Chap. 28 – Eloise Wins the School Board Race

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Chapter 28

Eloise Wins the School Board Race!

      Tuesday, November 7, 2022, Election Day across America, and we’re in Norman, Oklahoma, staying with a guy who said he gave up on voting after the Nixon re-election in 1972.  Said he didn’t know any Yang-Gangers.  Had never heard of the Pirate Party.  Wasn’t sure there was even a College Republicans Chapter on campus. 

     Early afternoon, the temperature a pleasant 52 degrees, we went for a walk around campus looking for a good public place to Skype with Eloise and Susie back in Boulder, Montana.  Max had been back in touch with Eloise on a regular basis the past week and reported that she was a nervous wreck at night, but gaining confidence with every class she taught.  Student after student was reporting that his or her parents were voting for Eloise, saying things like “I told them you are the best teacher ever – you make learning fun – and you’d be the best school board member ever because you’d set a high standard for what it takes to become a tenured teacher.” 

     “Pretty astute stuff for high-schoolers,” Rocky said.  “They must be drop-out material.”

     About 4 p.m., we settled on the architecturally beautiful student center, straight out of Colonial Williamsburg, with a tree-lined path to the street where we had the Land Yacht parked.  We painted a new sign “We’re The Rumpkins – Out Harnessing the Spirit of Imagination,” and a second sign, “Watch the election with us.”  

     Moments after parking, the school security patrol showed up and asked if we had a permit.  Steve told him about our first hours in Norman, got out his recently printed copy of the “Ten Amendments”, and spoke like this, “Like the good judge said’th, thou shant deny the Citizens their right to peaceably assemble – or risk damnation.” 

     After hearing us out, the campus cop went back to his golf cart, and came back with a permit slip for us to fill out, saying “I got the authority to sign off on this – good luck to you guys.  God speed, you can hold off Trump winning again.”

     At 6 p.m., Susie, skyping from Boulder, reported that it looked like a heavy turn-out, “These kids are so great – they’ve been going door-to-door since school let out.  On one street there was even a parade of people heading to the polls!  Our cowboy friends were driving around town in their pick-ups with bull horns blaring to get out and vote for Eloise.”

      At 7 p.m., Susie reported the first volunteers were starting to arrive at election night headquarters . . . “here at the Chat & Chew, and Eloise is home writing two speeches, one in case she wins, and the other – don’t even think about it – she’s going to win!”

     At 8 p.m., we were skyping with Gregory, that volunteer of Eloise’s who had come to San Francisco with her for our hootenanny, “Hey, you guys got any more Hoots planned?”  He said he’d get back to us as soon as the results started coming in, “We’ve got runners at every polling place with instructions to race over as soon as the vote is tallied, and we’ve got a big chalk board set up.”  A few minutes later, we could hear cheers go up and assumed the first runner had arrived with good results.

     By now Robin, the Professor, had joined us saying, “Ya know, you guys make me feel like I need to start voting again, last time it was McGovern, next time it will be Pirate Jack – you’re running, right Pirate?”  And we actually had a throng of students starting to gather, sipping beverages Skip had raced out to buy.

     At exactly 8:47 p.m. Mountain Time (according to Patty who had the time running with the live video she was taking), Gregory came back on the screen and screamed, “She won!  She won!  We’ve got a winner.  All the results are in – it was a land slide!  Let me see if I can turn this to Eloise– she’s starting to give her victory speech.”  Here it is captured verbatim by Patty:

“I am so happy I am going to hug all of you!  Thanks so much!  Thanks to each and every one of you.  Thanks to the voters for their confidence in us.

 “We won because we had the most volunteers, not the most money, the most volunteers. 

 “We won because we got our message out there, each of you going person to person, one at a time. 

 “We won because we were different, not running as a Democrat or a Republican.

 “We won because we had the BEST message – one that all of you helped create:

                          First, hire the best teachers, and we’ll have the best schools;

Second, include parents in deciding which teachers should get tenure;

Third, have grade-schoolers help teach pre-schoolers;

Fourth, pay high-schoolers to tutor grade-schoolers;

Fifth, reduce the size of administration and use the savings for a college scholarship fund.

“Really we won because we created the most excitement.  We made this fun.  We were optimistic.  We were smiling.  We were enthusiastic.  We had a positive message.

“We won because we earned the trust of the voters that we meant what we said, and we’d do our best to get it done.

“Before I end, I want to say we’re part of a larger world out there, and this is just the beginning.  We can win any election, anytime, anywhere using our simple formula:

                          One, reach out to everybody;

                          Two, get outside the two-party box;

                          Three, appeal to peoples’ better instincts;

                          Create hope, not fear:  WE CAN DO THIS!

“Finally, something my father taught me:  Be Sincere; Be Brief; Be Seated!  Who wants the first hug!”

     And guess what?  Everybody by the Land Yacht started clapping too, including the dozen or so students who said, “Where do we sign-up?

Chap. 27 – Part Two

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SECOND PART

    Later that afternoon, Rocky and Robin started re-telling their favorite tripping stories.  At one point Patty interrupted their flow, “Good trippin’ stories, guys, but I’ve got the best one yet. I was at a social work conference in Philadelphia about troubled youth, and this presenter is leading a discussion on the importance of being good role models– when he says, ‘Let me give you an example of how not to do it, or maybe exactly the right way to do it’.”

     Later Patty made her tripping story part of the movie, hiring actors to do a re-enactment.  Her producer thought it was too long a digression from the movie’s plot, but Patty insisted it be included saying “It’s didactic. Plus, road trips include telling each other stories about our lives.”

Here’s the scene from the movie, a youth counselor doing the narration:

     “It’s my first year being a streetworker for Voyage House here in Philadelphia. My buddy Russell is one of the group home parents. We knew some of the kids were dropping, and we were brainstorming ways to talk about it without being hypocritical. 

     “The group home had this veranda porch, corner of 34th and Powelton.  Russell did most of his counseling on that porch, listening to music, the kids shaking tambourines, or whatever – Russell doing some talking, doing his thing.  Occasionally I’d show up and we’d walk down the block to a pay telephone booth and smoke a doobie.  The album of the summer was “All Day Music” by War, with Eric Burden the only white guy.  It was playing most every time I showed up.

     “It’s the spring of 1974, and I say to Russell, ‘You know, your favorite band, War, is gonna be at the Reading Fairgrounds, Memorial Day.  Let’s go – I’ll score some acid – it’ll be great.

     “The day comes, and since I don’t have a car, Russell scores the Voyage House station wagon to do the 50-some miles to Reading.  We drop just as we were leaving.  Going out the door, three of Russell’s charges say they want to go too.  Holy Shit!  But, you know, maybe this is the time to talk to them about doing acid in moderation.  So we invite them along – get tickets at the gate.

     “I’m the only one with a driver’s license, and the only white guy.  Halfway there me and Russell are starting to come on, and everybody’s enjoying the scenery – first time out of Philadelphia for all of them, including Russell.  Glorious day.  The mood cheery and upbeat, being real pals talkin’ about what a great world it is.  Then Russell whispers to me, ‘Put that other hit in the wine sack.  Now’s the time.’ 

     “They’re his charges, I think, so okay.  Russell then starts passing the wine sack around explaining to these under 18-year-old minors, ‘It’s electric.  Just sips.  You don’t need much to get as high as you want to be – one hit between the five of us will do the trick.’   

     “Things proceeded to get un-real – not just far-out, unreal far-out.  And what do I do?  Get off one exit too soon!  We’re in some small town – can’t remember the name – and I pull up to the main drag – it was Main Street, USA, and I make a left just as their Memorial Day Parade is taking off – and we’re the friggin’ lead car. 

      “People lined-up both sides of the street, even in the street.  I’m lost, but I can’t pull over and ask directions – that would mean stopping the parade.  And speeding away is out of the question, so I start pretending we’re part of their damn parade. ‘Just maintain, just maintain’, I say to myself.  But everybody in the station-wagon is freaked-out, really freaking-out – a gauntlet, all these white folks and not a Black face to be seen.  Of course, most of the parade watchers are staring at us more than us staring at them, their faces pushed forward straining to get a better look at us.   Finally, there’s a chance to pull over, and we beckon this white guy over for directions.  But he approaches Russell’s window looking mongoloid, and wavy like in a fun house mirror – we all thought so.  ‘Ohhh, did you see that guy!’ those in back utter almost in unison, as I pulled away without waiting for directions. 

    “Thank God, going straight got us to the Fairgrounds – where the music is supposed to be.  Where we park, first spot inside the first gate, we can’t hear any music, and piling out of the station wagon with our drum set, our congas, triangles and tambourines, this guy shouts, ‘Hey, the band’s finally here!’  (You know, one white guy and four Black guys.)  That didn’t help the freaking-out.

     “Then a helluva long walk to the entrance gate, most of the way Russell pleading ‘Let’s get back to Philly.’  I try to be optimistic, ‘There’s going to be music.’  But Russell seriously believed I’d been duped into thinking there was this concert. 

     “Once at the ticket booth, it gets weirder, if that’s possible.  Still no music, and now cops all around with police dogs, everybody being herded into single lines with chain-link fences on both sides.  When one of the police dogs starts snarling at Russell – (you know police dogs, since slave days they’ve been tracking runaway slaves) – Russell totally loses it, and sensing fear, the police dog gets even more vicious, straining on its leash to get at Russell. ‘I’m not going in‘, Russell says, ‘This is some fucking concentration camp. You got lured here.’

     “But we’re stuck in this line, so we keep marching into what they all thought was a concentration camp I’d lured them to – walking to their executions!

      “Entering the Fairgrounds, rounding a corner, ‘GLORY-HAL-E-LU-YA!’  I scream throwing my arms in the air!  I can hear the music!’  And we see a sea of people – normal looking people ! – sprawled on blankets almost as far as the eye can see all the way up to the stage.   The rest of the day, totally mellow, playing along with the music, and Russell doing his thing.  Those teen-agers never stopped talking about that day, and Russell continued his sway over their futures.”

     As Patty was finishing the story, Robin got up and played his old War album for us:

Music is what we like to play

Yeah yeah

All day, all day, all day, all day

To soothe your soul, yeah

Down at the beach or a party in town

Making love or just lying around

…

Let’s have a picnic, go to the park

Rolling in the grass till long after dark . . .

Soon after Patty’s LSD story, we all crashed in the Land Yacht except Jack and Sally, who got the room Robin called his “Mistress Bedroom” – a second master bedroom but with a water bed.  Big Sam had the Rover.

Chap. 27 – Busted!

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Chapter 27

Busted! (In 2 Parts)

FIRST PART

     By nightfall that first day out of Santa Fe, we were just getting into Oklahoma.  We found a campground by the Wichita River, off I-40, but Sally said it gave her the creeps thinking about what happened to Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider when they tried camping in a desolate spot, so “Let’s switch drivers and just keep going.”    

     We arrived in Norman, Oklahoma, after mid-night and headed to the OU campus, the Caravan intact.  Then cop lights!  We’re all pulled over.  A second squad showed up.  Then a third, each with cursive curly-Q lettering “Keeping Norman Friendly & Safe.”  Five cops in all.  They split us up the best they could.   Three in the squads, Peaches handcuffed to his Air Stream’s doorhandle after wising off, the rest of us ordered to stand by the road.  They checked our stories and asked if they could search our vehicles.  Our lawyer Steve jumped in, “Sirs, we’re totally legit.  You know you need a search warrant.  I’m a lawyer.  You had no reason to stop us.  We should be on our way.  All we’re doing is looking for a Walmart to park overnight and visit a professor friend tomorrow who’s expecting us here in Norman.”

     That didn’t work.  Those of us standing outside were freezing our butts off praying nobody had any weed, or LSD, or worse, packed away somewhere.  The cops had already patted us down and emptied our pockets, and were searching every backpack, every nook and cranny of all three vehicles, regardless of needing a warrant.  “Whose initials are ‘SJD’?  Whose shaving kit is this?” one of the cops asked.  Nobody said anything, but that would be Skip’s.  Then two paddy wagons showed up. 

     Nobody said much while we were all booked into the Norman jail, but Steve kept his tirade going, “What are the charges pray tell!  You can’t just deprive citizens of their liberty without a reason!  I know the law; you cops obviously don’t.  There’s a Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution protecting against unreasonable searches and seizures.  Think you’re above the law?  You’ll pay for this.” 

     Sally started actually praying.  Eventually Steve got the phone call he was insisting on and called one of his NLG buddies back in the Twin Cities to get going on finding us a local lawyer.  We were in three cells, all within shouting distance, and Steve assured us that we would all be cut loose soon.  And we were, except Skip, who was booked for possession of cocaine.

     Skip and cocaine!  We couldn’t believe it.  He wouldn’t do that, put us and the whole trip at risk.  “But yeah, I didn’t know you and Skip were such LSD freaks either,” Sally screamed at Rocky.  

     “Shut the fuck up, Sally,” Rocky retorted.  “It’s not cocaine they found.  Skip always travels with a vial of baking soda to brush his teeth with.  You should try it – helps with bad breath.”

     And sure enough when we showed up at Skip’s arraignment the next morning (after waiting for the morning light in an all-night diner), the prosecutor apologized profusely and told the judge, “. . . indeed the substance suspected to be a controlled substance tested out to be baking soda.  There’s nothing to prosecute.”  Steve stood up to speak, saying he was a lawyer licensed to practice in Minnesota.  The judge then recessed court and asked Skip, Steve and the prosecutor to join him in chambers. 

     “I know what you’re thinking,” the judge said to Steve, “these cops had no right to search your vehicles or haul you guys in.  What are you doing here in town?”

     Skip started but Steve cut him off attempting to downplay the political aspect to our trip, “We’re retired folk, met some other retired folks in California.  We’re out taking the temperature of America post Donald Trump – we hope post Donald Trump.”  

     “Well, you can take my temperature right here, right now!” the judge exclaimed.  “I’m hot . . . mad as hell about how many cops have a disregard for civil liberties.  It started with Trump saying he never read the Constitution.  Never read the Constitution and he’s the President of the United States!  The cops think they can get away with this because Trump’s bullying, and disrespect for authority, sets the tone, providing permission for others to do the same.  It ends up screwing our basic values, our respect for the Constitution.   I wouldn’t blame you guys one bit if you sued the pants off these coppers.  Maybe it’d wake them up.”

——————————————————————————————————————-

     Finally we got to the professor’s place, a little before noon.  Robin was no longer teaching, but was now a Professor Emeritus.  He looked much different than any of us expected – not at all like a trust baby or a rich kid.  He was wearing beads, in a Nehru jacket, more the aging hippie than retired professor.  His pad, although nicely furnished, including some antiques, had a hippie feel too.  Robin greeted us, saying he was happy to see so many of us, and almost immediately announced his favorite thing these days was asking anybody new he met: “Have you ever met someone famous or know someone who has met someone famous?” (Claiming this is how he got his material for writing.)  And he started right in, “Rocky, I know you have, and I’ve heard you have too, Skip, but what about you?” pointing to Sunshine, still in the pajamas she had on when the bust went down the night before.

     Unbelievably, Sunshine claimed her grandmother knew Albert Hoffmann, the inventor of LSD – met him at some psychiatry conference in Oslo.  Patty turned her camera on and turned the table on Robin, “How ‘bout you, Professor?  Ever met anybody famous?” 

     “Yeah,” Robin said, “the author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  It was 1964, I was in Oklahoma working on the railroad when Ken Kesey rolled through town.”      “And he taught you how to play bridge, if I remember correctly,” Rocky chuckled

Chap. 26 – How Rocky Developed His Aptitude for What is Fun

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Chapter 26

How Rocky Developed His Aptitude for What is Fun

     Seeing it was a 600-mile trip to Norman, Oklahoma, we put some ground rules in place.  Spontaneity being first, we didn’t have to stay a caravan.  “We don’t all need to arrive in Norman at the same time, or even the same day,” Sally said.  “If you want to break off and do something different – or take a detour to somewhere – we’ll just meet at the first Walmart on the right once inside the city limits.”  Jack, Sally, and now Huck, along with Big Sam went in the Rover.  Peaches and Sunshine were on their own.  The rest of us in the Yacht. 

     We were off to visit a friend of Rocky’s, named Robin, who was a professor of English at the University of Oklahoma.  “The guy,” Rocky said, “who first introduced me to LSD.  Anybody got any good trippin’ stories?”  We were crossing the Texas panhandle on I-40 when this came up.  Already we knew that Rocky and Robin had been contract-bridge partners and even competed for the Bermuda Cup in 1971.  And we knew that Rocky took his bridge game seriously having told us the closest he came to being married was when a female opponent scored a grand slam bonus after he’d redoubled his bid, and he proposed to her on the spot. 

     Patty picked up on Rocky’s question: “Why don’t you tell us about that first acid trip, Rocky.  I’ll turn the camera on.  See if it can make-up for the lousy scenery around here – this is the flattest, most desolate land I’ve ever seen.”

     “Well,” Rocky started, “it was while I was in high school, the summer of 1969 and everybody was talking about Woodstock.  Robin and I knew each other from competitive bridge tournaments.  Robin was the Bridge Club Coach at Mounds View, where I was a sophomore and his star pupil.  Robin’s family were all big-wigs with the BNSF Railroad, directly tracing the family lineage to James J. Hill.  At any rate, at age 16 he got me a job working for the railroad.  One day he asked me if I’d ever dropped, saying he had been doing acid since 1964. 

     “Geez, I said admiringly, ‘Is that how you got to be such a good bridge player?’  And he actually answered yes, so I pretended I’d been doing acid too.  Then Robin says, ‘You wanna drop with me?’  So of course I had to say yes. 

     “Well, lots of things happened fast.  We were in the caboose on a run from the Twin Cities to Willmar.  Willmar’s maybe about 100 miles west of Minneapolis.  Little did I know I was signing up for a twelve-hour trip.  When we get to the siding on the outskirts of Willmar, I started really coming-on.  It seemed like there were trains on every track going every direction at once.  When I told that to Robin he just laughed and said ‘good stuff huh.’  Then I started seeing colors, really hallucinating, seeing everything weird, and I said, ‘since when does the BNSF paint lightning bolts on their cars?  

     “That really got Robin laughing – uncontrollably – and then me too when he said, ‘Those are zebra stripes, not lightning bolts.’ 

     “What they do, the railroad, is have a taxi pick you up at the switchyard and take you to a motel to get some sleep before you’re next assigned out.  That would be for Robin because he was headed out to Oklahoma City the next day.  For me, I was to do a quick turn around and head back to Minneapolis.  But we couldn’t find the switchman’s tower where the cab would be waiting.  Not that we couldn’t see the tower, but it kept changing where it was.  We’d start down one track and it would disappear.  So we’d go back to where we started and see it again and start out again – feeling our way with our hands – touching the box cars to make sure we kept moving in one direction. 

     “Well, the taxi driver finally came and got us ‘cuz he was watching us and says, ‘What, are you guys lost?’ and we both started laughing uncontrollably, again.  We got to the motel and lots more happened, but really nothing.  Anyone watching us would think we’re having a boring time, but it was anything but.  There’s a body feeling too.  Kind of a tightening and moving all at once in your belly.  Your eyes are speeding ahead but your body is standing still.  You can kind of taste a smell in your head – you smell yourself tripping.  At any rate, Robin kept telling me we would come down for sure and not to panic.  ‘Panic is what kills you, not the LSD,’ he told me.  ‘It was panic that got Art Linkletter’s daughter to jump out the window.’ ”

     “So what did you guys end up doing?” Patty asked.

     “Well, we went to the Railroad Men’s bar and pretended to drink and play cribbage for awhile.  Just kind of watching the scene and nursing our drinks.  But we weren’t really playing cards either.  The cards were purple and orange.  Jacks looked like Queens.  Eventually, we went for a walk on some abandoned golf course and just talked about life, saw lots of weird things, like snakes slithering across the greens (really just twigs blowing in the wind).  When we finally came down, it was the next morning and Robin got me excused from missing my train – his dad being a big-wig – and got me another train back to the Cities.  But you know, friends for life, the guys you trip with.  

     “Last time I saw Robin, some 20 years ago, we had a reunion in Bermuda to watch the bridge championships.  By then he had mostly settled down somewhat and was teaching English somewhere, telling me his students’ favorite author was Hunter S. Thompson because he could do acid and write, which still makes me laugh – so you know, we’re just good friends laughing at things going on.”  (Wow, we thought, that’s where Rocky got his taste for attire, his blue jean jackets, his aviator glasses – as well as his taste for fun.)

     “Whew,” Patty croaked, “thanks for taking me on that trip.  I got high just hearing about it – you know, the taste, the feel.”

Chap. 25 – Part Two

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SECOND PART – Skip’s Back

     Mari had smartly changed the venue for the party from her house to the Lodge at Hyde Park.  The little bit of snow didn’t matter – we were inside.  Mari and her husband Bob knew almost everybody in town and Bob insisted on inviting all their friends.  Lots of folks with state capitol connections were there.  The Park Service let us have a private room and an open bar.  The few other hearty campers at Hyde Park in cold early November joined the party.  It was as if all the political baggage we brought to small town Santa Fe fit right in.

     Best of all, some members of the Navajo Nation showed up.  For years, Mari, her sisters and brothers, had had a special relationship with the Navajos – negotiating a deal to let the Navajos sell their home-made jewelry out of the shop on Canyon Road – exquisite turquoise bracelets and hairpieces, the world famous “Squash Blossom Necklace,” and beautifully woven blankets.

     Mari introduced us to John Tsoodzif (pronounced “soods–if,” a Navajo word for Turquoise Mountain or Blue Beard).  Tsoodzif had long hair pulled back in a pony tail.  He had a beautiful turquoise string tie that matched his velveteen shirt.  He told us that Deb Haaland was the best thing that had happened in America since Little Big Horn.  “How do you think your Montana cowboy friends remember that battle?” he asked us.  (Months later we were still trying to figure out if he was trying to be humorous or not – of course the Indians massacred the Cowboys in that battle.)

     “Well, I’m going to speak for all us Minnesota white guys in the room,” Steve said:

“The Native Community’s leadership on saving the earth, thinking about water as being sacred – not a property right, has been essential, the best legal leverage we have, for moving the environmental movement forward, getting young people involved, actually making things better.  The majority of court cases are being decided your way – our way – and the American people, at least in Minnesota, and young people across the nation, are grateful for your lead on all this.  Thank you!”

     Those of us nearby actually clapped hearing Steve say this.  Folks all around piped in.

     Tsoodzif eloquently talked about how the earth belongs to all its people; that in traditional Native American culture, no one “owns” the land or the water; that we’re all entrusted with the sacred duty to preserve it for those to come; and that the pipeline fight was a natural one to take leadership on.

     Another of the Navajos, recognizing that the media still portrays Trump as having a grip on too much of the populace, characterized Trump’s rise as just a comma in time, Trump a mere firefly in a swamp:

“There are many people, some shine as bright as the sun, some only have the light of a firefly.  The universe is large.  All of us acting together leave a lasting impression.  A mere firefly in a swamp has no footprint.  Time is immortal.  There is no Trumpism – only Trump.  We will outlast him because we are more than one.  The people, together, are Mother Earth’s heart and soul.  It’s not what happens tomorrow, or next month, or while Trump rules over us.  No one individual can win alone.  Time’s immortal.  Life moves on.  Trump is a mere comma in time.”

     Meanwhile, Patty was noticing Skip was mostly keeping to himself, not his usual effusive self.  She walked over to him, “Hey, what’s going on?  How you doing?”

     “Oh, I’m fine,” he replied.

      “Look, I know you’re a little disappointed about a Rumpkin Legislature not taking off, but hey, the trip’s a success – nobody has bailed – and we still’ve got another dozen we’re off to visit.”

     “Yah, hey, by the way,” Skip replied, “Rocky told me you did a great job defending the idea with that lawyer in Tucson – telling him election reform was about to sweep the country, calling the Republicans dinosaurs, the Democrats same-o same-o, and the Indies on the rise.  I couldn’t have done better if there myself – thanks.”

      “Come on,” Patty said, “join the party, you know there are a couple former New Mexico legislators here, right?”

     The week in Santa Fe couldn’t have been nicer.  Even had a frisbee golf tournament using nature’s landmarks as holes, with a water hole where you could choose a long-distance throw and maybe have to wade in the frigid pond to retrieve your frisbee, or the safe way across the bridge.  We got to know all the camp dwellers playing charades and bridge in the lounge into the early morning hours, but it was so friggin’ cold at night most of us snuck back to the Land Yacht to sleep, and Jack and Sally ended up taking a room in town.   

     The last night in Santa Fe, a Saturday night, Mari and Bob threw another party for us, a smaller one this time, with some Navajo elders as special guests, and a great traditional feast of venison, squash and cornbread hoecakes.  Before supper, we started Facebooking with Eloise and Susie back in Montana about how it was going with those cowboys helping on Eloise’s campaign.  By the end of supper, Susie and Eloise were on the task of making our “Indians and Cowboys” Facebook friends.

     The next morning, Jack officially proclaimed us a caravan to the great delight of Peaches and Sunshine, with all three vehicles taking off for Norman, Oklahoma, where Rocky had a friend to look up from playing in international bridge tournaments.