Law and Order Comes to Springdale Copyright 1999--Dave Laird Springdale, the Gateway to the beer taverns, liquor bars, churches and ma and pa grocery stores of the town of Hunters, Washington, offers thirsty travelers only few amenities more than that of most of its peers, that being the one convenience store and a faded gas station that fixes tractors for the farmers in these parts. What really made news in these parts is the Mayor appointing a new Town Marshall. No one, not even those on good speaking terms with the Mayor, knew that Wallace Goldstar had been appointed Town Marshall. The first inkling anyone had that there was a new Town Marshall was when Deputy Goldstar made the first in a series of unprecedented bar checks his sixth night of official duty. A collective hush settled over the entire bar as Goldstar walked the full length of the bar, circumspectly peering at each person, just as they none-too-circumspectly looked back at him. In the past, the patrons of the towns three taverns occasionly have seen members of the County Sheriff's Department breaking up fights, even occasionally serving divorce papers on those few residents who are truly married. Once in a great, great while, the county mounties would make a token effort at law enforcement but, generally speaking, they usually leave this end of Stevens County to fend for itself. Perhaps that was why that, so long as anyone could remember, there never has been a cop coming by to routinely check the bars excepting during an election year. Of course, during the election year, the Sheriff would arrive, with beer on his breath, to shake hands with anyone sober enough to do so, only to disappear until the following year. For decades the Reservation Tavern patrons have enjoyed stepping outside onto the fractured macadam that passes for sidewalks to sip their beer, perhaps smoke a little weed to ease a hangover and, if the urge was upon them, tiptoe off into the bushes to empty straining bladders after a hard night of drinking and shooting pool. After all, this was their town, by god, and nobody would ever have the nerve to change it. Yet, within an hour of Marshall Goldstar's first bar check, the streets in front of all three taverns were empty. All the usual crowd that gathered on the sidewalk to gossip and drink were inside the taverns for the first time in several decades. It is four o'clock on a friday, and the bar patrons are howling about a speed trap Deputy Goldstar set up at the outskirts of town. He coincidentally netted about half the populace, although he never did arrest anyone, but folks seem more upset about the mere existence of a speed trap inside their town. After all, it has been nearly thirty years since anyone in Springdale had been pulled overs for anything by the Town Marshall. Although one might think that most of the towns'upstanding citizens would surely have driver's licenses in this modern era, Goldstar was shocked to find out otherwise. In fact, less than half the people he'd netted in his speed trap had driver's licenses, including Freddy the Logger. Were he in the mood to arrest people, he could have easily taken half the town to jail. Instead, he calmly introduced himself to everyone, informing them that he is giving them a verbal warning to get their act together and let them go, shaking his head as they drove on downtown. When he was first hired for the job of Marshall by the Mayor, the Town of Springdale bought him a crisp new uniform and a brand-new gold and silver badge. This seems to have made the tavern crowd madder than all the folks he's caught in his speed trap, though. "A faded old Stetson, a scuffed pair of levis and that rusty Colt 45 of his was good enough for Willie Johnson," Perdie Hickle complained. Earlier he had admitted that although he had been stopped by the Marshall earlier in the day, that was not the issue. "Hell, Willie looked more like a gunslinger in a dimestore western than a cop, fer Chrissakes, but it sure beats the hell out of havin' the Junior F.B.I. prowlin' around." "It's that uniform! It makes him look like some big-city copper!" wailed Theresa Robinton, the local seamstress, sitting the next barstool down. She related how her son Tony had been stopped earlier in the day for driving his pickup with its expired 1959 license plates. "Who the hell does he think he is stopping everybody, anyway?" About this time, The Mayor of Springdale came in, and I could tell that he was already halfway snockered before he even sat down and ordered himself a beer. "Yeah, but there everyone in this tavern seems to forget that Willie Johnson's the one that got the town sued for shootin' a skunk on Main Street." the Mayor commented in an offhand manner. "That's why he ain't here no more." Abigail Turnbull, forever alert to impending scandal several barstools down, grabbed the Mayor and shook him by the arm. "What's that you say? Who sued who?" Before the Mayor could compose himself, someone behind us yelled, "That was back before you moved up here from Portland, I think, Abbie. As I remember, he had just finished breaking up a fight out in front of here when he saw a skunk walking down the Main Street. He whipped out his Colt and shot it in the butt to chase it outta town." "So how the hell did that get the town sued?" "Well, the bullet went on through the fat part of the skunk's rear end and apparently splintered when it hit the pavement. A little piece of it traveled up the street, went through the front window of the cafe and blew the backside out of the wood stove in the cafe. That was all." The Mayor, who had been quietly sitting and sipping on his beer, suddenly roared, "Tell the rest of it, dammit!" He turned facing Perdie, and shook a wavering finger under Perdie's nose. "If you are gonna blab your mouth to the world, you might as well tell the whole story, dammit!" A dusty silence settled over the room before Perdie continued his retelling of the story. "Well, that old skunk was madder n' hell about bein' shot in the smeller. It was so mad, in fact, that it ran in the front door of the grocery store and created quite a panic. People smashed all the store windows out, mangled up the display racks that had been in the window in their haste to get away from the poor skunk who couldn't stink anymore, anyway. About the time a few of us managed to get the poor skunk outta the store, the cafe was on fire and old George Thomas who owned the cafe was over there screamin' and a'cussin' at everybody about a bullet hittin' his stove and settin' the joint on fire." "When it was all said and done Willie Johnson had cost the town a lawsuit for thirty-five grand, plus attorney's fees." the Mayor snapped bitterly. "One which the town wisely settled out of court for about half. So before anybody in here starts blowing off at the mouth about how great Willie Johnson was, remember we are still payin' for his damn stupidity. Everybody pays a little on the interest every time they pay their utility bill and if you buy a cup of coffee at the new cafe up the street, you paid a little on the principal..." The Mayor paused a moment, his facial muscles working hard, before genially adding, "For which the good citizens of Springdale thank you kindly." As I was driving out of town, heading home, I could see the faded Marshall's green Ford Victoria with Deputy Goldstar sitting quietly in the darkness. I pulled in and introduced myself. Goldstar admitted that he had already heard the history of Willie Johnson's incident with the skunk, but added that he wasn't terribly surprised. "When I first took the oath of office I was a little more shocked to find out that there weren't any police records of any kind kept from previous administrations. After that, nothing about this town would surprise me at all." "How's the Mayor?" Goldstar asked. "Is he as drunk as as he was a little while ago?" "He was in relatively good condition," I answered. "...For him, that is. Goldstar chuckled. "More'n once I've gone by after closing time and found him face-down on the bar passed out cold with the bartender gone and the door wide open." That's a regular occurence around these parts, I gather." "You can't very well arrest your boss, the Mayor, now can you?" I asked with a wicked grin.