Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-Oh, Black Water

Following Sheriff John's passing after the Fourth of July, the summer season of Tule Flats Ghost Town flew by basically without incident. Attendance didn't seem to grow though it did level out to an acceptable fair to middling. Unfortunately, without substantial and sustainable financial growth, some amenities had to go by the wayside such as the ice cream parlor and the hamburger grill (aka Fine Victuals). Fortunately, these were the only two casualties of the first year.

A new character entered the fray, not exactly a carpetbagger but a gentleman that promised more than he could actually deliver. Since I became wary of this guy from the git-go, I dubbed him The Wiz, not because I felt he was a nefarious sort but I had my doubts. Then again, it wasn't my money he wanted to throw around. He pretty much led the four ghost town partners to believe he could provide a variety of small carnival style rides to coincide with the only real attraction that we had, that being the train. As it turned out, he only came up with a pre-existing rowboat that he tossed in the mossy pond, operating it as one would a gondola and the notoriously litigious piece of carnival history known as the Swinging Gym, also known as The Flying Cage. This apparatus required no electricity, solely operating under the power of physical exertion. A rider would enter the cage and rock it back and forth in hopes of sending it over the top. Pretty cool if you could do it, though stopping it was another thing entirely. With no padding, it was an all heavy metal experience and injuries were a definite possibility thanks to the laws of gravity and, you know, physics. This beastly contraption ended up sitting in the back corner by the costume shop and was only used by the likes of us. That wondrous boat ride lasted only a couple of weekends itself and became memorable thanks to Grant Phillips. Unbeknownst to anyone, he and a friend slipped into the pond and snuck up on the boat with their t-shirts over their heads, looking like creatures from the deep in a cheesy horror film. Basically, they scared the crap out of a couple of kids not to mention The Wiz himself. Maybe he actually Wizzed himself. 

DW Landingham, gunfighter

I still felt optimistic about the town since our gunfighter group contains an array of talented individuals including our newest member John Himle who remained maybe even longer than I did overall. There was an energy, creative and spiritually that was undeniable that really put everything in perspective for me as though this were indeed The Way. The extended family atmosphere also nourished and nurtured me, further giving me not only a purpose but a sense of belonging. I discovered actually wasn't alone in this world after all, a revelation that was a total switcheroo from the first part of that year. There is where I wanted and needed to be. When I physically wasn't, my thoughts remained even I took a weekend off to attend a friend's wedding in Philadelphia. I became distracted in my duties as Best Man when I noticed the time and wondered what gunfight was being performed at that point on the other side of the country.

Fall arrived and the first season was coming to an end soon. It had been decided the last weekend of operation before the onset of winter turned would be Halloween weekend. A major extravaganza had been planned to finish off the year. Tule Flats was going to remain open for 30 hours straight from opening at 12:00 noon Saturday up until 6:00 p.m. Sunday night. It was an ambitious undertaking with street shows going well into the night, though with some necessary restrictions. Blazing guns after midnight wasn't exactly in the cards let alone logical. However a midnight show was indeed possible and definitely scheduled.

For such an event, the word needed to get out beyond traditional means, so a promotion was arranged on a local morning TV show shot in at KOVR's downtown Stockton studio. A few of the townspeople, myself included, were due to appear along with Bill Humphreys and Grant Phillips performing The Doobie Brothers classic "Black Water" live on camera with the rest of us on backup. First of all, it made total sense for these two to take the lead, being the only real singers of this group with Bill also doing double duty as spokesperson for the town. But the rest of us? Yikes. All we had to do was echo the chorus, but in rehearsal it didn't get above a tuneless murmur.  It reminded me of that old SNL sketch with Tonto, Tarzan and Frankenstein singing "Deck the Halls". I decided to bring a tambourine even if I have all the rhythm of a garden snail. I figured anything would help. And another thing, we weren't planning any music for the big extravaganza, so wasn't this, in a way, false advertising? Whose idea was this, The Wiz

And of course, after rehearsing the number the night before, we fell into our increasingly bad habits of partying hard into the night with some not very serious libations. It was enough to give this group of buskers a collective hangover, except of course, Grant, being the young 'un that he was and professional he was certain to be. We arrived at the studio in a fog, totally low-key for our segment that Bill and Grant knocked out of the park while the rest of us murmured our parts and I pounded my tambourine on my leg inexplicably in time with the music, its irritating cadence ringing through my pained skull like the bells of Notre Dame, not to mention anyone else, suffering as I was from the Brown Bottle Flu. That was some funky Dixieland, that's for sure. 

Oh, Black Water, kept us rollin', Mississippi moon smilin' down on us all the way toward the Grand Finale yet to come.

Next up: The Final Chapter-HAPPY TRAILS

FOR PREVIOUS POSTS OF TULE FLATS OR RELATED POLLARDVILLE STORIES,  PLEASE VISIT MY PAGE: TALES FROM THE VILLE