20



That afternoon I went into Tacitusville. It was about a five-mile walk. Lambert wanted to give me a lift, but I told him I was so used to walking everywhere I went, that it would it almost seem unnatural to do otherwise.

But I’m not averse to driving an automobile. In my previous life, I very much enjoyed traveling the Great American Road, or some equivalent thereof, and at the great speed of fifty miles per hour. The Great American Road did not include interstates, but what William Least Heat Moon called ‘Blue Highways’. But for really seeing things as you travel, there’s no substitute for walking. You almost blend into the landscape and become a part of it. You tend to see things you would not otherwise see.

Tacitusville was not named for the great Roman Historian, but for an ambitious Scotsman who crossed the Atlantic as a very young man in 1743, the same year Thomas Jefferson was born. He loved his adopted land and fought in the Revolutionary War as a patriot. After the war, he convinced a bunch of neighbors to follow him and his large family to this part of the country. It was a good land and the settlement flourished. When he was on his deathbed, the inhabitants of the town unanimously voted to name the town after him. They say he died with a smile on his face.

Tacitusville High School was in an unpretentious, two-story red brick building not far from town. When I got there, the final bell had just rung, and students were going this way and that over the grounds. Some, I suppose were headed home, or to a part-time job, or to athletic practice.

In the main office, I asked the receptionist if I could speak to the principal. She showed me to his office. His name was Mr. Sunhaven.

He greeted me with a firm handshake, “Come on in. How can I help you?”
“I would like to meet with your amateur astronomers club.”
He didn’t seem to be concerned with my request. He asked me a few questions about why I wanted to meet with the club, and I guess my answers were satisfactory.
Mr. Sunhaven: “They meet every day after school. They’re very dedicated to what they’re doing. Our most outstanding students are in the club. Many of them get post-secondary scholarships of one kind or another.”

The principal escorted me down a long hallway, then downstairs to the basement where the club held its meetings. Ironic that a group so invested in the wonders of the sky and the heavens met underground.

It was a large club, 26 students in all, both male and female. They were very friendly. They enjoyed sharing their enthusiasm for the stars with others.

I started off, “I spent last night on the hill where your former members Tyrone and Clark often placed their telescope.”
A girl named Rosetta spoke up, “We know that spot. We all think it’s great for star gazing.”
I replied, “I’m especially interested in the night Ty and Clark saw what their parents described as a flying saucer.”
A boy named Calvin said, “None of us were there but we believe them. Ty and Clark weren’t the kind of guys who made up things just to get some attention.”
Me: “Did they describe to you in detail what they saw?”
A blonde girl: “I’m Sally. Yes, they did. The parents say it was a flying saucer but that’s not what Ty and Clark told us. To them, and they both agreed on the description, it was more in the shape of a human being. They said what they saw appeared to be a torso with a head, two arms and two legs. At first, they were reluctant to tell us because they thought we would laugh at them.”
Me: “But you didn’t?”
Calvin: “If it had been anybody else, yes, but Ty and Clark had never exaggerated their sightings before. They deserved the benefit of the doubt.”

We talked for a few more minutes. Nice bunch of kinds. Many of them would probably go on to careers in science.

How we see the world is entirely dependent on our perspective. Do we see things from a temporal or a more permanent-leaning point of view? How does the weather affect our point of view? What if our bodies were always healthy, fully functioning, and comfortable no matter the weather conditions? Would the world ‘look’ and ‘feel’ differently?

Joanna had invited me to come to supper with her and Lambert after my visit to town, and I was considering taking her up on her offer. But I when I walked out through the school doors to the outside world, I discovered I was no longer in Tacitusville. As the school building faded behind me, the view ahead was full of tall, loblolly pines with a sandy-type dirt slicing through them. Before I could collect my thoughts, a loud, honking noise erupted and as I turned around, a car was barreling down on me. I quickly jumped out of the way as it went flying by. It was an A Model Ford, circa 1927. Thirty seconds later, I heard a siren, earsplitting in its intensity; but this one was a police car, maybe a Chevrolet, and also of the same time period as the Ford; also at high speed. Because of the sandy soil, the dust wasn’t that thick. The incident was a little too close for comfort.

No other hell-for-leather cars seemed to be in the offering, so I started walking in the same direction as the cars. Might as well see what was happening. I walked a mile or so when I saw the police car headed back in my direction. It stopped when it pulled even with me. The officer’s window was already down. He stuck his head out the window and said, “Sorry, fella, about almost hitting you.”
I asked, “What was that all about?”
The officer replied, “Moonshiners. We had a tip they were making a delivery today. We had all the usual roads blocked, but Gunn must know every road, pathway, and rabbit’s trail in this neck of woods. He only needs an inch of space on either side of his car to get out of a jam. Wasted talent, if you asked me.”
Me: “Who is this Gunn?”
Officer: “Patrick Gunn. He’s so good at running whiskey, he’s become famous in a fifty-mile radius. Popular too. Rumor is he gives some of the money he makes to people in need. And, brother, they’re plenty of folks around here in need.”
Me: “Sort of a modern-day Robin Hood."
The officer laughed: “But it’s still illegal and we’re still going to catch him.”
Me: “Good luck to you, officer.” I began to walk away.
But the officer had a final word for me: “Be careful. His camp is somewhere in this area.”

The ultimate God is not an objective reality, or let’s put it this way: we humans are not capable of knowing God in his objective reality. We can make statements to that effect, but these statements are quite meaningless. The bigger and greater we make God, the less change we have of understanding him. God only makes sense to humans if humans can relate to him. In other words, a subjective reality. This God resides mostly in your mind. When you recognize this, you acknowledge the universality of the God idea.

Determinism reduces God to a God of action as opposed to a God of thought then action. Because if everything is pre-determined, there’s no reason to think. There’s only to act.

Our sun will burn out in 7.5 billion years. Is that enough time to get everything done? Probably not. But we’ll discuss this later.

As I was walking through the pine woods that night, I saw a flicker of light just ahead and to the right of me. Due to my aura (if this was a SF story, I would designate it a personal force field), I wasn’t concerned with being shot as an intruder. A bullet would simply bounce off harmlessly. But I don’t really want to have to try to explain why a bullet at close range would leave me undisturbed. So, when I was with range of hearing, I started whistling the Andy Griffith Show tune. It did the trick. When I arrived at the campfire, I fully expected someone to call me Opie.

A large man with a full beard was standing by the fire, warming his hands. He spoke first, “Are you looking for some food?”

The whistling might not have been as effective as I assumed. I now noticed another man in the background holding a shotgun. But he wasn’t aiming it. Which, while not a completely positive sign, wasn’t entirely negative either.

I answered, “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I spotted a coffee pot sitting on a large rock that was nestled by the fire. “A cup of coffee would be nice though.”
The large man seemed to loosen up, “Have a seat by the fire. Put that shotgun down, Billy. This guy looks friendly enough.”
The large man continued, “I’m Patrick Gunn.” Nodding to the shotgun holder, “This is Billy and over yonder sleeping under the tree is Woodrow.”
Me: “Nice to meet you.”
Gunn poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me.
Me: “Thanks. I got to be honest with you. I stopped by here just to learn more about you. You were busy at the time fleeing from the law, but you whizzed by me this afternoon. I talked to the police officer who had been chasing you. He said you robbed from the rich and gave to the poor.”
Gunn guffawed, “That ain’t exactly right, but it does have a ring of truth in it. I do break the law, but it’s a stupid law and millions of Americans also break it every day. But no aggravating cops chase them all over creation.”
Me: “Prohibition?”
Gunn: “What the hell else do you think I mean?”

I didn’t mean to rile him. I wasn’t exactly sure of the year. Prohibition ended in late 1933. I knew I was in the Depression, but it had lasted all through the 1930’s.

I tried to sound more soothing, “Tell me of your efforts to help people.”
Gunn: “We make the moonshine and sell it to anybody who wants it. Whatever extra money we have, we spread it around the community. No one person or family gets a lot of money at one time. It would arouse suspicion.”
Me: “I guess you don’t stay in one place too long.” I looked around. Besides the car, there was only the campfire and three sleeping bags. I’m sure the still was in a location far off the beaten path. Hidden from all eyes and ears.

Gunn: “That’s right. Can’t remember the last time I slept in a real bed. They say if Roosevelt is elected, Congress will repeal Prohibition. Then I’ll be more than happy to get back on the right side of the law.”
Me: “I can tell you with certainty, that’s going to happen. Don’t ask me how I know. Thanks for the coffee.” I stood up and walked out the way I came in. I must have made a good impression. The shotgun didn’t go off as I distanced myself from their camp.

From the conversation with Gunn, I gather it’s 1932. The weather feels like late Spring. I haven’t received an official directive to do so, but it appears I’m on the hunt for a new style of UFO, one shaped like a human. I’ve gone back 27 years from 1959 to 1932. I’m roughly in the same geographical area. Now you know as much as I do.