Musings from the Bedford,stories
fiction based on experience 9 year old
girl living in the Panama Canal Zone in
year l933; stories entitled, Ancon - Balboa
News.
cronicled by
Frances Coffey
Recieved April 28th, 2007
Webmaster Dale C. Clarke.
Mrs. Melendes encouraged me to write
something every day for the column that
appeared in the Star and Herald called
the Ancon - Balboa News. I mostly wrote
about what happened at school and at
the stable and sometimes, to my father's
dismay, what happened at home. My
mother forbid me to use her name and
Iita begged me to use her name. All my
friends wanted to be in the newspaper
too. When I was invited to parties, I
carefully wrote down the guests' names
and checked the spelling of the names.
I told about the games played, the
refreshments, the presents, and who won
the prizes. One day, I had a really hot
story to write. My friend's dad was helping
with the party and was running the games. He continually went to the
kitchen
and then returned. Finally, a drink became
glued to his right hand and he became
merrier and merrier. He jumped up on
the table and did a hula hula dance after
which he dropped his pants and mooned
us. My friend's mother ran from the room
crying. Their maid got hold of the performer and raced him to his
bedroom.
The girls' aunt hastily served the birthday
cake after which the presents were opened. After that, it was time to go
home. When I got home, I sat down at
my desk and wrote down all the fun.
I folded it and put it in the envelope for
my father to drop off at the newspaper
in Panama City. The next morning, Iita
came running in with the paper laughing
so hard she could barely run. My dad said, let me see that paper. When
he
read the column, his face turned red and
he told me he wanted to see me downstairs. I knew that meant trouble.
But, what had I done that was wrong?
I soon found out. My dad said I never should have written about what
happened
and I had disgraced my friend's father.
I asked, did he not disgrace me? My
dad said that hereafter I would not be
writing any more columns.Period. I
went to my room crushed by the way my
father had treated me.After tending to my
crying, I came to realize that, perhaps,
I should have been more careful about
what I wrote. I turned on the radio to a
talk show. This guy who was in the Army
stationed at Ft. Clayton was mediating
a talk about, guess what, what he called
the birthday party from hell. Yipes, I became really frightened then and
wondered if I would be arrested? Different
people phoned in and some declared that
the culprit should get on the air and
apopogize to the girl and her family and
to the public. Others said the girl should
be removed and placed in a foster home.
Others wanted the mediator to have
the girl phone in and answer questions
or have the father answer questions or
have the mother answer questions? The
maid's union, CIO, wanted the father to
publicly appologize to the maid and all
maids in general. I had heard enough.
I put on my jodpurs and summer riding
shirt, hard hat, and riding boots. I rode
my bike to the stable and saddled Chu
and rode him hard to the corral we had
built behind Ft. Clayton. I laid down on
Chu's saddle blanket and waited to see
what would happen next. It was dark
and scary and lonely out there, but I
knew Chu would protect me. After about
two hours what was going to happen next,
happened!
A group of ladies appeared; since they
had wings, I assumed they must be angels. The angels asked if I were
Jean
Rabiteau who wrote for the Ancon - Balboa News? I admitted with remorse,
yes, I was. The ladies all talked at once
and I could not understand what they
were saying? I said that if they wanted me
to understand them, they would have to
speak one at a time. The fat one with
black hair said that was not the news
style of the day. The others then all at once said that was not the news
style of
the day. I asked, then, how can people
understand what you say? In chorus,
they said, that is not important. Each one
then all at the same time stated why she
thought this was not important. I was getting really tired of these
angels fast.
I pleaded, why are you interviewing me?
They said that one of their group was
exceedingly mistakenly being asked to
resign after reducing her time on air.
Black hair screeched (yes, she screeched)
I was not asked to resign; I am merely
cutting down my daily contribution, however, I will be returning now and
then,
especially, when I have something to
say, like Mrs. Jack Kerry, which will be
often. In chorus, then, they all yelled
that an actor named Alex Baldwin would
be on today so they had to hurry up and
tell me what I had to do. My ears pricked
up like my horses' ears, because I do not
like to be told what to do by crazy people.
In unison,following blah, blah, blah which
I could not understand, they got down to
the point. We will need you in the year
2007. I thought, good grief, 2007 is a
million years away. Yes, yes, yes, they
said. A movie star, Alec Baldwin, will
be straightening out his ll year old
daughter and we need you to applaud him. I asked, why me? One began,
then
the next chimed in and then the next like
the song, Brother John, because you
wrote that column in the Ancon - Balboa
News taking the side of the father who
really could not help it as he was drunk
as he lost his golf game that day and
his car ran out of gas and Mr. Walston
arrested him and now he has to go to
AA meetings which are stupid and a
waste of time when he could be playing
golf. Then instead of going to the Elks
Club for bourbons and water, he has
to lead dopey games at his daughter's
party. If she had not been born, he would
not have been stuck there and, therfore,
would not have dropped his pants and
mooned all the kids and their parents
which, in truth, he did not drop his pants,
they fell off because he was on the
coca cola and banana diet where you
could lose 69 pounds like Nicole Smith,
although, Nicole Smith was an idiot.
Instead of taking all those pills, she should have drunk a bottle of Ron
Carta
Vieja or Agewood Bourbon, or, at the
very least, Panama Beer Boilermaker
favored by the Canal Zone Apprentices.
Since they were all, "straightening me out
at once", I did not really catch it all.
Did you?
I was speechless. I asked, what is your
point? Black hair, who seemed to be
able to outshout the rest, looked at me
in disgust. Of course, we want you to
fill in when I won't be there, get it?
I got it, but I did not want it. I pointed out
that I was 9 years old and this was our
year of our Lord, l933, and I wished to
hell they would all leave.Period. The
nicest one, the blonde, if any of them could be called "nice", came up
with,
let's get that other Canal Zone girl,
Bonnie; she has a lot of spirit. With
that, they flapped their wings and flew
away and I flew awake as Mr. Walston
was shining his damn 2000 volt flash
light into my eyes as only Mr.Walston
could. My father was behind
him and the entire Cavalary from
Ft. Davis on the Atlantic side was
lined up behind my father who was
riding Humboldt, Jr., Carlos' father
riding Juanita and nearly sliding off,
and the stable master riding poor,
little Pancho who was the only horse
the stable master was not scared of.
My dad did not know whether to scold
me or kiss me so he did neither.
The first aid truck came around the
corner and the hospital attendants (no
paramedics yet) loaded me on the
truck over my protests and I and my
crowd all headed for Gorgas Hospital.
Pancho took hold of Chubasco's
bridal and led him along with the rest
of the gang. Mr. Walston was on his
motorcycle with the sidecar carrying
the Riding Master who definitely looked
uneasy not being riding on a horse.
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