Fannie and the Back Fence Gang 4

I-A-M-G-A-A

In previous episodes, radio talk show host Fannie Couch (Fannie’s Back Fence) is interviewing Pecan Springs mayor, Pauline Perkins, who wants to encourage support for a planned development on Sycamore Creek. But Fannie’s first call—from a driver on his car phone who claims to have some kind of inside information about the project—is interrupted by an ear-splitting crash. Station master Henry notifies the sheriff’s office and learns that Sheriff Blackwell, a regular listener, believes that another vehicle sideswiped the caller and knocked him off the road. A deputy is on the way. Subsequent callers speculate that the vehicle that caused the crash is damaged and share stories about the gravel pit at the head of Sycamore Creek. Then a caller reports seeing a white car with a smashed right front fender. It speeds away, nearly hitting a boy on his bicycle and running a red light. Henry is back on the phone—this time, to the Pecan Springs police—while Fannie connects with the next caller. Reading time for Episode 4: about 9 minutes.

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 “Fannie, this is Gus. Gus Schwartzenhamer.”

The man’s voice was flavored with a German accent—not surprising, because Pecan Springs had been settled by German immigrants midway through the 1800s. Gus (Gustav to his family) had come from Darmstadt after World War II, when he was in his teens. “That old gravel pit you mentioned, up in Sycamore Canyon? Maybe you’d be interested to know that it once belonged to the county. That’s where they dug the gravel for Farm to Market Road 2316.”

“FM 2316? That’s a long time ago, Gus. Twenty years or more.”

Gus sighed. “Tell me about it. My boy Willy was only seven or eight back then. He’s thirty now, and coaching high school football up in Waco.” Proudly, he added, “He had a winning season last year.”

“I read about that,” Fannie said. “He’s done you proud, Gus.” Curious, she paused. “So what else do you know about that pit?”

“Not much. That’s where Willy and me went for target practice, but we had to stop.  Somebody stuck no trespassing signs all over the place. And one time we was up there shooting and this guy drove up and ran us off. Claimed he was a security guard or some such. We figured the county sold the property after they took out all the gravel they needed. Anyway, it was all of a sudden off-limits. I’ve always wondered why.”

“You’ve got me wondering now, too,” Fannie said. “If any of you Back Fencers out there know why that gravel pit went off-limits, let us hear. And thank you, Gus. You tell that boy of yours congratulations and go, Lions.” She toggled the switch again. “Hi, caller, welcome to the Back Fence.”

“Fannie, hello.” The woman spoke crisply. “This is Hazel Jennings. I’m the secretary of the local chapter of the Audubon Society. I’m out here on my back porch, which looks east over the Pecan River. I’m opposite the city park, across from the Josephine Gilbert Memorial Rose Garden. I sit out here for an hour every day to watch the birds.”

“Seen anything interesting lately?” Fannie inquired. She knew that quite a few of the Back Fencers were also bird watchers and liked to trade sightings.

“Yesterday, a black-necked stilt,” Hazel replied. “Himantopus mexicanus. No mistaking that one, with those long, bright pink legs. But I’m calling about that white car with the banged-up right front fender. You know, the one that ran the red light over at Alamo and Fourth and nearly hit that boy on a bicycle? Well, I can see it.”

“You can?” Fannie asked excitedly. “Tell us about it!”

“It’s a Lincoln. And right this very minute, it’s parked under the live oaks on the other side of the rose garden. The driver has dark hair and glasses. He’s wearing a red polo shirt.”

“You don’t say.” Fannie was surprised. “You can see across the river and all the way to the other side of the rose garden? You must have pretty good eyes, Hazel.”

Hazel chuckled. “Are you kidding? I’m so nearsighted I can’t see past the tips of my fingers. I’m looking through binoculars. The ones I use for birding.” Her voice tensed. “Fannie, that man in the car. He’s bent over, like he’s listening. To his radio, maybe? To us?” She pulled in her breath, startled. “Now he’s leaning toward the passenger window. He’s acting like he knows I can see him.”

Fannie’s eyes widened. If this man was listening to the Back Fence now, had he been listening over on Alamo Street? And listening at the time of the car wreck? If so, maybe he’d panicked when the first caller started to tell the world why Oak Hills Estates shouldn’t be annexed, and on an impulse, bashed into the caller’s car and knocked it off the road.

“Hazel,” she said, “can you see—”

“Hang on,” Hazel broke in. “He’s straightening up. He’s starting the car. Now he’s pulling out. He—”

 “His license plate,” Fannie said  urgently. “Can you see his license plate?”

 “Maybe, but not until he gets past the gazebo. Yes, now I can see it!” Hazel was triumphant. “It’s all letters, no numbers. Got a pencil? It’s I-A-M-G-A-A. And there he goes! He’s heading south on the park road, toward the bridge, going really, really fast. And now he’s gone!”

Henry’s voice came over Fannie’s headset, telling her it was time to take a commercial break. But the phone lights were blinking and the callers were stacked up like five-o’clock rush-hour on the interstate. Fannie had the feeling that things were happening out there that people needed to know about. She frowned at Henry, tapping her headset as if she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, and toggled the phone switch again.

It was Lester Mooney, whom she hadn’t heard from in several months. For a while Lester would always call when somebody he knew was having a birthday so he could sing “Happy Birthday” to them over the Back Fence. He said it was cheaper than buying a card, because cards had gone up to six bits for a good one, plus a first-class stamp, more if it was oversize.

“Hey, Fannie,” Lester said. “Thought it was time I checked in.”

“If this is a birthday, Lester,” Fannie said, “I’m afraid we don’t have time this afternoon. Can it wait for tomorrow? We’ve got a little something cookin’ here and—”

“I know, I know,” Lester said. “That’s what I’m calling about. Me and Annabelle used to live down the road a quarter mile from that old gravel pit, you know.” Fannie didn’t know. In fact, it always surprised her when her callers assumed that she was up to date on the history of their lives. “Anyway, what I was going to say was about those no-trespassing signs that Gus Schwartzenhamer mentioned. I saw them too, and I was curious about what the heck was happening. First there was the signs, and that security guard, and then there was this truck that would come up that road, usually around midnight and wake up the dog. I told my wife, I said, “If you ask me, somebody sure is dumb to be paying a driver overtime to haul whatever-he’s-hauling at night, when it could just as well be done in the day, on straight time.”

 “Was it somebody stealing gravel?” Fannie asked. Lots of folks didn’t know how expensive good gravel was until they had to pay for a load to patch their driveway.

“No, it wasn’t a gravel truck,” Lester said. “It was a stake-bed truck with a green canvas tarp over the load, tied down. Always wondered what that fella was hauling.” He paused. “Something else kinda odd, too.”

“What was that?”

 “Well, the afternoon before the truck would come, this tractor with a backhoe and a front-end loader would come up the road, and the morning after, it would leave. I put two and two together and figured they was buryin’ somethin’ up there.”

 “Is that right?” Fannie said thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you happen to remember anything about that truck, Lester.”

 “Matter of fact, I do. Had a sign painted on the doors. The letters A and E in red, fancy and kind of locked together with a double black circle around them. Always remember it because my wife’s name was Annabel Eloise. She was named after both her grandmothers. She’s been dead now for twenty years.” He sighed.. “Gets lonesome, livin’ that long after your better half is gone.”

 “I know, Lester,” Fannie said sympathetically. “You call in any time, you hear? Don’t let yourself get too lonesome. We’re here at the Back Fence every day. And there’s others out there in radio land that are lonesome, too. Maybe we’ll hear from them.”

Lester cleared his throat. “If there’s any nice Christian ladies listening in out there,” he said shyly, “I wouldn’t mind meeting up with ’em. I’m usually at the Diner around nine weekday mornings.”

Fannie wasn’t surprised by this. She didn’t advertise the Back Fence as a dating service. But the year before, Jimmy Lee Jones and Edna Roper had met over the radio, then met for coffee, and before Fannie knew it, she was invited to the wedding. “Hope you find what you’re looking for, Lester,” she said. “And stay in touch.”

She toggled off and raised her hand to Henry, who by this time was about to tear his hair out. “Time for a commercial break, folks,” she said into the mike. “But don’t leave your radios. The Back Fence will be right back, with more on this developing story!”

As an afterthought, she added, “And if you see that Lincoln, you give us a call. Remember that license plate: I-A-M-G-A-A.”

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Stay tuned for Episode Five—the final episode—coming next Wednesday, Nov. 15!