(ed. note: Nothing herein shall be construed as actual, real, true, or even possible. However few, if any, names have been changed due to sufficient numbers of passings, divorces, remarriages, and statute of limitations years having transpired. For those who have passed, RIP. For those still living, INCOMING!)
The Branson Oaks Motor Lodge Wednesday Literary, Shakespearean, Booze, Babes, and Poker Society assemblage had been called to disorder some hour or so earlier. By now they had reached the Pabst Blue Ribbon ideas sequence in the agenda. Jim was soliciting input for uses of a WWII naval surplus item he had seen at the ARMY/NAVY surplus store up to Springfield. A possible course of action had been decided, roles and duties were being assigned, and the call to action was capped by Howard proclaiming, "I'm a Taney County Reserve Deputy Sheriff. You can't get in trouble." It was going to be a wonderful bit of street theater. Well, actually, waterway theater, but it was going to be a Mummery of Medieval scope.
Let us now, before the excursion, take a couple of steps into context land. Mid to late 1960s "Sailing Nightly" from Indian Point on Table Rock Lake, Missouri was a vessel known as the Table Rock Queen. She was a ponderous, minimally sea-worthy craft of two decks, the lower holding mostly a bar, and the upper holding a dance floor and some rickety chairs and tables. She would pull out, pre- dark, loaded with around 200 tourists, and cut her engines to drift around about 3/4 mile out in the largest section of the lake, between Indian Point and the dam. One of the members of the above literary guild had just been excused from attendance at his employment upon the vessel. He had been sharing some particularly tasty appetizers with Jane, a waitress in the bar, in an out-of-the way nook labeled, "Storeroom B," but which the crew referred to as "The Nookie Deck." Sailors have their own names for nearly everything shipboard. The couple's unfortunate discovery, along with the even less fortunate fact that Jane was married to Wayne, the ship's captain, meant the society member was invited to, on pain of severe injury, never even set eyes on the boat again. Thus was both a target and a venue for the upcoming event selected.
Jim was an artist, and a supreme Ozarks tinkerer/hillbilly Macgyver. Next day off, he returned to the surplus store, acquired the $5 central plot prop, a 6-volt lantern battery to power said item, and a couple of fabric items to add flair. It had been decided that a 3-man boarding party was sufficient, with shore support provided by Howard, and the dismissed ship's crewman. Jim, Butch, and Billy would purchase tickets and board normally, carrying an instrument case as if assisting the band on the dance deck. On the given night, in the words of a Star Trek captain, "Make it so."
The QUEEN left dock normally, and was soon drifting raucously in the offshore dark. Insider information from the dismissed crew was that, while adrift, the captain would leave the wheelhouse, and step to the upper deck stern to enjoy a Marlboro. Such transpired.
Jim and the instrument case entered the wheel house. Butch and Billy--Bitch and Bully?--took position at the top of the steel tween-decks stairway. Jim wired the battery to the surplus WWII submarine diving klaxon. B & B slipped surplus white round sailor's caps onto their heads. Jim keyed open the boat's P.A. system, and put the klaxon in front of the mic.
AHOOOOGA!! AHOOOOGA!! DIVE! DIVE! DIVE! AHOOOGA!! Filled the boat.
B &B clambered as noisily as possible down the stairs, hats on heads, screaming "Clear the decks! Clear the decks! Secure the hatch! Captain to the Conn!"
Passengers scurried aimlessly. Within the scurriers, the fellows made for the stern. Stuffing klaxons, battery and hats into the case, and slipping it into the depth of the lake. The captain meanwhile was swimming against the passenger flow to get to the wheel house. Panic can be entertaining when viewed in tranquility.
The skipper gained the wheel house, slammed the boat in gear, and began screaming into the microphone, "REMAIN CALM! REMAIN CALM! I'M CALLING THE COPS. I'M CALLING THE COPS. PLEASE CALM DOWN!" Calling for calm in a panic-stricken voice seldom achieves its objective. As the boat lurched underway, several passengers were certain that the bow was dipping, and a dive was commencing.
The QUEEN, with complete cargo of panic and inebriation, literally slammed into the dock, resulting in several tumbles, stumbles, and observations on the parentage of the captain. Having worked their way to the dockside rail, our heroes leaped ashore and into the waiting arms of the law. Deputy grabbed them, screamed, "Got you now, punks, and shoved them into the back seat of his Cruiser. That car sped, lights and siren, up Indian Point road as two Stone County Sheriff's cars raced in. Little notice was taken by onlookers that the dock was in Stone County, while the carload of miscreants speeding away was a Taney County vehicle. It made a full drift turn onto Highway 76, and roared toward the Stone/Taney county line. Upon crossing it, lights and siren went off, and the Cruiser rigged for silent running.
As the old movie cliche' goes, "Meanwhile, back at the boat." The captain, and the majority of his drunken cargo, were full-voiced pitching various descriptions and explanations of the evening's events to the Stone County Constabulary. Said Law Enforcement Professionals not grasping even a single thread, particularly not the thread that insisted they'd already hauled the pirates away. It was unclear whether the QUEEN had become a submarine, been attacked by an enemy submarine, or been beamed into a UFO disguised as a submarine. Though it was a minority position, there was insistence from some passengers that the boat had returned to the dock fully submerged.
The evening had a final act. The escape cruiser pulled into a darkened gas station and used a previously selected pay phone to call one last participant to the stage. And he roared in, adding 100,000 watts of power to the plot.
KTTS FM was the most powerful, and favorite, country music station of the Ozarks. Pulling a rare late-night shift in its studios next door to the old YMCA on Jefferson Street in Springfield sat Dale. He keyed the mic, and broke into the middle of the hourly "Song of Faith and Devotion."
"We're getting several calls to the Pony Express News tip line. Something unexplained happened on Table Rock Lake. Reports are confused, but sometime this evening the TABLE ROCK QUEEN dance and excursion boat either became a submarine, or was attacked by a submarine--some reports say Commie, some say Jap. We have no reports on injuries. Country Club Members, this is very early, and all reports are unclear. As listeners know, I'm a Navy veteran, and I don't see how anything being reported could have happened. As always, stay tuned to Pony Express News for the latest in-depth reporting on the Ozarks." The "in-depth" was Dale's ad lib. And was brilliant.
Jane, you remember waitress Jane, the only non-participant tipped off in advance, was laughing her delectable ass off.
EPILOGUE--
The tourist season ended. The cool autumnal progress brought return to studies, music tours, and other hibernations for the Motor Lodge literates. A few of the crew, and a couple of other friends from the University theater department, gathered for another cherished ritual. In Springfield, Casper's Quonset Hut Cuisine diner served a Friday evening "all-you-can-eat" beans and cornbread special for 99 cents. This was a significant source of nutrition for broke theater students, music students, art students, and others of the community. Talk at one table this Friday turned to reminiscences of klaxon horns and panicking drunks. At some point someone said, "You know, up there in St. Louis, on the Mississippi, is the AMBASSADOR." (A huge, venerated, stainless Art Deco river excursion boat.) "Heck, she even looks more like a submarine." Murmuring, muttering, agreements, thinking out loud.
Also at the table was one of the power figures among the theater students. A friend to all, though not often a voice of reason. John grew up in St. Louis, so was considered the authority on all things Metropolitan. He would become nationally known, but at the bean supper, he was another hungry student.
He spoke. "Fellas, you know the AMBASSADOR has about a dozen bars, and even a semi-secret private club deck with a casino, right? Well, that's not all strictly legal on the river, it being a federal waterway. So, someone is protecting that boat, am I right? Now, who, in the wide wide world of corruption, do you s'pose that might be?"
Moments of contemplation, then Butch muttered, "Uh, St. Louis mafia?"
More moments of contemplation. Silence.
A chair scrapes, "Fellas, I'ma thinking I'll get me another slab of cornbread."
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