outside, and not much better on the inside, he ate that in
record time, then shuffled off to the barn again.
"Don't take offense," Travis told us. "Jubal never caught on to
polite manners. He's just never seen the use of saying good-bye...
saying a lot of things, actually. But I've got him pretty well used to
'please' and 'thank you.' "
I couldn't tell if he was pulling our legs or not.
"What's he do out there in that barn?" Dak asked.
"Invents stuff. Allows me to go on living in the style I don't
deserve but have become accustomed to without having to go out and look
for work."
This time all three of us waited for the punch line, but there
wasn't one. Well, it was his house and his food. He could tell us as
much or as little as he wanted.
I ATE MORE steak than I should have. I don't get
top-quality sirloin that often, and I figured I'd make up a little for
feasts I'd missed out on, growing up. In other words, I made a pig out
of myself. But I wasn't the only one. We all sat around for a while,
picking our teeth, trying to keep the belching down to a level that
wouldn't frighten the swamp creatures.
Then Dak asked Travis to tell that story he'd told Dak the other
day, you know the one, about what you did to that senator from Utah who
finagled himself aboard the yearly "inspection" junket to International
Peace and Cooperation Station... and Travis said that was no senator
from Utah, that was a congressman from Oregon, and besides, he has
recovered by now, though he walks with a slight limp and jumps at loud
noises, and besides, it wasn't me, and if you ever say it was I'll have
your ass in court for libel. We all laughed, and Travis said that
called for another beer, and I decided I could safely have one, and he
was off to the races.
Travis was a terrific storyteller. The great thing was, though they might not have been strictly, 100 percent
true,
they were all based on fact. And that was good enough for me, because
they were stories of space, and of rocket piloting, of guys and girls
actually getting out there and
doing
it. Kissing the sky.
When Travis got off a really good one, one of us would reach for the
remote unit attached to the mechanical pool alligator by a cable, and
start pressing the buttons. The phony reptile would rear up, thrash his
tail, and let fly with a roar that sounded more like a grizzly bear to
me—not that I know a grizzly bear from Yogi Bear, but I have
heard pissed-off gators a time or two.
The rubber alligator was a story in itself. One of Travis's friends
used to work as a mechanical animator at Disney World. Travis invested
with the man when he left Disney and tried to start his own studio. The
alligator was for a place called Gatorland. The day before it was about
to open, some radical animal rights group, Free the Animals or
something like that, broke in and let all the real gators go.
Gatorland wasn't exactly in the swamp, it was in a suburb of Tampa.
In half an hour nine of the freed gators had been hit by cars when they
tried to cross a freeway. Several people were injured in the crashes,
and all the alligators were killed. Others had to be pulled from
backyard swimming pools and rounded up on downtown streets, and some
had to be shot. Later, a dozen neighborhood dogs and cats could not be
found.
By the time all the lawsuits were settled Travis's friend was
bankrupt and all that was left of their investment was the gator. So he
and Travis took the
very
realistic critter to the home of the
president of Free the Animals and... but Travis said the statute of
limitations hasn't expired on that one yet, so he'd better be quiet
about it.
"Not that the prick would likely press charges," Travis said.
"They've all been keeping a much lower profile since the Gatorland
fiasco."
I could have listened far into the night, but after a while Travis
looked at his watch, drained and crushed his beer can, and told us to
go get our computers.
You're kidding, I thought. But he was not.
So we
record time, then shuffled off to the barn again.
"Don't take offense," Travis told us. "Jubal never caught on to
polite manners. He's just never seen the use of saying good-bye...
saying a lot of things, actually. But I've got him pretty well used to
'please' and 'thank you.' "
I couldn't tell if he was pulling our legs or not.
"What's he do out there in that barn?" Dak asked.
"Invents stuff. Allows me to go on living in the style I don't
deserve but have become accustomed to without having to go out and look
for work."
This time all three of us waited for the punch line, but there
wasn't one. Well, it was his house and his food. He could tell us as
much or as little as he wanted.
I ATE MORE steak than I should have. I don't get
top-quality sirloin that often, and I figured I'd make up a little for
feasts I'd missed out on, growing up. In other words, I made a pig out
of myself. But I wasn't the only one. We all sat around for a while,
picking our teeth, trying to keep the belching down to a level that
wouldn't frighten the swamp creatures.
Then Dak asked Travis to tell that story he'd told Dak the other
day, you know the one, about what you did to that senator from Utah who
finagled himself aboard the yearly "inspection" junket to International
Peace and Cooperation Station... and Travis said that was no senator
from Utah, that was a congressman from Oregon, and besides, he has
recovered by now, though he walks with a slight limp and jumps at loud
noises, and besides, it wasn't me, and if you ever say it was I'll have
your ass in court for libel. We all laughed, and Travis said that
called for another beer, and I decided I could safely have one, and he
was off to the races.
Travis was a terrific storyteller. The great thing was, though they might not have been strictly, 100 percent
true,
they were all based on fact. And that was good enough for me, because
they were stories of space, and of rocket piloting, of guys and girls
actually getting out there and
doing
it. Kissing the sky.
When Travis got off a really good one, one of us would reach for the
remote unit attached to the mechanical pool alligator by a cable, and
start pressing the buttons. The phony reptile would rear up, thrash his
tail, and let fly with a roar that sounded more like a grizzly bear to
me—not that I know a grizzly bear from Yogi Bear, but I have
heard pissed-off gators a time or two.
The rubber alligator was a story in itself. One of Travis's friends
used to work as a mechanical animator at Disney World. Travis invested
with the man when he left Disney and tried to start his own studio. The
alligator was for a place called Gatorland. The day before it was about
to open, some radical animal rights group, Free the Animals or
something like that, broke in and let all the real gators go.
Gatorland wasn't exactly in the swamp, it was in a suburb of Tampa.
In half an hour nine of the freed gators had been hit by cars when they
tried to cross a freeway. Several people were injured in the crashes,
and all the alligators were killed. Others had to be pulled from
backyard swimming pools and rounded up on downtown streets, and some
had to be shot. Later, a dozen neighborhood dogs and cats could not be
found.
By the time all the lawsuits were settled Travis's friend was
bankrupt and all that was left of their investment was the gator. So he
and Travis took the
very
realistic critter to the home of the
president of Free the Animals and... but Travis said the statute of
limitations hasn't expired on that one yet, so he'd better be quiet
about it.
"Not that the prick would likely press charges," Travis said.
"They've all been keeping a much lower profile since the Gatorland
fiasco."
I could have listened far into the night, but after a while Travis
looked at his watch, drained and crushed his beer can, and told us to
go get our computers.
You're kidding, I thought. But he was not.
So we
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