Goldstar Joins the Party in Progress
                  An Episode taken from Tales of Springdale 
                        Copyright 1994 by Dave Laird

Marshall Wallace Goldstar had to admit that, after two months as Marshall of
the Town of Springdale, the job was becoming a bit tedious, if not just
plain lonesome. For as long as he had been a private citizen, and not a
public official, he had enjoyed the freedom to come and go as he wished and
loved socializing with people from all walks of life. His logging company,
which had been his pride and joy for years, had kept him busily working, and
what man, after a long day in the woods wouldn't think of stopping by one of
his favorite taverns for a cold beer to quench his thirst?

His wife was quick to remind him he no longer had that freedom. On more than
one occasion, her tongue as sharp as a switchblade knife, she warned him
against being seen in public with a beer in his hand.

"The ugly bar crowd in town would never let you forget it," she snapped
sternly, shaking her fist in his direction. 

Still, driving through the town late one hot July afternoon, after working
all day west of town on a rather substantial clear cut, the urge was
overpowering. He parked his pickup truck in front of the Reservation Tavern,
subconsciously noting with grim satisfaction, that he was parked in one of
Freddy the Logger's personal parking spots. 

He casually stolled into the tavern, and sitting down at the first bar
stool, asked Ben Welchert, the bar owner (and coincidentally the Mayor of
the Town), "Where does a fellah in this town get a cold beer?" Ben's
eyebrows shot up his forehead in astonishment. Secretly he had heard rumors
from some folks that lived up by Chewelah that Goldstar was known to tip a
few with the best of them, but frankly he had not expected to ever see his
new Marshall sitting thus. 

It presented him with what appeared to be a incalculable advantage fraught
with possibilities. After all, he was growing tired of hearing his patrons
constantly bitching and moaning about how HIS new town cop was ruining their
lives. Why, it was as if he, the Mayor of the Town, was directly responsible
for every traffic stop that the Town Marshall made. Even his girlfriend,
Carolyn, was complaining. 

Welchert poured a glass of cold beer and sat it in front of Goldstar, dryly
commenting, "I didn't expect to ever see you dropping by here for a glass of
beer. What's up?" 

Goldstar grinned, and taking a sip of his beer, he explained, "Well, just
because I'm the Town Marshall doesn't stop me from having a glass of beer
and getting acquainted with folks, now does it?" 

"Certainly not," the Mayor said agreeably. "They say that everybody steps
foot in the door of the Reservation Tavern at one time or another."

As the tavern began to fill up with the evening crowd, Marshall Goldstar
affably greeted those people who he already knew, and nodded politely at
those whose faces he did not recognize. At first, the townspeople and
Indians in from the reservation were suspicious, having already heard the
rumors about how the new Town Marshall was stopping people for the slightest
offense. However, within a short time, they relaxed, seeing that Goldstar
was as generous at buying rounds for the house as he had been in pulling
people over.
                                                             
By the time the shadows had begun getting longer outside, the bar patrons
were nearly in their usual state of ambivalent intoxication. After all, he
couldn't hand out any tickets while he was sitting there snockered on his
ass, now could he? 

Sure, Freddy the Logger was muttering, Joe Red Dog was staring angrily at
the new Town Marshall, but nobody much believed anything that Joe Red Dog
had to say anyway.

"Besides," Anna No Good commented with a sigh of relief, "He's just sittin'
there, being friendly with folks and mindin' his own business. Hell, he's
already bought two rounds for the house. He can't be all that bad." 

Several more hours passed. People who ordinarily would rarely stop at the
Reservation Tavern, preferring one of the other two taverns in town instead,
made it a point to drop by the Mayor's tavern, just to see for themselves
what the new Town Marshall was all about. By the time it was getting dark
outside, with nearly a six pack of beer cheerfully rumbling in his guts,
Goldstar was happier than he had been since the day he was sworn into
office. 

Why, these were friendly people. He had long since lost track of how
many people had bought him a beer, or just stopped by to slap him on the
back and talk awhile. Even Freddy the Logger, who at first had sat at the
bar looking morose, eventually managed to say hello after a time. 

The cup of human kindness began filling to brim at about the same pace as
Marshall Goldstar began to feel the beer he'd drank. Several times, he
started to get up and leave, only to find a freshly-poured glass of beer
sitting in front of him. When he finally managed to disentangle himself from
the crowd of well-wishers at the bar, he found himself having difficulty in
standing up without wobbling. Although he didn't particularly see a problem
with this, he did make an effort to appear totally sober as he headed out
the door of the tavern. 

He was chagrined, however, to find out that he was having difficulty getting
his ignition key to unlock the door of his pickup, until he realized that he
had left the door unlocked anyway. A handful of people were standing just
inside the door of the Reservation Tavern as Goldstar finally was seated in
the pickup, and waving socially to let them know that everything was okay,
he managed to start the pickup with only minimal effort, and carefully
backed out into the street, heading for home. 

"Offhand I'd say the Town Marshall had a few too many, " Freddy the Logger
piped up from his barstool. "In fact, I'd guess he had QUITE a few too
many." 

A burst of laughter rippled its way around the crowded bar room. Here and
there among the crowd, the folks who had been unable to relax all evening
long with the new law man hanging around sagged a bit lower in their seats,
ordered another round of beer for everyone and in general, began drinking as
if it were any other normal Friday night. 

The unmistakable aroma of marijuana soon filled the air as a few of the
patrons combined the alternative business sales with that of pleasure.

Meanwhile, at Goldstar's residence just outside the town limits, matters
were not nearly so happy, for even Marshall Goldstar had to deal with his
wife, sooner or later, and tonight he slept on the couch.