The Adventures of Gopher Piddington

by David Michaelson

  “Is there anything else? I’m getting hungry.”

  “Well yes, there are other tricks, including the little-known fact that men with huge muscles usually tire quickly. I’m not sure why, but I’ve found it to be true. And, the really big ones tend to move slowly—a real advantage in a serious fight. For instance, Marshal Ivan has the biggest arms in town and I beat him in a fair fight once.”

  “You beat him up and he was still willing to come work for you?”

  “He came to work here because he respected me, not just because I beat him in a fair fight. Besides, I wanted to hire a Marshal that no one would dare cross—and Ivan was my first choice.”

  “Can we go eat now?”

  “In a minute. There’s one more thing I wanted to mention. It’s only important if you ever have to fight a full-grown man, as the tactic won’t always work on young boys.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s another weak spot but is frowned upon by accepted boxing rules. But again, much of what I teach you is designed for your survival, not your opponent’s. When you find yourself on the losing end of a battle, there are always the vulnerable family jewels. No man can stand being punched or kicked between his legs. It’s a knee-bending, crippling blow and should only be used in dire emergencies.

  “Now, let’s go over to the restaurant and see what Guadalupe has cooked for this evening.”

  THE ARREST

  Gopher Piddington was all boy and behaved much in the same manner that boys are supposed to do. He had his share of bruises and scrapes, just like the other boys, but when he strayed from the straight and narrow, things often got way out of hand. Thus was the case of Gopher’s first brush with the law.

  Reginald was still one of Gopher’s best friends, even though he was one of the true oddballs in town. No one even knew if Reginald was his first, last or middle name—just Reginald.

  The strange boy still held a fascination for anything shiny or colorful and was often guilty of liberating little baubles from various stores in Santa Fe. For years, the shopkeepers looked the other way, especially when Marshal Ivan simply visited the boy’s house to retrieve the stolen goods. No one wanted to put poor soul in jail. Other than his fascination with bright things, Reginald was considered harmless

  As the word got around that Reginald got away with petty theft, some of the other boys figured they could, too.

  It all started with the occasional unauthorized samples of penny candy by one or two boys. Then they would get together and brag about their acts of daring-do. At first, the store manager really didn’t mind the infrequent theft, because more children spent money than stole from him. But as that ratio began to change and his meager profits were shrinking, Gustav Oleckson was bound and determined to prosecute the next boy that came into his store and stole from him.

  When two boys entered his store, Gustav secretly kept watch through a crack in the curtains leading to the storeroom. With no one at the counter, one of the boys not only helped himself to a handful of hard candy. He also lifted a small silver-plated harmonica and slipped it into his other front pocket.

  When Gustav rushed out from behind the curtain and yelled, “I saw what you did” and ordered the two to stop where they stood.

  They took off running.

  Gopher was one of the boys but he had not seen what his friend had done, so he wasn’t concerned about the ruckus. For all he knew, old man Oleckson was just letting off steam—nothing new there, so he ran.

  Gopher and his thieving friend nicknamed, Inky, ran and ran until they reached their favorite swimming hole on the river underneath the towering cottonwood trees. There, Inky shared the candy and took out the shiny instrument and tried to make tunes on it.

  Gopher sat in amazement at how stupid Inky was when it came to a simple musical instrument like a harmonica. “Here, let me show you how it’s done,” and grabbed it from Inky’s hands. “See you had it in your mouth backwards. Here’s how you play it.”

  The music wasn’t really a tune, but rather a series of melodious squeaks and whistles. Neither boy minded. It was music to their ears. It was something no other boy in town had.

  As Gopher gleefully ran the instrument across his lips and went up and down the scales, he was suddenly aware of an ominous shadow blocking the afternoon sun.

  Ivan Petronoff, the town marshal, was standing between the boys and any escape. They were caught and could do nothing about it. With one boy in each huge hand, Ivan dragged the two thieves back to town, where he plunked the two of them into an empty cell and made a show of turning the key to lock the heavy iron door. “There, you two are now keep out of trouble.”

  Of course, the Piddington’s, as well as Inky’s parents were duly notified that their sons were in custody for thievery.

  Being the Mayor of Santa Fe, Able Piddington wanted justice for his son, as well as equal justice for the other boy. “Ivan, I think it is time to make an example of those two for the other children to see. Maybe the rest of them will keep their sticky fingers off other people’s things. I, for one, would like to put an end to the rampant stealing from the sugar bowls on my tables. Maybe if these two appear before a Judge they will change their nefarious ways—and maybe the others will finally figure out that theft will not be tolerated.”

  “But, my friend, what if your boy is found guilty? Sentence could be summer hard labor—or split wood for orphanage all winter—both difficult for any man.”

  Able was convinced the judge would go easy on his son and probably give both boys nothing more than a stern warning. “You might be right, Ivan. But I want them both to respect the law and there should be no favoritism when it comes to breaking it—not even for the son of the Mayor. So, keep them locked up until the judge hears their story. That should make an impression on both of them!”

  Gopher and Inky couldn’t believe neither of them was getting out on bail. Both sets of parents had discussed the situation and the charges and were in agreement: let a judge decide their fate. Perhaps a night in jail would make them see the light of their wrongdoing.

  By the light of a single gas lamp, Marshal Petronoff brought two trays of food for his only two prisoners. “Because you boys still be boys, Ivan bring milk. Enjoy dinner. Come morning Judge Wilkins hear testimony.”

  And with a clank, the heavy door was locked and the jail went quiet. Two frightened boys shivered in the darkened cell.

  Judge Hiram Wilkins sat on his raised dais and addressed the criminals brought before him. “Misters Piddington and Roberts. You two were witnessed removing items for sale from Oleckson’s mercantile. How plead you?”

  Gopher wanted to say he didn’t do anything wrong but Inky Roberts blurted out, “Heck, judge, we didn’t do nothin’ others ain’t done.”

  The judge failed to find any humor or any value to the statement. “May I assume, young man, that your answer signifies guilt?”

  “Think what’cha want, but it weren’t no big deal—all the kids lift candy now and then.”

  Judge Wilkins was about to pass sentence when the storeowner that filed the complaint decided to speak up. “If your honor please, I only saw the Roberts boy taking things. The other boy could have but from where I was standing behind the curtains, the Piddington boy wasn’t clearly visible.”

  “Mister Oleckson, are you implying the Piddington boy is innocent? The Marshal said in his sworn testimony that he himself, witnessed the Piddington lad with the stolen harmonica.”

  “Like I said, he could have taken it but I didn’t see him do so. I only saw the Roberts boy do the stealing but they both ran, so both must be guilty.”

  The judge looked down from on high and stared at Gopher Piddington. “What say you young Piddington? Did you take anything from mister Oleckson’s store?”

  “No. Not ever, sir.”

  “Now, son I find that hard to believe. Why, you’ve been known as a bit of a troublemaker ever since you and your folks came to town. And I for one am inclined to
believe you were in on the theft all along, even if your father is the Mayor. How plead you?”

  “Huh?”

  The judge assumed an even angrier face. “Did you or did you not assist the Roberts boy in committing the crime of petty theft from the mercantile?”

  “I did not. I was with him but I didn’t know the harmonica was stolen. I was only holding it because he didn’t know how to play it.”

  “And what about the candy discovered in Mister Roberts’ pockets? Did you know about that?”

  “You mean did I know it was stolen?”

  “That is exactly what I mean.”

  “Well sir, lots of the other kids take a piece of candy now and then when nobody’s looking; I just figured it was one of those times.”

  “Have you ever taken a piece of candy at any time before?”

  “No sir, I’ve always had a few pennies to buy my own and I was afraid of getting caught and my Father knows boxing and he’s pretty good at cutting switches and. . .”

  Inky interrupted. “Aw the sissy didn’t do nothin’. He ain’t got the guts to do nothin’. It was me what took the harmonica. So what! The old man’s got it back, so what’s the harm?”

  Judge Wilkins stared at the adults in his courtroom for a long moment and then said, “It appears that young Piddington was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And while I doubt Mister Roberts will be willing to mend his attitude or his wayward ways, I suspect Mister Piddington will think twice about taking someone else’s property in the future.

  “Therefore, my sentence will be unusually harsh; three months hard labor at whatever chores the county deems necessary and appropriate.”

  Gopher gulped hard as the gavel came down on the wooden block. “Bang.” The noise of the impact echoed ominously in the room.

  Judge Wilkins took a deep breath and stared directly at Gopher. “As for Mister Piddington, he is free to go. But I warn you young man, if I ever see you in my courtroom again I will throw the book at you!”

  From that moment on, Gopher Piddington tried to walk the straight and narrow. Success in that department was usually a dismal failure and he was often threatened with a promise from his father that, “One day I’m going to lower the boom on you.”

  Gopher managed to pass all his exams and continued in school until he reached the age of ten. On the occasion of his tenth birthday, his life changed once again.

  THE TOY TRAIN

  Becoming ten years old was a big deal. Gopher welcomed what he considered his advanced age. For some reason, age ten really meant something. Maybe it was important simply because he wasn’t nine anymore, maybe it was better because it had two digits. Ten actually sounded better when anyone asked his age. He could now proudly say, “I’m ten” instead of almost ten.

  Besides, he was now only three years away from the eighth grade, when most kids left school and went to work. Gopher was smart enough to know he was slightly ahead of the class and would finish the eighth grade when he was only thirteen years old. He heard of some boys still in school when they were twenty. His father said most of those boys are just as smart as you, but they work farms and can’t go to school as often.

  A big party was planned at the restaurant. Just about every member of the town council promised to attend. And, even though Gopher’s father, the mayor, had asked that no gifts be given to his son, the reception table near the entrance was filled to overflowing with wrapped packages of all sorts.

  Throughout the long evening a few of the town leaders stood and spoke of their many memories, both good and bad, of a little boy that sometimes turned the town upside down with his antics.

  At the age of ten, Gopher had reached the height of 5’ 6” tall and a weight of exactly 120 pounds. He was now as tall as many grown men but had yet to master his oversized feet. Keeping young Gopher in shoes and clothing proved to be an expensive endeavor, as the boy was prone to growing spurts, where he might gain two or three sizes in a single summer.

  On the whole, Gopher was seen as a mostly quiet and sometimes studious fellow that no longer got into trouble. To those around him, his one brush with the law seemed to have forced any devilish traits out of his system.

  Things were about to change but those changes had nothing to do with his age, his height or his weight. It was one of the birthday gifts he received that changed Gopher Piddington forever.

  After everyone had gone and no one but family remained in the restaurant, Gopher was finally allowed to open all his gifts. There were several different balls, two gyroscopes, a half-dozen rather infantile spin-tops and a couple of discount chits for merchandise at two different stores, should he suddenly find himself in need of a new top hat or a parlor stove.

  But there was one gift that stood out from all the others. It had come all the way from England—a gift from his grandparents on his father’s side.

  It was the most beautiful thing Gopher had ever seen. Emblazoned on a polished brass nameplate on one engine were the words, James Spooner. On the other, Fairlie Patent.

  Nothing he had ever seen compared to the wonderful hand-made metal model he held in his hands. Not even the big puffer belly train to Tularosa was as fascinating.

  The note accompanying the colorful burgundy and brass model described the unusual double-ended locomotive as a Double Fairlie and was used extensively in Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland. The note went on to say the unusual configuration allowed the train to go forward and backward without the need of a roundhouse or turnaround. And, the single boiler was fed by a common, central supply system, where two men tended the firebox; one side loaded water, the other man loaded coal.

  But the most interesting thing to Gopher was the mention of the Fairlie Engine being particularly adept at mountainous and twisting routes for two reasons: the trucks, or bogies, as the English called them, articulated, allowing for tighter turns. In addition, all the wheels could be powered, giving much needed traction on steeper grades.

  All in all, Gopher was fascinated with the gift and the history of the unusual locomotive.

  “I want to see a real one,” Gopher announced. “Can we go to England? That’s where they are.”

  Kirsten told her son traveling all the way back to England simply wasn’t possible right now, nor any time in the foreseeable future.

  Suddenly, Gopher was depressed, even though his birthday celebration had been the most wonderful one of his life. “Somehow,” he vowed, “I will get to see one of those beautiful Fairlies up close.”

  Life went on as before, with one exception: Gopher spent every spare minute trying to find out more about the Fairlie locomotives. He asked common rail workers if any of them had ever seen one. He flagged down freight trains to ask if there were any Fairlies anywhere on any of the thousands of miles of track in the United States.

  Then one day, a recently retired railroad engineer bought a home in Santa Fe and started a new life of peace and quiet. That is, until Gopher Piddington started pestering him. He even brought his precious model just to prove such a thing existed.

  “Yes, I’ve known of just such locomotives—popular in Europe, I hear. Why, there’s even been talk of one on the Durango line—maybe Leadville—lots of tight twists and turns on either run. That’s what they’re good for.”

  Eventually, Gopher obtained a name and an address of the Rail Master for the Denver & Rio Grande line based in Colorado. It was his intention to write a letter asking if they had any knowledge of a Fairlie double ender.

  Gopher wrote a number of letters but received no response—not until a year later when he changed the tone of his letter claiming his interest was for a class project.

  Two weeks later a letter arrived from the offices of the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railway Company. It was addressed to Gilbert G. Piddington and it answered his question about the unusual locomotive.

  The short letter was on official Denver & Rio Grande Western stationary. Even if the letter wasn’t exactly what he hoped for, the artwork was
certainly a keeper and something to display with pride.

  Gopher ripped it open and showed it to his curious parents.

  “See, I got a letter from the railroad company.”

  He held up the crisp paper as if it were too brittle and valuable to hold.

  “Quick Mother, please read it to me. I can’t wait to hear what they said.”

  Kirsten began reading the message written to her son regarding his fascination with a train.

  Gopher was thrilled. “When can we go, Mother? Now we don’t have to go all the way to England. It’s right here in our own back yard.”

  “Honey, we’re not in any position to make a trip to Colorado or anywhere else right now, not with the restaurant and all the duties your father has as mayor. No we simply can’t consider it.”

  “Well maybe I’ll go all by myself.”

  “Now don’t go getting all uppity. You’re not old enough to make such a trip. Maybe in a few years, but not now.”

  “But I’ll be old by then. Or the Fairlie train will be somewhere else. I don’t want to wait. I want to go now.”

  “Son, it’s impossible, so forget it for now. And what’s with this class business? What’s that all about?”

  “I guess I told a little white lie. When I got no answers I thought maybe they would write back if they thought it was a class project. And it worked!”

  “But it wasn’t the truth. Don’t you feel a little sheepish about misleading a railroad company?”

  “But it worked. They wouldn’t answer me until I thought about something Miss Bidwell said about a field trip and how the entire class got special treatment at the lumber mill that ordinarily wasn’t open for visitors. That’s when I thought about writing that letter. And it worked.”

  “I admire your fortitude and gumption but in the future, confine your correspondence to the truth.

  “And keep in mind, one these days your father is going to lower the boom on you after one of your shenanigans.”