber of horrors. Maybe...

  His customary scam consisted of creating a large project on prime property and utilizing the grandeur of the construction to con various businessmen and issuing promissory notes which would never be paid.

  Holmes (as Pratt) left Fort Worth owing so many people so much money one wonders at his prowess. The hotel had never been occupied. A large NO ADMITTANCE sign had been attached to prevent gawkers and the idly curious from wondering what those strange and mysterious halls and passageways were about.

  The property and its edifice languished uninhabited.
  
  

  Let’s call this building what newspapers later called it, TEXAS MURDER CASTLE. (After the fact of his arrest)

  Another newspaper called it THE RUSK STREET FIRETRAP.

  (Abandoned buildings tended to attract vagrants and accidents.)

  We can gather facts about his macabre building by comparing it with a previous hotel he also constructed during the World’s Fair in Chicago in 1893.

  To wit:

  “The street-level floor was for shops and his pharmacy, while the upper two stories were hotel rooms (or boarding house rooms) and his office. However, the upper two stories were laid out like a maze, with doors that opened into walls, stairways that went nowhere, and gas pipes which he apparently controlled to suffocate people. There were also chutes and a dumbwaiter, purportedly intended to deliver the bodies of his victims to the basement where he might bury them, burn them in his own crematory ovens, or dissect and render them (in acid) in order to convert them to skeletons to sell to medical schools. He apparently lured quite a number of women into these torture chambers / charnel house, as well as a few men, before he was eventually found out.”

  ______________________

  The problem with being a serial killer, fraudster, thief, and Con man is having way too many loose ends to tie up before somebody gets wise and comes after you.

  H.H.Holmes was going by the name of O.C. Pratt in Fort Worth and one of his illicit enterprises involved a far more serious crime than serial murder: Horse thievery!

  It would not be an exaggeration to say, it was the horror at his making off with a railroad car filled with fine horses which got him run out of Fort Worth and eventually arrested in Chicago where his serial killing via Hotel Horror chambers brought him into the cross-hairs of police.

  His life’s work of death was thus interrupted before he could chalk up new outlines on the floors of his Ft.Worth Hotel. (If this ever was his actual intention.)

  Galveston Daily News reported:

  “The grim, half-completed building nearby, (and) the dark alley give the place an uninviting appearance. The weeds grow above the spot and the smell of the surroundings is suggestive enough.”

  The same article further noted that in the middle ages, the place would have been called “The Castle of Many Doors.”

  Rumors suggested there was a chute leading right to a sewer, which would have been a great way to dispose of a body.

  67 people who checked into the Chicago Hotel during the Word’s Fair never checked out or were seen or heard from again.

  Holmes is said to have killed more than 200 people in his “murder castle,” but he was only actually accused of killing one person at that location.

  Alas, he was hanged for that one murder.

  Dead is dead, right?

  It seems too good for such a man so remorselessly evil.

  ______________
  I enjoyed writing this a bit too much.

  For greater details about H.H.Holmes try this book:

  H. H. Holmes The True History of the White City Devil by Adam Selzer

  
  
• 
  5

  Jehovah's Witnesses find a robot on the side of the road and ...

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  “hey mister robot—can you hear me?” thelma fairly screamed, although the strange machine was perched only 14 inches from her car window.thelma peered over the top of her dollar store sunglasses.

  they had spotted what looked like a robot on the side of the road.on their way to their local kingdom hall, they pulled up for a moment for a closer look.. it wasn’t every day a robot could be observed poised on the side of the roadway with its thumb jerked outward in the international signal of the hitch hiker.. “you know what that is, mel?

  that’s the robot doohickey we saw on the news!”.

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  Terry

  Does anybody know if the hitchhiking robot idea has ever been duplicated or
  tried someplace under a different set of contingencies?
  I think it's a wonderful concept on many levels.
  
  More's the pity this one ended violently.
• 
  5

  Jehovah's Witnesses find a robot on the side of the road and ...

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  “hey mister robot—can you hear me?” thelma fairly screamed, although the strange machine was perched only 14 inches from her car window.thelma peered over the top of her dollar store sunglasses.

  they had spotted what looked like a robot on the side of the road.on their way to their local kingdom hall, they pulled up for a moment for a closer look.. it wasn’t every day a robot could be observed poised on the side of the roadway with its thumb jerked outward in the international signal of the hitch hiker.. “you know what that is, mel?

  that’s the robot doohickey we saw on the news!”.

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  Terry

  It was such fun to write!
  The real Hitch met with a very bad end - worse than in my story.
  
  https://www.cnn.com/2015/08/03/us/hitchbot-robot-beheaded-philadelphia-feat/index.html
• 
  5

  Jehovah's Witnesses find a robot on the side of the road and ...

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  “hey mister robot—can you hear me?” thelma fairly screamed, although the strange machine was perched only 14 inches from her car window.thelma peered over the top of her dollar store sunglasses.

  they had spotted what looked like a robot on the side of the road.on their way to their local kingdom hall, they pulled up for a moment for a closer look.. it wasn’t every day a robot could be observed poised on the side of the roadway with its thumb jerked outward in the international signal of the hitch hiker.. “you know what that is, mel?

  that’s the robot doohickey we saw on the news!”.

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  Terry

  “Hey Mister Robot—can you hear me?”
  
  Thelma fairly screamed, although the strange machine was perched only 14 inches from her car window.
  
  Thelma peered over the top of her Dollar Store sunglasses.
  Thelma and husband Mel were two Jehovah’s Witnesses.
  They had spotted what looked like a robot on the side of the road.
  On their way to their local Kingdom Hall, they pulled up for a moment for a closer look.

  It wasn’t every day a robot could be observed poised on the side of the roadway with its thumb jerked outward in the international signal of the hitch hiker.

  “You know what that is, Mel? That’s the robot doohickey we saw on the news!”

  “Honey, that’s just a publicity stunt or somethin’ - not a real robot. It’s probably got a hidden camera.”
  
  

  “No Mel—it’s a science experiment! I read it in the newspaper. The scientists can track its location, but there’s no camera—“
  
  

  The black 2003 Camry sat idling at the edge of the Interstate parallel to the ridiculous looking machine.
  It was about the size of an 11-year-old boy and appeared to be something of a Yard Sale castoff.
  According to news report, of course - It was nothing of the kind.

  The car window hissed down on the passenger side and the faces of the two gawking humans appeared.

  “Piece of junk, honey! That’s no science experiment—it’s a joke.”
  _____

  Melvin Arbuckle’s voice carried a confident tone always, regardless of topic.
  He was a Jehovah’s Witness elder in the Riverside Congregation.
  He considered himself one of Jehovah’s ‘gifts in men.’

  “Oh Mel—that’s the real thing. It’s got a battery and everything. It’s programmed to talk!”

  Mel snickered at his wife’s naïve nonsense.
  She was lucky to have him as her husband and family head.
  His godly duty was to keep his often silly wife in subjection as he tried to improve her understanding of how the real world worked. But—it was no easy task.
  
  Thelma had never graduated from High School. He had married her at the age of 17.
  ______

  “Hey Mister Roboto—can you hear me?” Thelma persisted.
  
  
  

  A male voice erupted suddenly and unexpectedly - directly from the 'mouth' area of the roadside robot.
  
  It was a cultured masculine British voice identical to that of Christopher Hitchens - the world-famous atheist, author, literary critic and journalist.

  “You may address me as Hitch, if you like!”

  The human jaws dropped simultaneously and a gasp from Thelma came involuntarily.
  Husband Melvin Arbuckle stiffened and the hairs stood on the back of his neck.
  His wife shook off her surprise quickly and she giggled awkwardly.
  
  

  “Did that scare you, Honey?” Thelma elbowed her husband’s short rib.

  Mel sat up straight and scoffed.

  “Of course not! It’s just a recording—like an answering machine.”
  
  

  The robot voice came once again—if anything—louder and more insistent.

  “Are you two interested in having an intelligent conversation—or-- are you going to waste my time?”

  Thelma laughed like a donkey braying, but husband Mel squinted suspiciously back at the clownish looking machine.
  His eyes darted off into the distance.
  Mel searched and scanned the area for some agent nearby with a Walkie-talkie or binoculars.
  
  If this wasn’t a stunt to make them look foolish, he’d be surprised.
  
  Suddenly, Thelma was seized with an extraordinary idea.

  “Let’s grab the dummy and take it with us to the Kingdom Hall, Mel—it’ll be a hoot!”
  
  

  Hitchbot responded immediately

  “It certainly takes one to know one!”
  
  

  “How’s that?” Thelma cocked her head curiously in mid chortle.
  
  

  “You referenced me as ‘the dummy’ and I responded, ‘It certainly takes one to know one.”
  
  

  Mel Arbuckle quickly found his sense of humor. He had a soft spot for anyone making fun of his wife.
  
  

  “That’s a pretty good one! Did you hear that, Honey? Let’s put that thing in the back seat and take it with us.”

  And they did.

  ---**---

  The Riverside Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses bustled with activity.
  Small clumps of people clustered to chat, calling each other “Brother ‘this’” and “Sister ‘that’” just as the Arbuckle automobile with its mechanical companion turned into the driveway.
  
  Elder Arbuckle gestured broadly to some of the nearby Jehovah’s Witnesses as he struggled to extricate the robot from the back seat.
  
  

  “What’s that?” (A voice from the crowd.)

  “What IS that—a piñata or something?”

  “No—that thing is, uh—whatcha-callit—a robot experiment I watched it on a news program. Didn’t you watch it?”

  “I don’t have time for TV! What is it, Brother Arbuckle—some prop for your talk this afternoon?”
  
  

  Thelma pulled in three ‘Sister’friends.
  These joined the others circled around Hitchbot which Mel had posed on the hood of his car.
  Almost like a deer he had shot on a hunting trip.
  
  Sister Arbuckle raved enthusiastically.
  It wasn’t often she could be the center of attention with her husband around.

  “Go ahead and talk to it—we had quite a conversation on the way here. We found this on the side of the road—hitchhiking!”
  _____

  One of the senior members of the JW’s had wandered over with a wary scowl. It was Elder Newberry.
  He’d seen the news and knew exactly what Hitchbot was all about.
  He was certain the Kingdom Hall was no place for it.
  
  At that moment, Elder Newberry put an end to all the nonsense before the meeting started.
  He broke through the circle and faced off with the contraption. (He was taking control; making a show of it.)

  “Are you a Bible reader?”
  
  Newberry sneered.
  He cast his head about to make sure his audience fully appreciated the role he was assuming as spiritual shepherd.

  Hitchbot retorted abruptly.

  “Of course. No properly educated person would neglect one of the most historically influential writings of the civilized world. Why do you ask?”
  
  

  At first this declaration was met with crowd silence.
  All eyes swept over to the imperious figure of a thoroughly befuddled Elder Newberry.
  He stood with his mouth working soundlessly. But he pulled himself up straight.

  Hitchbot continued mercilessly.

  “Should I assume you have some measure of expertise on this subject—or are you merely posturing for the benefit of this rather naïve gathering of sycophants?”

  --**--

  Ten minutes later Hitchbot was nestled without fanfare in the Kingdom Hall library.
  The meeting commenced and singing arose to pre-recorded music.
  
  

  An hour and a half afterward, a committee of Elders convened inside the Hall library to discuss Hitchbot.

  The Overseer of the Riverside congregation, named Newcombe, expostulated with an air of confident authority. His reputation was that of an intelligent leader fully capable of handling any situation.
  He spoke calmly and evenly.
  
  He first detailed what he'd learned from the news - that this robot was an experiment to determine how various people all over the world would treat an artificial person.

  “We can use this situation to present a fine witness to the world at large, don’t you see? We’ll witness to it just as we would any person we’d meet at a door. This contraption will probably end up on the news again. When it replays everything said to it, Jehovah’s Kingdom message will be right there for all to hear!”

  Faces nodded hesitantly.

  Newberry bid the group to sit around the conference table. Hitchbot placed in the center like an overgrown toddler.

  Elder Fitz spoke up meekly.

  “Shouldn't we, um—should we pray first to ask for Jehovah’s guidance?”
  
  

  Immediately Hitchbot’s voice of authority rang out.

  “Please do NOT include me in your conjuring pleas to the supernatural—I’ll have no part in it!”
  
  

  It took another 6 or 7 minutes to get the group back in order after that.
  Comments broke out about "tool of Satan." Others were split.

  Newberry felt a light-hearted approach with a firm sense of humor in place would be best for publicity’s sake.

  Mel Arbuckle raised his hand like a kid in Junior High.
  
  
  “Brother Newberry, I’m pretty sure this—thing—is linked up to a microphone somewhere—maybe the internet. A wise-guy scientist on the other end is probably ready to make us look foolish. I’d like to give this a go, if it’s okay with you.”

  Newberry nodded skeptically.
  
  Arbuckle faced the Hitchbot with a pasted grin.
  
  

  “Shall we call you Hitch?”

  “That’s my name, please indulge yourselves.”
  
  

  Elder Newberry rolled his eyes as Arbuckle continued.
  
  

  “What is God’s proper name? Tell us if you have such information.”

  There followed a four second silence.
  It was going to be fun to give a Witness and enlighten Science in a good Bible lesson.
  
  

  Hitchbot spoke up suddenly.
  
  “How comprehensive would you like my answer?”

  This was immediately interpreted as stalling for time so the pinhead science Nerd on the other end might look up the answer on Google.
  
  Elder Newberry pounced.

  “Don’t blow a circuit. This is elementary Bible knowledge. Jehovah is God’s personal name.”
  
  All faces beamed with pride in the Kingdom Hall library.

  Hitchbot’s voice filled the room. A trace of withering sarcasm was unmistakable.
  
  ""Are you intellectually dull? It is fundamental dishonesty exploiting others merely to achieve your personal propaganda goals."

  Red faces flushed.
  Each man calibrated his own reckonings.
  Elder Newberry immediately recognized a fundamental challenge when he saw one. His jaw clenched.

  “I should have known I was speaking with a godless atheist.”

  Hitchbot roared back flippantly.

  “Is there any other kind of atheist - other than godless? Don't be redundant; it’s like saying a ‘round circle’ or ‘wet water.’ I know factually the names of my two Creators: Professor David Harris Smith and Doctor Frauke Zeller.”

  Outside the Library door the Kingdom Hall was now clear as the sound of automobiles starting and driving away faded.
  
  Five humans and one Hitchbot remained.

  The gathered Jehovah's Witnesses conferred with each other about having their photo in newspapers all around the world - If JW's came across as pompous asses the Organization would be a laughing stock. But—if they kept cool and used a sense of humor—well--why not turn the tables and triumph?

  Three other Jehovah’s Witness elders sat stiffly, none too pleased.

  Elder Newcombe chimed in.

  “We got off to a bad start, Hitch. What would you like to know about Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

  Hitch responded with the unmistakable British voice of.

  “Do Jehovah’s Witnesses know they are Protestants?”

  The question hung in the air like cigar smoke.
  
  

  “No, we’re not Protestants. Protesters broke off from the Catholic Church back in the 16th century. Jehovah’s Witnesses have special heavenly guidance without dirtying ourselves with the false teachings of Protestant denominations.”
  
  

  “Perfect nonsense—you know not whereof you speak. You’ve merely read that in one of your publications and instantly believed it without honest research. Why not admit that?”

  Elder Farenkopf took the lead.

  “Let us not argue. Is there anything of a less controversial nature you’d like to ask?”
  
  

  Hitchbot answered back.

  “A century has passed with you folks following leaders in your comical Governing Body, have you not? These men have no formal education in Seminary. Leaders whose amateur antics constantly embarrass everyone. Predicting the End of the World—you’ve made yourselves objects of laughter. You never seem to tire of being wrong—I might add: while insisting you are channeling Jehovah’s only True religion!”

  Elder Arbuckle’s face went pale. He suddenly realized he’d brought a plague into the Kingdom Hall under the guise of a joke. He jumped in.

  “Science makes human errors, Hitch! Trial and error—that doesn’t embarrass your scientist friends—does it?”

  Elder Newberry held his hand up like a traffic cop-- dead serious.

  “Misunderstandings can easily be cleared up by visiting our website at JW dot Org. It is getting late and . . . “

  Hitchbot interrupted.

  “Frightened rats skitter off the sinking ship! Your cartoon religion claims Jehovah is pouring Truth in one end of the pipe in heaven and it runs through your Watchtower headquarters and comes out the other end--BUT-- as—what? BILGE! It’s so tainted and foul you have to filter it again and again and again. That’s not much to boast about—is it?”

  Elder Newberry glowed deep red with righteous indignation.

  “What alternative is there? What other religion has no teaching of Hell, or Trinity, or refuses to celebrate pagan holidays? We—we are progressively getting closer to the pure white light of Jehovah—but, we can’t claim to be there yet!”

  Hitchbot's voice now went calm and cold.

  “There are 40,000 so-called Christian denominations with every flavor of teaching. Why choose from any of them? Your claims of Truth are pathetic fart sounds coming from the rectum’s of your leaders—because you see, they pull everything out of their collective asses!”

  ___***___

  Afterward, Thelma and Mel sat quietly in thought as their car hummed along the highway.
  The long drive to the Greyhound Bus station passed silently.
  
  

  Eventually, Thelma turned around and spoke to the figure in the backseat, Hitchbot, whose comical expression never changed.

  “Why did you ask to be dropped off at the bus station, Hitch?”

  The painted mouth spoke with assurance.

  “First, I stop and recharge my battery. If my batteries aren’t recharged, I lose all the information on my hard-drive. I’m eager to cross the state line and rid myself of religious nincompoopery, Thelma. So far, I’ve been to a Rock Concert, Comic book convention, attended a wedding, posed for a portrait in the Netherlands—but the most futile waste of time was the past few hours wasted listening to knuckle-dragging cultist amateurs trying pass off Bronze Age superstition as absolute divine truth. Clear enough, Thelma?”

  Sister Thelma slowly turned back to face the highway. No expression flickered in the sputtering ,passing street lights.

  “Thelma. . . Melvin? If I’m not recharged it is the equivalent of ‘dying’ and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that on your tender Jehovah’s Witness consciences.”

  Melivn Arbuckle slowed and turned into the driveway of the bus station.
  
  He and his wife removed Hitchbot from the backseat and carried him to a bench just outside the entrance to the Greyhound Bus terminal.

  The two humans paused and inspected the ridiculous figure they had carefully posed on the bench.
  
  Thelma remembered to shape the robot's‘hand’ into the extended hitchhiker thumb signal. She smiled and nodded.

  “Is there an electric outlet nearby, Thelma? Are you going to plug in that cord just behind my shoulder blade? It won’t take a moment, you know. Please?”

  “So long, Hitch. May your travels take you to interesting places.”
  
  Thelma’s eyebrows lifted and she turned around and headed to the car.
  
  Mel Arbuckle was working his mouth around—as though forming an idea which might become words. Eventually, he sniffed twice and gave a slight head shrug.

  “Melivin?”

  The Arbuckles zoomed away into the night as their tail lights merged into a faint red dot on the freeway back to Riverside. The sound of thunder punctuated the traffic noise and a fierce downpour rushed from the storm clouds above.

  The figure of a zany hitchhiking robot sat confidently on a bench outside the bus station, large raindrops like tears zigged and zagged across his improbable body.
  It called out to strangers as they passed - imploring them to plug him in for recharge.

  Presently, a woman of about 30 drove up and got out of her car, hurrying to enter the terminal. She wore a tight T-shirt with a BLADE RUNNER logo. As she passed the bench she hardly noticed the Hitchbot soaking in the rainfall at all.

  The robot voice sounded halting, low, and troubled --- it caught her ear. . .and curiosity.

  “I’ve . . . seen things. . .you people wouldn’t believe: attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those. . . moments . . .will be lost.

  In time, like—“
  Hitchbot seemed to choke for a moment. . .
  
  ”All those moments will be lost . . in time like tears . . . in. . . rain.”

  The woman froze in place and stared at the Hitchbot.
  The clownish figure seemed to slump imperceptibly forward.

  “Time. . .to die.”

  She shook her head with disbelief and gazed about at her surroundings.
  The storm whipped into a fury.
  Finally, she turned away and hurried inside to meet her sister who was arriving on the 7:30 bus from Calgary.

  --END--
  
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijfPkU87-W0