Posts by TerryWalstrom

37

The story of a secret Apostate Anointed

by TerryWalstrom in

the remarkable sister pettifog.

this morning i arrived on my bicycle at the local starbucks early, before the intensity of the texas sun boiled to full blaze rendering me a soggy, wrung out mess.. i took up my perch on the outdoor patio in the shade, eager to work on my book of short stories.

this will be my 3rd book and i’ve been enjoying the process daily.. .

TerryWalstrom

Well, my grandmother (who was never a JW) used to say, "You do the best you can with what you've got."

I got the impression the old granny had been keeping a long shit list for quite some time before the last straw came.

What fascinates me is the trigger. Each person has a different kind of sensitivity to the wake-up call. Most of the time it is something really simple.

37

The story of a secret Apostate Anointed

by TerryWalstrom in

the remarkable sister pettifog.

this morning i arrived on my bicycle at the local starbucks early, before the intensity of the texas sun boiled to full blaze rendering me a soggy, wrung out mess.. i took up my perch on the outdoor patio in the shade, eager to work on my book of short stories.

this will be my 3rd book and i’ve been enjoying the process daily.. .

TerryWalstrom

EdenOne5 minutes ago

Great story!

Eden

________

I'm still tingling from the unexpected experience!
I almost went inside this morning where there is air conditioning. But there is a breeze today and I prefer being outside. . . so. . . fate intervened.

37

The story of a secret Apostate Anointed

by TerryWalstrom in

the remarkable sister pettifog.

this morning i arrived on my bicycle at the local starbucks early, before the intensity of the texas sun boiled to full blaze rendering me a soggy, wrung out mess.. i took up my perch on the outdoor patio in the shade, eager to work on my book of short stories.

this will be my 3rd book and i’ve been enjoying the process daily.. .

TerryWalstrom

The Remarkable Sister Pettifog

________

This morning I arrived on my bicycle at the local Starbucks early, before the intensity of the Texas sun boiled to full blaze rendering me a soggy, wrung out mess.

I took up my perch on the outdoor patio in the shade, eager to work on my book of short stories. This will be my 3rd book and I’ve been enjoying the process daily.

That’s when it happened--a group of 3 older ladies at one of the other tables outside rose to leave and one of them walked over to my table and spoke something to me. I was wearing earbuds at that moment and didn’t hear. I popped them out and asked her to repeat herself.

“That’s a beautiful bicycle you have there. What a great way to stay healthy!”

I responded perfunctorily and tossed off a few uninteresting statistics about how many days I’ve ridden my bicycle without relying on an automobile.

As I spoke, I could see she was scrutinizing my face like a private investigator rummaging for clues. The analytical part of my brain went on alert at that instant. What was she doing?

“I think I know you. It’s been a long, long time ago when last I saw you. I don’t expect you’d remember me but I remember you because my great grandmother use to tell me how much you reminded her of her favorite movie star, Randolph Scott.”

Straightaway, I put 2+2 together! I knew exactly who she was talking about--after all, nobody else in the whole world had ever said I looked like Randolph Scott but one lady!

“You’re talking about Mildred Pettifog, aren’t you?”

This lady about fell over when I pulled that rabbit out of the hat!

“How in the world--I mean--that’s impossible you should say that. How--how do you know that?”

I explained to her my instant connection and invited her to sit.

She was probably in her 50’s but who can really tell, right? She was jovial, keen-eyed and pleasant. All the while I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m a former Jehovah’s Witness and that is a ticking time bomb in one of these conversations. It only means the other person--if they are an active current JW--will flee in terror at the very idea a so-called Apostate might be talking to them.

It came as a huge relief when she took the initiative to tell me she had escaped from the clutches of the Organization (the monolithic designation for the main autocrats in charge.)

We swapped horror stories and gossipy tidbits for awhile until she was just about ready to leave. Then she stopped and gazed out into the middle distance and dredged up a memory to relate to me. After I heard it, I sort of sat dumb with my jaw hanging open. This nice former JW told me a little story about Sister Pettifog, her great grandmother.

___________________

The first time I encountered Mildred Pettifog she performed as a full time Pioneer knocking on stranger’s doors. (All that word “Pioneer” really means is that she engaged in a neighborhood ministry over a hundred plus hours each month.) Yes, she was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses and had been brought up as a Bible Student since the year 1880. In case that date means nothing to you, think of it this way, the Civil War was fought 15 years before Mildred was born. To gain a perspective, just think about the day airplanes flew into the World Trade Center in your own lifetime. That was 15 years ago! Okay?

By the time I was introduced to her (1960), this interesting little bundle of dynamite was 80.

In today’s world, older women chase after eternal youth cosmetically in ways which hide or disguise the aging process. Hardly anyone actually knows what an old person would look like without this lavish attention to diet, exercise, Botox, facelifts, and youthful stylishness. However, back in 1960, when I first attended the Fort Worth Kingdom Hall as a guest, old ladies looked like old ladies.

For example . . .

Sister Pettifog sported a funny little purple hat riveted to the back of her head by a long hat pin with an improbably large pearl on its end about the size of a Robin’s egg. Her hair was mostly silver-white tinged with an incomprehensible blue tint.

What a face this lady had!

This elderly Sister flashed a crinkled smile and large brown eyes like a puppy in a pet store window eager for adoption. Her skin was quite pale and her cheeks radiated a pinkish orange circle of something she said was “rooj” (rouge) a proper style back in the olden days. Once seen, Sister Pettifog was not soon forgotten!

Her dresses appeared to be handmade on her old Singer sewing machine using striped or polka dot patterns prudently selected at the local fabric shop. The steel rimmed bifocals framed her wide-set eyes perfectly and bestowed an impression of quiet intelligence and wisdom.

Sister Mildred always wore so much perfume you could tell if she was within a half mile of where you stood. Her favorite scent, Jungle Gardenia, had replaced her previous all-time passion, Chanel No. 5. I was told all this on the spot, of course, by the lady herself within 5 minutes of meeting her.

Although everybody who met Sister Mildred loved her instantly, the effect of that powerful perfume was devastating! It was like taking a large stone and tossing it in a small still pool of water--the splash and waves and ripples seemed to reach out in all directions tossing people’s nostrils hither and thither in pandemonium!

The most remarkable aspect of Mildred Pettifog’s persona was the fact she was one of the elite anointed members at our Kingdom Hall.

What does THAT mean, you ask?

Sister Pettifog had what was known as “the heavenly calling.”

Jehovah’s Witnesses largely don’t set their hopes on going to heaven when they die. No, not at all! The vast majority aim for an “Earthly hope.” Scant few possess the interior tingle of self-aware frisson. If you’ve never been a Jehovah’s Witness, you’ll be scratching your head about now wondering aloud just how cuckoo this denomination really is.

Don’t worry about that right now, suffice it to say Mildred Pettifog was a rare individual viewed with almost “magical” specialness (although no JW would ever employ the word “magic.”)

Until fairly recently, the millions of Jehovah’s Witnesses all over the world were under the impression the “anointed” got direct messages from the heavenly realm tipping them off about sacred secrets and advance prophetic divinations.

Certainly this was the case when I was introduced. The person introducing me had a sudden and respectful hushed awe in their tone of voice when Mildred’s name was intoned. This created a funny feeling inside of me too. The psychology of awe is quite contagious!

Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you all this about one little old lady, right? In the grand scheme of things, it means nothing to you, right? Well, don’t be so sure. Give me a couple of more minutes to relate my story and you might just change your mind. Fair enough?

Let’s begin . . .

________________

Before I met him, my future best friend Johnny had gone through a sudden ‘conversion experience’ after a conversation with Mildred Pettifog. He was only 9 years old at the time.

Sister Pettifog had knocked on his door and his mother Jenny had answered. Much to his surprise and horror, Jenny started cussing out the old lady and slammed the door in her face!
Johnny felt his world crash about him. After all, Jenny was NOT that kind of person. She was a charming, affable, and kind woman. Why had she been so vulgar and rude to the old lady?

Johnny told me the whole story one day many decades afterward.

Johnny’s parents had moved to Fort Worth from South Texas and had dressed up to go to the nearby Baptist Church for the first time and had taken all their kids with them (5). Upon arrival, the Pastor of the church pulled them aside and not-too-politely instructed them to go to the “Mexican” Baptist Church three miles distant. Why? “You folks will feel more comfortable there.”

Johnny’s father was from a Spanish family and his skin was deep hued in an era in which race relations in the South were testy, judgmental, and volatile.

Following this hurtful and embarrassing rejection, the parents disavowed religion in righteous indignation and nursed their wounds isolated from fellowship of any sort.

The arrival of Sister Pettifog that day was ill-timed at the “worst possible” moment for raw emotions and the unfortunate outburst of Jenny Santa Cruz.

The 9-year-old Johnny ran after the old lady and apologized to her for his mother’s tantrum and insults. Sister Pettifog was jovial and forgiving. She invited Johnny to sit with her once a week for a private Bible study. He lept at the offer being of an especially open and intelligent mind filled with natural curiosity about the Divine. So powerful was the teaching and personality of Sister Pettifog, in no time at all she was studying with the rest of Johnny’s family, overcoming all objections, answering questions and amazing them with her uncanny grasp of all the spiritual secrets of the Almighty Jehovah!

The upshot of this incident will now make more sense to you with this background in place. For, you see, Johnny became my best friend some 3 years afterward and he began bombarding me with religious conversation and questions and such. When I attended the local Kingdom Hall with him that first time, it was my first meeting with Johnny’s favorite person in all the numinous world of Jehovah and anointing: Sister Pettifog! It was Johnny’s tone of hushed awe which made my spine tingle when Sister Pettifog took my hand and told me, “You remind me of my favorite movie actor, Randolph Scott!”

We’ve now squared the circle on all the background, haven’t we? Yes, I think so. I became a Jehovah’s Witness 3 years later. Within 20 years I’d be an Ex-JW while Johnny remained stalwart and immovable for the rest of his life. (He recently died at age 69 and we had not spoken for years because of his religious shunning practices.)

___________

Back to the story Sister Pettifog’s great granddaughter related to me this morning!

_________

At this point, I’ll try my best to give you the story as told to me by the great granddaughter. . .

“The first time my great grandmother said one bad thing about the WatchTower organization I thought I was going to have a heart attack! It was like a bomb went off in my head! Granny Mildred is the one person most able to turn a Bible study into a Baptism. She had a way about her. She was not just the best; she was the best of the best. But, as you well know, the Truth, so-called, of the WatchTower organization has a way of changing infrequently with a strange anonymity to the process. Granny Mildred noticed it and used the word, “Sneaky.”

This shocked me. I didn’t believe my ears. I asked her to explain. When I heard what she had to say, I wished I hadn’t! She stood there in the kitchen helping me wash dishes like she always insisted on doing and at the same time started ticking off a long list of horrible things she claimed the Organization had done over the years to prove they were NOT the true religion! I kept telling her not to continue. I was panicking! I immediately thought of rushing her to the hospital. It was obvious to me--or so I thought--she had suffered a stroke and wasn’t responsible for her words!”
“It took her almost a year to deprogram me! We moved to Oklahoma and started going to a new Kingdom Hall. All the while, she kept going to all the meetings and out in Field Service, door to door, like nothing was different. I asked her how she could stand it. How could she pretend this was still “The Truth”?

“Granny smiled and explained she could do a whole lot more good ‘undercover’ than as an Apostate, because nobody was allowed to listen to an ex-member. But everybody would listen to her as an anointed remnant!”

At this point in her story, I was laughing out loud. This was amazing me! I begged for more details. The granddaughter glanced at her watch. She had to go shortly but she said she’d tell me this one thing Granny always did when she was around young Witnesses.

Sister Mildred Pettifog would wait until she was in the car with a trapped audience who couldn’t go anywhere. Then she’d start talking about her life as a Jehovah’s Witness. . . .

“I was born the year after the WatchTower was first published. My parents were among the first Bible Students to subscribe. Pastor Russell taught the Time of the End had begun in 1799 when Napoleon took the Pope hostage. You don’t know that, naturally. The organization finds that embarrassing. Pastor Russell taught Jesus returned in 1874 invisibly. You don’t know that either, of course. Pastor Russell used measurements on the Great Pyramid to predict 1914. The Pastor assured all of us, 1914 was Armageddon! Until the 1930’s Judge Rutherford continued that nonsense! Guess what? We were all surprised when everything we had been taught--everything we had been teaching or friends and neighbors was no longer the Truth anymore! By that I mean this. Judge Rutherford finally changed everything by moving all those dates forward just like it was nothing--game pieces on a board! Lots of Brothers and Sisters fell away over the years because they were more loyal to the Bible than to the changes the WatchTower kept on springing! Can you imagine that? Just think how I felt as a young girl and then as a teenage woman to have to erase everything I was told was true and just pretend it never happened! But let me tell you--I was not faithful to the Bible--no sir! I stayed faithful to the Organization! I knew I was going to heaven no matter what the Governing Body decided was true! I didn’t graduate from High School or go to college. You know why? Because Armageddon was coming in 1914--what good would a worldly education do for me? But it never happened! Then, when I was 45 years old, Armageddon came again. By that I mean this--it did NOT. But, once again, we stayed faithful and loyal to Jehovah’s Organization--never mind the Bible. The Bible says “No man knows the day and hour.” Well, that didn’t seem to faze Brother Fred Franz! He came up with 1975. We all knew time was short by the time I was in my 90’s because the anointed were dying off. That was the Generation of 1914, you see? It was our Countdown Clock. Each year, more of us anointed would die and that proved Armageddon was getting closer and closer. I’m 98 years old. I was 95 the last time Armageddon didn’t come. You understand? That was 3 years ago we were taught the world was ending because of Earthquakes, famine, wars, and I suppose the heartbreak of psoriasis too--except IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. So many have gone away now. They lost faith in Jehovah’s Organization. But, not me! I’m faithful and loyal to the bitter end.”

The granddaughter shook her head in wonderment at the words she related to me and added, “How she got away with that--I just don’t know. You could see the young kids’ faces. They didn’t know if she had lost her mind or what! If a young person were of college age, she went out of her way to talk to them. She’d get them off by themselves and say: I never got a proper education because the world was ending. It ended over and over and over.

I have friends who never married because of that, too. They have no kids or grandkids because we were assured we’d all be in heaven or Paradise. Many people now are old, bitter and unhealthy thinking they never lived a real life just waiting around for Armageddon. But, I went ahead and married and I had beautiful kids and grandkids. Do you suppose I’m sorry? Well, I am sorry I didn’t go to college. I could have earned enough money to give my children and grandchildren a start in life. But don’t listen to me. I’m just a grumpy old lady and my mind isn’t as clear as it used to be.”

Then Granny would walk away leaving those young JW’s with a dazzled expression of pure horror and puzzlement behind.

I asked if any Elders ever gave her a good stern talking to.

“Oh for heaven’s sakes! Are you serious? Granny was to slick for that! She knew her scriptures and she’d start quoting them one after another until the busybody would shrug and give up. You see, she knew they had too much respect for her to get mean--like they do with most members who have loose tongues.”

I asked what happened to Sister Pettifog.

“Granny died peacefully in her sleep 10 days before her hundredth birthday. She had written a long letter to be read to the congregation at her funeral. She mailed it to the Presiding Elder and a copy to WatchTower headquarters a few days before she died. Do I need to tell you, that letter disappeared and was never read or mentioned by anybody. I was asked if I knew anything I needed to tell--about Sister Pettifog’s state of mind. I told them she had only grown more loving, kind, cheerful and open=hearted the older she got. I told them what she had said about loyalty to Jehovah’s Organization, too. They didn’t catch the irony.”

Then, the granddaughter had to leave. I thanked her for stopping to talk to me.

“How long after your grandmother died did you start to fade?”

She turned to go and stopped. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip reflectively.

“It was probably the day after her funeral.”

_________________

I didn’t catch the lady’s name although she probably told me. I hope she returns. She really made my day!

I sat and shook my head for awhile.

Her great grandmother was directly responsible for my best friend Johnny’s captivation with Jehovah’s Witnesses. Johnny, in turn, was responsible for my indoctrination and eventual imprisonment later on during the Vietnam War. I, in turn, was a Pioneer who held many Bible studies and had several baptisms occur. The chain-of-abuse was finally broken, of course.

I became an Activist. I’ve written books whistleblowing the inside story of WatchTower deceit.

Yet--I really have to hand it to the old lady who thought I looked like Randolph Scott. She takes the cake! She was a secret agent activist for the last years of her life and she got away with it. I’d love to know how many young people she spoke to whose minds were changed or jarred or awakened by her cunning testimony?

She really and truly was the Remarkable Sister Pettifog!

_________________

Terry Walstrom

**Note: I have changed the lady's name at the request of her granddaughter. I told her I wanted to write about her. She is still 'estranged' as an ex-JW fader. I've honored her request.

15

Terry tells his story of Billy Jack (Tom Laughlin)

by TerryWalstrom in

jw
friends

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ox2ypajugq.

sit a spell and listen to my story.. i once met a fella unlike any other.

let me tell you about the man--a strange and wonderful guy--one of a kind--but housing two personalities at the same time.here’s a quick list to capture your interest.. .

TerryWalstrom

millie21010 hours ago

What a great story!

I remember that movie "Billy Jack" as a young impressionable kid. I thought he was awesome...a real hero!

___________________

I started telling my 21-year-old daughter this story yesterday and she just sat staring at me as if to say, "Billy who?"

I went on YouTube and showed her a short clip from BILLY JACK and she thought it was awful.

She wasn't being contrary, she simply couldn't understand how a badly made and poorly acted movie could spawn 3 sequels or become a hit at the box-office.

That was tough to explain. I suppose I don't understand it myself except to say, luck and timing have a lot to do with it.

Sometimes, people are just ready to be receptive to a particular message.
Or, as the old saying goes when you tell a joke and it bombs: "You really had to be there."

17

A QUICK STORY for you

by TerryWalstrom in

gallery memoriesit was 1982.. california summer.. the entrance of creative galleries.. the limousine arrived and she emerged.. there is a word i’ve been saving for the sort of story i’m about to tell you.

she debouched from the limo.

(she deserves a special word.).

TerryWalstrom

Nathan Natas40 minutes ago

LOL! Thanks T, that was un-farging-believable!

Johnny Dangerously thanks you too, Nathan :)

15

Terry tells his story of Billy Jack (Tom Laughlin)

by TerryWalstrom in

jw
friends

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ox2ypajugq.

sit a spell and listen to my story.. i once met a fella unlike any other.

let me tell you about the man--a strange and wonderful guy--one of a kind--but housing two personalities at the same time.here’s a quick list to capture your interest.. .

TerryWalstrom

Ok, can't leave us hanging now, so cough it up. What'd you do in a celebrity's house that made you so guilty?!! This ought to be good.

________________

I'm thinking about whether I want to write this or not. I mean, is there any point to the story or not.

I'll consider it tonight and see what my conclusion is.

15

Terry tells his story of Billy Jack (Tom Laughlin)

by TerryWalstrom in

jw
friends

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ox2ypajugq.

sit a spell and listen to my story.. i once met a fella unlike any other.

let me tell you about the man--a strange and wonderful guy--one of a kind--but housing two personalities at the same time.here’s a quick list to capture your interest.. .

TerryWalstrom

Giodorno: I wish you had gotten in the truck and helped him hang the art work at his home.

__________________

There were a few instances over the years where I had occasion to visit a celebrity's home and hang art. Two of the stories would have to be censored to protect the guilty. (me).

17

A QUICK STORY for you

by TerryWalstrom in

gallery memoriesit was 1982.. california summer.. the entrance of creative galleries.. the limousine arrived and she emerged.. there is a word i’ve been saving for the sort of story i’m about to tell you.

she debouched from the limo.

(she deserves a special word.).

TerryWalstrom

https://www.jehovahs-witness.com/users/6580001/TerryWalstrom/topics

15

Terry tells his story of Billy Jack (Tom Laughlin)

by TerryWalstrom in

jw
friends

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ox2ypajugq.

sit a spell and listen to my story.. i once met a fella unlike any other.

let me tell you about the man--a strange and wonderful guy--one of a kind--but housing two personalities at the same time.here’s a quick list to capture your interest.. .

TerryWalstrom

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oX2YpaJugQ

_______________________________

Sit a spell and listen to my story.

I once met a fella unlike any other. Let me tell you about the man--a strange and wonderful guy--one of a kind--but housing two personalities at the same time.
Here’s a quick list to capture your interest.

Hapkido expert who liked to kick pedophiles in the chin
Presidential candidate
Successful producer, writer, Director, and actor
Expert on Jungian philosophy
Self-styled ‘half-breed” peace activist given to fits of violent anger
Former Green Beret who liked to wear a cowboy hat
Intensely private citizen who hated to be recognized in a public place by me!

Did that get your attention? If so, settle in and off we go!

_______________

The 50-year-old man walked in out of the bright sunlight and I recognized him immediately. After all, who hadn’t seen the cult hit film, BILLY JACK?

I muttered quietly to myself, “Tom Laughlin.”

I worked Sundays at Creative Galleries in Culver City, California less than a mile from MGM Studios. It was nothing unusual for celebrities to drift in and take a glance around.

It was my job to approach all who entered and chat them up. After all, I was an ‘art consultant’ and expert on all the artwork hanging on the walls.
I approached the man and smiled.

“Tom Laughlin.”
It was a statement and not a question.

Tom Laughlin slowly turned and squinted at me with a certain sort of slo-mo menace. It was theatrical body language meant to scare me off. At least, that’s how I assessed the situation.
Laughlin spoke.

“No.”

He looked me right in the eye and his message was clear enough.

I knew better than to annoy any celebrity--especially a surly one.
It was considered rude to approach an actor or speak other than a casual greeting.
That sort of behavior was left to tourists and nutjobs. Neither of those were adjectives I wanted to have applied to myself.

“My mistake. I’m sure you get that all the time since you resemble Tom Laughlin 100%”

I worded my sentence exactly so he’d know he wasn’t fooling me.

I was met with another slo-mo half turn and stare.

“No.”

Chatty fellow! I thought to myself.

Still, I did my job.

I pointed out various features of the gallery and its artwork. There were framed lithographs, serigraphs, etchings, paintings, photography, and art posters hanging pristinely in every sort of matt and frame.

I turned up the volume on my expertise and charm--suddenly rising to the challenge to do the impossible. This was going to be like the old joke told about President Calvin Coolidge.

(Coolidge had a reputation for quietness and speaking as few words as possible.

One lady, however, at a party at the White House, was determined to overcome the hurdle as she approached the President and spoke. . .

“Mister President, my next door neighbor bet me I couldn’t get you to say three words. I told her I bet I could.”

Coolidge looked up from his meal, fork in hand, and simply said, “You lose.”)

_________

As luck would have it, I took Laughlin into a small showing room with special lighting containing a series of triptychs (3 views in separate frames) with Arapaho, Navajo, and Cheyenne Chiefs depicted in shadow-box style Barnwoo frames. Impressed into the hand-made paper were embossed arrowhead and bear claw bas relief indentations.

I sat him down in front of them as I walked over to the rheostat light switch and dimmed the fluorescent lights while brightening the quartz halogen (diamond) lights.

The dramatic effect immediately impressed Laughlin, I could see it plainly on his otherwise inscrutable face.
Naturally, I had no idea how connected was his life and wife to Native Americans, but I seized on his intense scrutiny as a pretext for a presentation.

I won’t go into all that was said by me--this story is about Laughlin. Suffice it to say, he opened up. He became more human. I breached the pikes, moat, and wall around his citadel of privacy. Transformed, he became engaging and talkative. My version of Calvin Coolidge spoke more than 3 words after all!

_____________

“I met my then future wife in South Dakota where I was a student. She lived on an Arapaho reservation and invited me for a closer look.

My stomach churned when I saw the poverty and degradation there. Worse than that--the racism. When the tribesman went into town to pick up their monthly allotment of flour, some of the local assholes would dump it on their head and try and provoke them. I carried that around inside me for years.”

He paused thoughtfully and I offered him the sort of libation available for V.I.P. customers.

“Can I offer you a glass of Chablis, Tom.”

His head jerked sideways like a hornet had stung his ear.

“I’m not Tom Laughlin.”

________________
This amused and puzzled me, of course.

“Sorry, not-Tom-Laughlin, may I get you a refreshment?”

He loosened up a bit. I couldn’t read his expression. He’d have made a helluva poker player.

“Sure, whatever.”

__________________

Presently, he continued. . .

“We moved around a lot after we married since I worked the TV circuit for years. Altman auditioned me for a film and cast me in the lead and we had to move again; this time to Hollyweird.”

As he spoke, he sipped his drink, stood and made a sweeping gesture with his left hand indicating he wanted to buy the triptych. He continued speaking and I suddenly realized I was listening to a kind of personal soliloquy. There was no part where I had to prod or move things along.
I’m not saying his words were scripted. It was simply spoken with gravitas and a faraway look in the eyes, no doubt triggered by some true thing he witnessed in the artwork--a memory and an emotion rooted deep.

I pulled each framed piece off the wall and proceeded to process the order and wrap each separately as he took up with his story.

I thought to myself, “This is what happens to the shy, quiet types who hold everything in check. Once they open up--it all spills out like gold dust!”

________________

“Altman was a close-minded son-of-a-bitch. I didn’t get on with him at all. He wouldn’t listen or accept any ideas from. . . “

I interrupted. (I couldn’t help myself!)

“Wait, I thought Robert Altman is famous for the freedom he gives actors to improvise their parts?”

“Not with me. Everybody else--just not me. He called me a “pain-in-the-ass.”
Not-Tom-Laughlin grinned as he relived the memory.

“You either make it or you hang on until you disappear. I had other plans. I saved what little money I made. The studio wouldn’t promote anything if they didn’t control it. This was what drove Cassavetes out and Corman got a handle on it and I thought, “Why not?”

We were now in the main sales office and it was quiet in the gallery; the right time of day for conversation and swiping credit cards the old-fashioned way in those little machines we used to have pre-Internet.

“My wife and I started our own Montessori school trying to make a difference in the world. It’s not all that easy to do if you buck the Hollyweird system. But studios were dying, choking in the garden on TV weeds. So, I wrote my script and took the money I saved and packaged my movie myself. I put the cash into promotion, distribution, without studio help. Sure, two studios got their paws on it and started making changes--but I got it back and did it all myself. I remembered that Navajo reservation and saw how Civil Rights had completely ignored the plight of aboriginal Americans. I wanted to change how people saw the problem and I succeeded. We made back 41 times what it cost and even Hollyweird sat up and took notice.”

I expected a smile of great satisfaction to accompany his boast. There was none. He said everything like he was reading the label on a can of roach powder.

He reached into his leather, hand-crafted billfold and pulled out an American Express card and handed it to me. A mischievous thought balloon popped up over my head.

“So, what name do I put on this order--if you don’t mind me asking?”
I grinned and waited.

He pursed his lips and hesitated for a beat and then spoke.

“Just put down Lloyd E. James.”

Well!
I was holding his American Express card in my hand. The embossed letters on the card clearly shown in the light of the sales office. The card read:

“Tom Laughlin.”

What would you have done? What would you have said? Here’s what I did.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to call the police Lloyd.”

“What? Why?”

“I have to report a stolen credit card which Mr. Tom Laughlin will no doubt appreciate.”

If you really knew me you probably wouldn’t say I am a jerk or an asshole--I’m just mischievous. Why did I say that?
Well, I’ll tell you.

Here sits Tom Laughlin, Billy Jack himself, telling me the biography of Tom Laughlin and yet--for whatever crazy reason--insisting he is Lloyd E. James. Why shouldn’t I call him out on it in a ‘calling-his-bluff sort of way? I mean--just because I thought I could do it--for the challenge, you see?

Tom Laughlin’s face was impassive. He worked his jaw a bit. . . calculating a couple of beats and then his eyebrows lifted and he sniffed.

“I’m not Tom Laughlin. I’m his older, fatter brother.”

Now it was my turn. I had to smirk. Of course, he wasn’t Tom Laughlin’s older, fatter brother--but--he was now calling my bluff.

It was my return serve . . .

“Shouldn’t you be Lloyd E. Laughlin, then?”

Unexpectedly, the man laughed out loud at that! (Much to my relief.)

He chuckled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand as I handed him his American Express card and gave him the bill of sale to sign.

“You’re probably right about that. You’re probably right.”

I tore off his receipt and helped him carry the artwork out of the gallery. He pulled up his pickup truck and I settled the wrapped pieces in on top of a Navajo blanket he kept there nestled safely for the journey.

We shook hands. I couldn’t resist saying:

“Tell your brother Tom, ‘Hello’ for me. Tell him I’m sorry The Trial of Billy Jack made the list of Worst Films of All Time.”

The man didn’t blink. He shot back:

“Yep, it only earned 89 million. Heartbreaking.”

He attached a half-smile and actually winked!

I watched his ponderous truck pull out onto Culver Blvd. and make a hard left. A trail of blue smoke lingered in the afternoon sunlight and faded into a thin curtain of Hollyweird dreams.

____________________

“Go ahead and hate your neighbor; go ahead and cheat a friend.

Do it in the name of heaven; you can justify it in the end.

There won't be any trumpets blowin' come the judgment day

On the bloody morning after, one tin soldier rides away. . .”

_____________________

Terry Walstrom

Epilog: Tom (Billy Jack) Laughlin lived another 32 years. He died at the ripe old age of 82 in Thousand Oaks, California in 2013. He had retired in 2010. I had met him around 1982,

17

A QUICK STORY for you

by TerryWalstrom in

gallery memoriesit was 1982.. california summer.. the entrance of creative galleries.. the limousine arrived and she emerged.. there is a word i’ve been saving for the sort of story i’m about to tell you.

she debouched from the limo.

(she deserves a special word.).

TerryWalstrom

Nathan Natas20 hours ago

T said, "...from the top of her head to the souls of her shoes."
____________________

I've become so reliant on my GRAMMARLY app I've stopped my analytical

vetting of my own writing. I'm not saying it's not my fault--but--I'd sure like for you to believe it was Grammarly's fault!

____________________

Nathan Natas20 hours ago

T, didn't you once go dancing with Billy Jack?

_________

I do have a Billy Jack story, fer sure!