Glen said, “Yes, it is very serious, and I plan to ask her to marry me.”
Satisfied with such straight talk his father said, “Well, that’s about all I need to know.
In the following days they went to Quitman to buy each other and their new house guest Christmas presents and new ornaments for the tree. Other than that it was tedium for Glen to wait for the arrival of his love. On the morning of the thirty-first Glen packed an overnight bag and told his parents that he would bring Sybil home with him that night to become acquainted and spend New Year’s Day with them before Sybil returned to New Orleans.
Glen loaded his things in the car and promptly left for Meridian, arriving with twenty minutes to spare before the train arrived. He went into the coffee shop in the depot and had a quick cup. Before he had finished, he heard the locomotive’s announcement that it would imminently arrive. He went out and stood on the loading dock just as the train pulled into the station and saw a young woman carrying a suitcase emerge from the Pullman coach. Glen ran to her, took her into his arms and kissed her. He then retrieved her bag and guided her through the parking lot to the waiting Studebaker. He drove nearly speeding through the City of Meridian in his hurry to get her to the hotel. He wanted them to rest, among other things, before dinner at the hotel. They accomplished them all and awakened at 7:00 p.m. They bathed, dressed to go to the dance, then proceeded to the restaurant and had a very elegant and satisfying meal.
When they left the restaurant, they proceeded to the ballroom. A large contingent had already arrived but they were still able to find a good table near the edge of the dance floor. The big band was already tuned and immediately struck an invigorating number called appropriately “The Charleston.” Most of the couples gained the dance floor and began gyrating wildly in rhythm with the band, doing the Charleston dance. Sybil reached for Glen’s hand and pulled him up into the melee that was occurring before them.
After the last strains of the music ceased they were both very warm and sweating profusely. Glen told Sybil that he was either going to have to sit down or fall down. He really was ready for a drink. The evening moved on and they danced and drank as the time sped along. They didn’t know a soul there, but they enjoyed their anonymity.
Before midnight Glen could see that Sybil was tired, sleepy, and that she was ready to go. He called the valet parking station and told the attendant that he wanted the car. They quietly moved through the revelers and found the door of the ballroom. He held her, supporting her carefully down the stairway and across the hotel lobby to the waiting Studebaker. She wasn’t drunk, just slightly inebriated and excruciatingly weary from the long trip from New Orleans. The nap she had taken in the hotel room was not entirely sufficient.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE OWL’S NEST
They drove through the quiet of the little city of Meridian and proceeded south, as Glen had planned to pass through Enterprise and Pachuta back to Hale. The heater warmed the interior of the car and Glen opened the exterior air vent on the front window on the driver’s side. The cool air flowed into the cabin and Sybil awakened. She blurted out, “What time is it?”
Glen looked at his watch and said, “It’s twenty-five before twelve.”
Sybil sat erect suddenly and stated emphatically, “It’s almost New Year’s, and I must have a toast! Do we have anything to drink in the car?”
Glen answered, “I have something in the trunk, and just ahead there’s a little nightspot called the ‘Owl’s Nest.’ We can get some ice and a coke with some glasses, and do a perfect New Year’s celebration. We will spend the remainder of the night and the first of January in Hale with Mama and Papa Hailes and return to the hotel in Meridian that night. We’ll be together until the day you are supposed to return for your law school classes on January the sixth.”
They approached the nightclub and finally turned off the highway into the packed parking lot of the Owl’s Nest at 11:35 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, 1931. The club boasted an electric signboard with a logo that announced the New Year flashing flamboyantly in the clear, chilling, almost frozen night. Sybil was now recharged and wide awake, and sprang from the passenger’s side of the car in anticipation of the celebration of the coming 1932.
The volume of the music and the pounding beat of the rhythm section of the band penetrated the walls, the doors, and the roof of the tiny cinder block building. They could feel the explosive beat of the pulse fifty feet away in the parking lot and Sybil squealed with delight.
Glen opened the driver’s door, got out, and walked around the car to Sybil’s side. He opened her door and lifted her from her seat onto the surface of the parking lot, kissed her, and went to the rear of the car, opened the trunk and extracted a pint of ‘white lightning’ and concealed the bottle in his coat pocket. They ran to the door of the club with their arms enfolded, and were greeted by two very large security officers, the bouncers. After appropriate identification with a five dollar bill, the two were escorted inside to a mélange of noise created by a tiny ensemble of discordant musicians and were greeted by the generated heat of over 150 writhing bodies.
The boisterous little group, the “Six Shooters,” consisted of a drummer, a piano in bad need of tuning, and a bass violinist that was intermittently consistent with the remainder of the players. There was a trumpet, a trombone, and a tenor saxophone. They were a living testimony to the assertion that anyone that could hold, beat, pluck or blow into a musical instrument on New Year’s Eve could get a job. At twenty-five minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve, however, who was listening? The patrons moved in and out of synchrony with the beat and time of the music.
Once into the interior of the club, one of the bouncers asked bluntly, “What do you want?” Glen produced a ten dollar bill. The bouncer took it and escorted them to an empty table at the edge of the dance floor. Shortly thereafter, their order for drink set-ups with glasses and ice was delivered, and the waitress glowed with appreciation upon receiving another ten-spot. Glen extracted the bottle and poured two generous shots into each glass, then filled each with coke. They took a swig of their drinks, and laughed at the wild activity going on about them. The dancers on the floor were supercharged with the music, the booze, and the heat, along with the anticipation momentarily of the arrival of the New Year. Glen said, “Let’s dance right on into 1932.”
Sybil was immediately up, ready to proceed to the dance floor, and began to undulate in time with the music. She turned with outstretched arms and beckoned to her lover. He quickly led her to the floor. A large clock above the bar was approaching midnight. The intensity on the floor quickened as the second hand reached 11:59:00 and continued dispassionately toward its destination. The dancers on the floor slowed and turned toward the timepiece, and began to applaud and cheer as the second hand moved past the thirty second mark. Rapidly the noise began to crescendo and was deafening as it ticked off five seconds, four, three, two, one, and finally touched 12:00 a.m., 1932.
The band began to play Auld Lang Syne, that memory of days gone by and the patrons raised whatever glasses and bottles that they possessed, took draughts, then embraced, whispered “Happy New Year,” and kissed the new day’s arrival.
The musicians continued to play the song, and after a bit, the revelers began to move to the time of the music once more. When the music stopped, Glen and Sybil returned to their table. They sipped their drinks. They had no companions at their table but didn’t mind as they were fulfilled and enjoying each other without the need of others. The hours passed, but they still were celebrating. The band had obviously reached and passed the peak of their energies as reflected in the decline in the quality and the vigor of their renditions. They slowed the pace and began to play, “The Tennessee Waltz.”
Glen still wanted to dance and to hold her close. He reached for her hand and they returned to the floor, moving with some difficulty in the three-quarter time of the waltz, but suddenly were jolted by another couple moving in a counter directio
n. Glen ignored the first, but a moment later they were bantered by another pair of dancers. He looked directly at the second offender and knew immediately that he meant trouble. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:00 in the morning. Glen’s expression did not change. He continued to smile at Sybil, but placed his lips very close to her right ear and whispered, “Kiss my cheek if you hear and understand. Things are beginning to go bad. Do you understand?”
Sybil looked at him and smiled then kissed his right cheek. Glen continued, “As soon as the song is over, we’ll walk back toward the table. Before we get there, though, I want you to turn and go to the ladies room. As soon as you get there, don’t use it. Just wait a minute and move to the door to the parking lot. Get back to the car as fast as you can. Open the door and get on the floor between the front and back seats. Don’t move until I get there. Listen to what I have to say, and follow my directions.”
He took Sybil’s arm and guided her back toward their table, stopping at the edge of the dance floor. After a brief discussion for all to see, she turned toward the rest room. When Glen returned to their seats, he was slightly surprised to find that another table had been brought up beside theirs and eight people were seated in their stead.
Glen said, “I regret that this table is already taken. If you like, I will ask the bouncers to come over and help you to find another.”
One of the new arrivals, the one that had struck them while dancing on the floor, suddenly stood up and proclaimed, “You don’t own this table, it’s ours, so why don’t you get ahead of the crowd and beat it on out of here.” Then he amended, “You go on ahead, but when the little lady gets back, she can stay here with us to bring in the New Year. But don’t worry, I’ll buy her a drink or two to keep her company, then I’ll take her home.”
Glen noticed that the drinks that he and Sybil were sharing were still on the table. He smiled directly at the man then said, “I thank you for your chivalry, but first let me buy YOU a drink!” His hand went suddenly to his own glass, picked it up from the table and dashed it into the man’s face. He stepped back from the table quickly, knowing that this clod would come straight up, overturning the table in his effort to compensate for this insult. A moment later, all hell erupted onto the dance floor at the Owl’s Nest at 5:22 a.m. on the morning of January first, 1932.
Glen had barely taken a breath before the man and everyone else sitting at the tables emerged in concert, the table rising straight up, propelled by their conjoint force, sending drinks, money bills, change, and ashtrays scattering in a hundred directions. A number of the dancers were sent crashing to the floor, followed by a chorus of screams, yelling and cursing, flying fists and a crush of patrons moving en bloc in a herd instinct response directly through the antagonists at the table toward the only exit, the front door. Several poor, innocent unfortunates were inundated and trampled by the remainder behind them. None were killed, but many were injured. The man and his friends had been swept along, and Glen stood there alone.
Glen waited at the table until this riot began to subside. He knew that the group that had been the cause of it all would be waiting for him outside. That is when the real trouble would begin. When he could see a clear path to leave the building, he walked out through the front door.
He wasn’t wrong. They had encircled his car, dancing and chanting in a frenzy of movement, of fury that awaited his arrival, blocking his access to the car and to Sybil. What he witnessed next filled him with anger, and now provided a real reason to seek restitution from this group of thugs, and singularly from the man that had caused it all. The chief culprit took a beer bottle and smashed it into the Studebaker’s windshield in two places. He was proceeding to the door windows when he saw Glen standing, looking at him in the parking lot.
He stopped and grinned, then said, “We’re gonna open your little tin can and take her out of there, then we’re gonna take her into the woods and have a little fun. But first, you’ll do! Then you can watch!”
Glen fought to control the rage that this little man had created within him, but appeared to be calm, though anxious. He advanced with outstretched hands, and said, “Look, fellows, we don’t want any more trouble. Just let me get into the car, and I’ll get out of here and we can forget this whole thing!”
All the while he continued to approach the passenger’s side of the car. The ring around the vehicle parted and allowed him to reach the door. They suddenly re-formed around him and the culprit emerged from their midst. He muttered, “I am going to kill you!!” He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of brass knuckles. He quickly slipped the fingers of his right hand into the appropriate holes in the yellow metallic device, tightened his grasp against the handle nestled in his right palm, then pounded his fist a couple of times into his left palm to assure that it had been set properly to inflict maximum damage. By now, Glen was completely encircled by the ring of maddened, drunken spectators and passive participants that expected to enjoy his pain.
The culprit, realizing that he was the dark star in this stark drama, generated a burst of adrenalin throughout his own body, imparting almost superhuman strength. He crouched for the attack, ready to deliver a final, death-dealing stroke upon his hapless victim.
The ring of men encircled more closely. Glen could not move about to avoid the coming blow as the man lunged and struck his left cheek bone and jaw with his fist, reinforced with the hard, cold metal. Glen felt a sudden, almost unbearable pain over his entire left head and felt the flesh of his face being torn from its bony attachment. The force was so great that it knocked his feet literally from him, and Glen collapsed to the ground. Before he could regain his senses, the man jumped over him and kicked him with all the force that he could deliver into the left chest wall and rib cage.
Fighting the unconsciousness that was descending like darkness around him, Glen rolled away just as the man was delivering his second kick. Using his feet, Glen tripped his assailant to the ground as well. Before his opponent could get up to resume the fight, Glen was standing above him and allowed the man to get to a semi-standing position, then placed each hand on the man’s shoulders and shoved him sprawling into the gravel of the parking lot. This move distracted the rabble circled about him sufficiently to gain his position in front of the passenger’s door. He solicited, more to the occupant inside the car than to his offenders, “I’m here, just let me in the car, and we’ll be gone!!”
He felt for the door entry handle, but it was locked. It wouldn’t open. He fought to control a rising panic as his crazed opponent sat upon the ground, dazed and collecting himself. At that instant, a tiny hand reached up from the back seat of the interior of the car and lifted the door lock knob. Glen opened the unlocked door wide, waited a moment and grinned at his tormentor, then retreated into the interior of the car onto the front seat and reached into the glove compartment on the dash board.
The culprit had been deeply humiliated and rebounded back upon his feet. He lunged and forced his way through the door of the automobile into the passenger’s front seat on top of Glen and proceeded to pound on Glen’s head, using all his might with his fists. Glen slowly pulled his tormentor across his own body, reached and pulled the open door shut, then pushed the door handle on the passenger’s side into the down and locked position once more, sealing out all of his compatriots.
Oblivious to his sudden change of fortune, the man continued to press his battle with his fists, whispering epithets and curses, until he felt a cold, circular object press firmly, almost painfully into his abdomen, then heard the detached, indifferent, unmistakable ‘click’ of a pistol’s cocking trigger.
Before he could speak, Glen whispered an order into his left ear, “Be absolutely quiet, don’t move or call out to anyone. If you do, you will be dead before you speak, along with a number of your friends. Slide down onto the passenger’s floorboard, and don’t do anything but just stay down and be quiet. I really would like to kill you right here, but I don’t want to hurt anyone else
, even after they stood by and laughed at what you did to my car, and what you have done to me, but especially to my woman. She never did anything to hurt any of you.” He called over his shoulder to Sybil, still on the floor behind the front seat. “Are you o.k.?”
A small voice replied, “I don’t think I’m hurt, but I won’t be o.k. until we’re out of here” She had not seen the terrible things that had been inflicted upon Glen.
Glen inserted the key into the ignition, turned it and stepped on the starter button, located high on the floorboard above the accelerator, and beneath his right foot. The engine was still warm, but the starter motor was sluggish at first, but then it turned more quickly as the engine cylinders caught and the motor started.
Glen depressed the clutch pedal, then shifted into first gear and began to move toward the exit of the parking lot. The man’s friends realized that the car was leaving though he was still inside. Two of them ran to the car and tried to open the locked doors, pulling with all their might. Glen suddenly shifted the transmission into second gear and pressed the accelerator and watched when they fell away as the Studebaker rapidly moved forward and turned onto Highway 11, heading south toward Laurel, Mississippi.
Glen knew he had a substantial lead, but accelerated to 70 miles per hour, speeding through wisps of night humidity for eight miles, but could hardly see the road because of the wind flowing through the huge defect in the windshield. He knew every hamlet and byway, every tiny, narrow dirt road that would be available to invest and to render them invisible to any pursuers at this early hour of the morning. He slowed suddenly and turned into a dark lane, pulled behind a thick outcropping of brush and stopped. He extinguished the lights and the engine then sat in the darkness. The culprit began to move about on the floor, and whimper in stark terror and despair just as another car in hot pursuit sped by and disappeared. Quiet descended again on the occupants of the Studebaker. The only sound could be the mumbling, contrite sobbing of the man.
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