Would any of us lie or stretch the truth to further the cause of OK? Witness Peggy's party... a canned ham for what, $1.98 so she could feast well that night before her big yellow course bash and matching birthday cake for the big four-oh blowout with black balloons blown to such sizes rendering them dangerous, yes, sure it was Snorkel's big splurge, and quite a find in a drugstore that catered mostly to Hallmark and old ladies with blue hair, but oh how Mook felt awful the next day knowing that he had picked the firmer of two beds in 113, the softer one causing backaches in one of his teammates perhaps costing the gold - a goal that they'd worked for longer than most? Was it revenge then that bills were never repaid for car rental and room - that cooks the goose! some would say, but is the check in the mail - no it would appear not. That bed was certainly bad but could it have been worse than that night in the pavilion where happiness was the last thing on Spike's mind as louisvillian sounds still kept him awake all that night despite earplugs to muffle bafoons' best efforts to cost him the race of his life in a state where militias ruled and Planet of the Apes beards grew like potatoes in Idaho... or those long nights in the firetrap of a tenement with nylon towels so ineffective as squeegees to wipe the local water and its particulate matter from our bodies and Riga thugs stamping to stomp out Phil's revolution that consisted of 2 wild-n-crazy black marketeers hawking watches and matrioshkas with lenins so small on the inside under layers and layers of more recent despots, the last with a birthmark adorning his scalp, but none worse than the feige we wished were the veler (alright, perhaps Spike didn't wish for the veler but isn't the devil you know better than the devil you don't know and didn't Spike once say the veler "just oozed confidence"? Or was that "arrogance"?) Oh, but the missile is still there, black and white, standing tall above the fading remnants of cement structures that once housed so much more, but there are those even in the Homeland who would threaten its stand and would trash the state park to match Rockbottom and what's more, cause havoc on a scale unseen since August 21, 1863, when he came through and even now we celebrate (?!?) with an annual run, how dare we! But no matter, we're OK and the missile still stands with range enough to hit columbia should norm return or quinn get out of hand - testement that not all has been lost... consider the annual events and the OKers they inspire or don't since how long has it been since the sheep were called home? He did come in '90, but after a shameful unsporting withdrawal snubbed us in '96 and hasn't been seen since, not even by Peggy so close to the flock there in the shadow of Reston and what's more nary a camio at the hospital or a single rose after the accident or the blown out knee surgery in Saint Lucifer's, just a half hour drive from his home! And now are we to be abandoned by another as we read he's disconnected, inaccessible and unwilling or unable to keep lunch appointments downtown after meeting by the fountain, a fountain becoming more famous by the day? Not more famous than the hawk or the chi-o of course where many a summertime meet was held on Silvermine or some earlier edition and not more famous even than the train engine in Central Park, or our Salina Piece, the South Park Gazebo - predecessor to OK's own - or the Broken Arrow rocket or the carving at Burcham (despite being only a tree stump it has been there a while), or the tower at Well's where no map has been made, or as recognizable as even the Big Chair or the monument to brothers Ames and its poor cousin by the bay. Few of us have even seen the fountain and if there are as many fountains in that city as they say there are, then few of us would even recognize it even if we did see it. Certainly it is not more famous than OK's missile...! But we've all heard about the fountain at least, and it will be the talk of road trips to St. Louis for many years to come, if in fact there is o' in St. Louis, because otherwise would any of us drive hour after hour to stock up on bandaids when we could get a better price at our local drugstore, or even Raney's if it still existed - it doesn't of course and is as gone as the tacky Santa and reindeers that once adorned it roof. I'm sure a cause was their heightened suspicion of anyone under the age of 40 who walked in and was assumed a natural born shoplifter requiring constant surveillance by ladies with long painted fingernails and reeking of perfume... but enough of that and more on St. Louis: nearby is Florissant, birthplace of one of our own and there have been roadtrips too, some in the Smokemobile, lunching on twin-chopped cow, and seconds at McDuff's... what's the meaning of that? she would ask speeding by a car without lights and the trans-Pennsylvania speed record crushed to a time that will stand from here to eternity even if quakers abandon "55 it's the law", but did Fritz once work for them making oats? ... seems like he might've in yesteryear when he lived on Elm Street or someplace like that - with holes in the roof and holes in the bathroom floor so some tvättbjörn could crawl in, no doubt to wash itself in the sink or even take a bath and wash away the stench of orange and cloves after crawling around in the Tercel for hours on end fighting its way to the top of gatorade bottles and Mutant Ninja Turtle memorabilia in those days before Clogs entered his Pokemon phase. That house wasn't too far from the river trail where in later years, Late Night with Mook was run for the inaugural time with the Prince in attendence of course he's one of only 5 who can claim the same but how unfortunate then that he's unacquainted with the major works of one Christopher Lane and OK's epic, a fragile manuscript that should lie safely in the archives of Meangene's basement, but instead is somewhere snorkeled away facing a future as uncertain as one of our beloved sons - not a favorite son of course because he's not Homeland born as very few of us are fortunate enough to be groomed for OK from the time of birth, prepped at Lawrence High, and matriculated on the slopes of Mt. Oread to answer a higher calling. Are these dog days or is this still the Golden Age of OK? Methinks it's neither?

-- Mook (everett@psi.edu), May 19, 2000

Answers

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