Things were taking shape though with this kinda sorta new crew. The street shows, namely the gunfights were packed with more action with more stunt work by are team of non-professionals. Even I was shot off the roof the hotel, falling off onto the wagon below. The acting itself, as it were, had certainly been elevated, probably the most talented bunch of weekend cowboys that ever roamed the Pollardville range.
The energy in the place was undeniable. There was something happening there to be sure, actually feeling like a real town since, for the most part, we all stayed in character the entire time. Even though it was for the sake of the paying public, we sometimes gave ourselves over to the illusion of what we conceived to be the Wild West, at least our version of it.
I was convinced of this one day when Grant Phillips and I went out to rob the train, a little bonus for customers that occurred on every run. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea for the two of us to come running back in town after the robbery to continue the story a little bit more. Once I hit main Street, Dennis Landingham was standing at the hitching post in front of the saloon, noticing I had the gold bag in my hand that I just brought from the train. Instinctively he drew his pistol and I drew mine. We began to exchange gunfire back and forth. Grant did not have a gun and basically ducked and covered as we tried to make our way down the street. Hearing the ruckus we just started, a couple of of other gunfighters joined in the fray. As I recall, we scampered behind the buildings and popped out right by the assay office while the other cowpokes lit out after us. In desperation, I took a couple of customers, young purty girls of course, as hostages and, along with Grant, hold up in the jail trying to figure out what to do next. Outside, Dennis was hollering for us to give up which I refused to do. Grant didn't really care on way or the other, just along for the ride. Realizing there was no way out of this mess (or bit), I felt until it was time to make a hasty exit, leave Grant and the hostages behind and shoot my way out. Throwing open the jailhouse door, I ran to the middle of the street in desperation, pistol drawn ready to face the two or three cowpokes outside when I was met by a hail of blank gunfire from everywhere and everyone, three times more than what I expected. I fell to the ground in a heap, meeting my maker that fateful afternoon. The silence that followed lasted only a mere second before there was a burst of applause that surprised the holy hell out of me. I rose from the dirt to see we actually had an audience for all of this. Here we were, playing cowboy not much differently as when were kids and the customers loved it. Oh yeah. we were on to something, that was for sure. The question was, how to recreate it?
Memorial day weekend saw another up-tic in attendance, but the drop off afterward led to some changes that didn't set well with some. DW, for one, grew frustrated when more duties were laid upon us that had nothing to do with being gunfighting such as maintenance. He realized that he didn't want the position of Entertainment Director any longer because he already had a full-time job during the week and this was supposed to be recreation not another job. So he gave it up, still wanting to be part of the town and even agreeing not be paid as long he didn't have to fulfill another other responsibilities.
The Powers that Be, as I called the partners who now ran the town, offered me Dennis' position instead and I became The Guy. I didn't go along with the additional workload conditions either for the gunfighters, let alone myself. For some reason, they went along with me and dropped that nonsense. Why they didn't do the same for Dennis was beyond me.
As the new Entertainment Director of Tule Flats, the world began to open for me, both creatively and personally. The black clouds of depression I lived under at the beginning of the year faded away in the sunshine of this moment. Instantly, I rewrote some of the old scripts and penned a few new ones with more of an emphasis on comedy because we started to lose some of our stunt performers. Since we didn't have any training, we were basically making it up as went along and if we continued, we could have broken our fool necks if weren't careful and we rarely were as it was. I could see we as a collective were capable of more, much more and wanted to expand on it.
Naturally, in the words of a certain web slinger, with great power comes great responsibility, not to mention a boost to one's ego. I had gone to from zero to sixty in a short amount of time. The black clouds of depression that nearly laid me out at the beginning of the year faded away in the sunshine of this moment in the sun. For the first time, I had a swagger in my step and confidence that had previously been foreign to me. I felt a bit like a rock star that summer. How could it not get into my head?
The seeds of what was to become at Pollardville in general had been firmly implanted in that summer in the Ghost Town. It wasn't long before we became a closely knit group of people and bonds were forming fast. It became difficult to leave at the end of the day, so we didn't. That's when the partying started. Often we go far into the night, consuming many a bottle of beer, laughing, carousing and whooping it up like there was no tomorrow. Unfortunately, when Monday rolled around again, it was time to rejoin the Real World again. We prayed for time to fly until the next weekend when we could head back in time to a world, a better world of our own making.
And coming up fast was the next big holiday celebration, the Fourth of July. let the fireworks begin.
PHOTGRAPHS BY EDWARD THORPE
Next up: Chapter Three-THE ELECTION
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1 comment:
That was a hellava summer by September only about five gunfighters remained...
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