The day when the bank auditor, who worked at the local newspaper, commissioned Robert, due to his origins in the cultured classes of London, to write a small, commendatory review of Carson City’s new asphalted Sunny Avenue, with special emphasis on the poplar grove in the middle and its beds of gardenias, pansies, and roses sheltering a man-made lake full of colorful fish and a couple of swans they’d acquired after years of fights with the town councillors (who refused to supply the amounts of water, or the animals, necessary for such a project), that day, we said, nobody imagined that Robert would go and shut himself in the cockpit of his plane for three days and three nights, motionless in the metal silence of the hangar, his hands resting on the controls and his gaze fixed on the artificial horizon of the control panel, going without food and virtually not drinking anything, either, refusing to see anyone, and refusing all suggestions, too, finally taking the following to the printer’s:
A vortex/Henkel/Hooper production
A film by Tobe Hooper
The film we saw recounts a tragedy that befell a group of five youngsters, and in particular Sally Hardesty and his brother Franklin, an invalid. It’s all the more tragic for the involvement of youth. They could have lived a great many years longer and never have imagined witnessing such demented sadism as that they were faced with on that day. What had promised to be an idyllic summer afternoon turned into a nightmare.
The events of that afternoon led to the discovery of one of the strangest and most bizarre crimes in the history of the USA: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.