October 7 — Sunday — early afternoon
Ellie noticed things were especially quiet Sunday after church as Chet read the paper at his house on Heath Street.
Chet was one of those individuals who often liked to read newspapers out loud. Sometimes just headlines, especially those with errors of spelling or usage. Other times it might be a few paragraphs of a particular story. He would have done this even if someone handed him a paper they’d just finished perusing right in front of him. So, it wasn’t that he assumed the other party hadn’t read the paper. To Chet, it seemed to be about sharing. Some typographical errors were too delightfully awful not to be shared. Certain story paragraphs seemed so idiotic he was unable to keep them to himself.
Right then Chet re-scanned a letter to the editor which he’d just read to himself silently.
“It’s from that liberal tree hugger whacko that moved here from Cleveland a couple years back.” Though his voice dripped with irony and his accent was decidedly Pulaski County, Chet carefully read the complete letter in the perfect grammar with which it had been so precisely composed. “Listen ta this, Ellie.
“As a responsible, progressive parent, it’s incumbent on me to complain vigorously about aged veterans in full uniform giving indoctrination programs in our public schools. For these former soldiers to talk about war to children just endorses the institutional use of violence to settle political issues, when other, more expedient avenues are routinely ignored. Their appearance and their bloody, exaggerated anecdotes do little but frighten most of the children.
“Not only do these presentations promote militarism generally, but they specifically glorify war, violence, and guns. As countless studies have clearly and repeatedly established, citizens should not own guns of any kind, for any reason. All guns of all types should be outlawed and all firearms manufacturing should be permanently shut down. All guns currently in the hands of citizens should be registered with restricted use, at the very least… and preferably rounded-up and destroyed if the person-power is available to do so.
“Americans should look to the progressive examples of Great Britain and Australia for effective measures to control guns, fight crime, and protect their citizenry.
Sincerely,
Chelsea Rodham Harris”
“My, my. That woman’s steam must’ve ruint the ink off the page.” Ellie peered over his shoulder. “How come she’s got such a Bless George bee in her ear?” Ellie’s use of George as an adjective dated from her high school reading of Shakespeare’s Henry V. King Hal’s famous “Once more unto the breech” exhortation at Harfleur included the lines,
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’
Ellie the student was so moved by that entire speech, she often quoted its final line to her softball team between innings. As time went on, she just shortened it to “Bless George” and it eventually became an everyday adjective.
“Wonder if her kid’s in one of the classes I went ta,” Chet mused.
“I bet there’s gonna be lots of answers back.”
“Wait ‘til ole Gene Coffey reads this. He’s gonna love that part about England and Australia. Their crime rates went through the roof after they rounded up everybody’s private guns.” Chet shook his head sadly as he let the newspaper rest on his lap.
“Crime’s already gone Bless George crazy most everywhere except here.” Ellie pointed to a front page story. “Look at all them gangs busting up that neighborhood in Louisville.” She peered closer to satisfy herself about the location. “Mostly old folks living in there with gates all around the place.”
“Dogs don’t know what a fence means.” Chet cleared his throat raggedly.
“That’s got nothing to do with punks robbing old folks.”
“Dogs can learn ta obey rules, but ya gotta teach them.” He pointed at the article again. “But if nobody never teaches them about laws and rules, they figure they can just take what they want and knock down anybody that’s in their way. Dogs don’t know what a fence means.”
“Well, somebody should’ve been Bless George teaching them. It ain’t right for gangs of punks to go stealing and stomping…”
“And killing. Good bunch of them think killing somebody is a badge of their menhood.”
“It don’t take a man to kill crippled-up old folks. Only wild animals do something like that.” Ellie slapped the sides of both thighs for emphasis.
“Yep. And animals don’t know what a fence means.”
“Well, I reckon I kin teach them about Bless George fences, if any of them punks think they can knock me down and take my purse.” Without realizing it, she squeezed a fist and her upper arm muscles showed their athletic definition.
“Settle down, Ellie. All them gangs run in the big cities. We got nothing down here worth driving that far. Plus, they’d stick out like a sore thumb coming inta small towns like Somerset.”
Ellie grunted softly and left the room.