Outside of the 4th of July, the biggest public celebration in Keisters Ridge is Founder’s Day. It is on this day that the inhabitants of the town all get together to memorialize the settlement of their community. Over the years the Founder’s Day celebration has grown and collapsed and then grown again. Back around the turn of the century everybody got together for a picnic and catfish fry out on the edge of town. But the stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression that followed caused the picnic baskets to close and the blankets under the trees to fold.
By the mid‑1950s prosperity had again spawned a Founder’s Day celebration with a parade featuring the Keisters Ridge Consolidated Unit 12 Community High School Marching Band and a variety of local dignitaries. One thing led to another and twenty‑five years later the Founder’s Day Celebration had grown to be an all out week‑long Big Deal. The merchants in town all got together and had Founder’s Sales and the Chamber of Commerce set up a coonskin cap stand in front of City Hall. Auntie Mabel down at the Keister Inn ran a Keister Catfish Founder’sSpecial. For a week the town went quietly nuts.
The biggest part of the week‑long series of events was the Founder’s Parade. The parade was always led by the American Legion Color Guard. There was even a Founder’s Queen riding in a 1936 LaSalle Coupe. Many different groups joined the parade just to march the ten blocks through town.
Among them was the Mud Grubbers 4‑Wheel Drive Club. The Mud Grubbers started out as a Jeep‑only organization, but when it turned out that eight of the ten Jeeps in town were owned by the Post Office Department they had to open their doors to anyone with four‑wheel drive. They were very popular and on Founder’s Day the club always took children for rides through a giant mud hole made by the Keisters Ridge Volunteer Fire Department.
One year the big news to the parade organizers was that the VFW post in Millers Falls wanted to send over their train. This was hot stuff because the train had not left the Millers Falls city limits in several years, despite it being very well known among those folks who keep track of such vehicles. The plan was to load the train with residents of the Keisters Ridge Retirement Village who would be dressed in authentic Founder’s costumes.
The train started life as a 1956 Chevrolet panel truck. It was purchased by the United States Air Force and was used to haul parts and tires for F‑100 Super Sabre Jets until it was surplused out in the mid‑1960s. The truck was bought by the Millers Falls Community College where it became a grounds crew vehicle. One day it lost its brakes and rolled backwards, without a driver, into the lobby of the chemistry building. Shortly thereafter it was sold to the VFW post for twentyfive dollars.
One of the members of the post was a body and fender man. He chopped off the back of the truck and added a flat plywood deck. He also attached part of a fiftyfive gallon oil drum to the top of the hood and welded up some square steel bars into a cow catcher which was bolted to the front bumper. A piece of old pipe became a fairly convincing smokestack. A striped canopy was put up over the deck and school bus seats were added. Unfortunately, the brakes were neglected and the first time the train went out it crashed into the Cadillac driven by the mayor of Millers Falls. The cow catcher did its trick and by the time the sounds of bending metal had stopped the headlights of the green, blue, and orange train were in the back seat of the Caddy.
With the addition of a farm wagon, decorated with an identical canopy and seats, to the rear of the “engine” the train made a formidable presentation when it was taken to local fairs and parades. It was a popular item, and was often loaded with children or members of one group or another. On one occasion twenty‑five members of a local Barber Shop quartet club sang their way through Millers Falls.
It was always exciting when the train made its appearance. The time the clutch burned out in the middle of a high school homecoming parade was well remembered by the cheerleaders who were on board. Rolling along at all of five miles per hour, smoke bellowed from under the train. By the time it stopped and the cheerleaders got off, the smell of burning clutch had worked its way into their school sweaters. It took several washings to get the aroma out.
When the news reached town that the VFW was willing to bring the train over to Keisters Ridge for the Founder’s Day Parade there was great jubilation within the ranks of the parade organizers. The train hadn’t been outside the Millers Falls city limits in years, because nobody believed it was reliable enough to drive more than three or four miles from its garage. The residents of the Keisters Ridge Retirement Village were also excited to be included in the parade. They had all of their costumes prepared. In fact, they had even organized a jug band to ride on the trailer to play authentic Founder’s type music.
When the day of the parade came everyone took their usual places. Arnold Obermeyer, who owned Arnold’s Body Shop and Dance Studio, was in the lead carrying the state flag in the American Legion Color Guard. The Keisters Ridge Consolidated Unit 12 Community High School Marching Band came next, all thirty‑six of its members looking spiffy in their new uniforms. The Founder’s Queen rode in the LaSalle and was followed by Mayor Grafft and his wife. Mrs. Grafft was still wearing a turtleneck sweater because of a recent unfortunate accident at the Keister Inn. The Founder’s Day Committee appeared next in the back of a pickup truck provided by Keister Ford.
The next “unit” was a traditional favorite among the children in the crowd. Bertram the Trained Pig from Malcom Ott’s Farm and Feed was led down the street by Malcom’s son, Andy Ott. The Keister Patriot Brigade and Gun Crew marched next. Dressed in real buckskins, they pulled a brass cannon which they periodically stopped to fire with a great roar and much smoke. This upset Bertram who tried to stampede into the spectators. Bertram got his revenge, however, when the Patriot Brigade and Gun Crew had to pull the cannon through a rather nasty accident he left in their path.
Towards the middle of the parade Patriot Fire Chief Torx Torvald rode in the passenger seat of the new Keisters Ridge Patriot Fire Department pumper truck. Behind the pumper truck came the VFW train. On board the train the Keisters Ridge Retirement Village residents where whooping it up to the music of the jug band. The band rode on the back of the trailer.
Immediately behind the driver sat Zinnia MacPhearson. Zinnia was known around the Village to be quite a character. She was prone to take a nip now and again, and on this day she had taken quite a few nips. Her judgement was none too good, so when the bee came buzzing around the train it was not really surprising that she decided to take a swing at it. She missed.
This called for some kind of strategy. Recalling an episode of WILD KINGDOM she had seen one Sunday afternoon, Zinnia decided to wait for the bee to get into position. As the train moved along the parade route at five miles per hour Zinnia coolly waited for the bee to land. When it finally came to rest she wound up, made a swing, and once again missed the bee. At this point the story gets complicated. Ms. MacPhearson had decided to massacre the bee with her authentic Founder’s washboard. Her swing was good and her follow through excellent, even if her aim was terrible. There was a dramatic thud when the washboard hit the back of the train driver’s head. The washboard broke in half. Zinnia punched the driver in the shoulder, furious that he had so cruelly broken her washboard with his knoggin. The driver didn’t even notice the punch because he was nearly unconscious from the original assault. He slumped over the wheel of the train. This caused the steering wheel to turn slightly to the right. The train slowly moved across the street to the curb. Zinnia, meanwhile, had turned to her surprised seatmate and started a discussion about sun bonnets
The train drifted at five miles per hour across the street towards little Sammy Norton, age seven, who was perched on top of a mail box. The driver focused his eyes just long enough to see Sammy and with super human effort turned the steering wheel to the left. His foot slipped from the brake pedal and onto accelerator causing the train to speed up all the way to six miles an hour.
When Torx Torvald looked out of the window to his right he was a bit surprised at what he saw. The VFW train was moving right towards the door of his new pumper truck. Torx is a quick thinker and he immediately sized up the situation; a train made from a 1956 Chevrolet panel truck and armed with an incredibly nasty cowcatcher, loaded with twenty‑three senior citizens and a jug band, was careening out of control at six miles per hour intent upon destroying his brand new pumper truck. He yelled to the volunteer pumper truck driver, “Accellerate!”
They were trapped. Ahead of them was Pack 26 of the Boy Scouts, pacing them on the left was a clown riding a unicycle. There was nothing that could be done, the truck was doomed.
Members of the crowd saw that disaster was immanent. Several made heroic attempts to stop the train. They ran out from the curb and grabbed the side rails of the trailer platform. Soon others joined in and within moments the train was dragging fifteen or twenty people down the street. All of the would‑be rescuers were trying to dig in their heels in a valiant effort to halt the crazed train. It continued to travel at six miles an hour, barely faster than a man can walk. No matter how many people grabbed hold of the baby blue side rails, the vehicle went on its way.
While all this was going on the train driver remained slumped over the wheel. He wavered on the edge of unconsciousness. As the cow catcher came dangerously close to the pumper truck his eyes momentarily came into focus. He pulled the steering wheel back to the right causing the train to slowly veer away from the pumper. Then, just before it went over the curb, he pulled the wheel to the left and the train lumbered back towards the bright red truck. Once more the driver’s eyes focused and he again pulled the wheel, then lapsed back into his groggy state.
The train with its costumed retirees and jug band weaved back and forth like a Chinese New Year dragon. Nearly forty people clung to it’s sides trying to stop it. The parade units ahead of the pumper truck marched on mercifully unaware of the drama behind. Torx Torvald and the volunteer fireman driver rode forward coming nearer and nearer to oblivion. Each time the train weaved to the left, it came closer to Torx’s door.
In a bit of daring unmatched in the history of Keisters Ridge, Torx once again became a hero. He opened his door and placed one foot on the running board. With a hand on the rear view mirror and the other hand on the back of his seat Torx waited for the train to swing back towards the pumper truck. As it crept in his direction the Keisters Ridge Patriot Volunteer Fire Department Fire Chief saw his last chance and seized it. The cowcatcher was sure to smack the new red paint on the truck’s door. With inches to spare Torx lunged. He flew out into space and grabbed the windshield of the train. His foot found a toe hold on a side marker light and with terrific strength and agility vaulted over the rail knocking the driver off the seat. Torx yanked the steering wheel back to the right and the train pulled away from the pumper truck. The steel cowcatcher missed the door of the truck by less than one eighth of an inch.
Torx wasn’t sitting down yet, so by the time he found the pedals on the floor the train had crossed back to the other side of the street and hopped the curb into the parking lot of Rich’s Supermarket. Torx smashed the brake pedal to the floor, but the brakes had again gone out. He pulled the emergency brake lever. Nothing happened. It had been disconnected. Torx bravely piloted the brakeless train with it’s human cargo across Rich’s parking lot. By this time the would‑be rescuers were dropping off and a trail of bodies marked the progress of the cowcatchered monster. The jug band continued to play, the music sounding strangely like NEARER MY GOD TO THEE.
Torx switched off the engine and the compression of the cylinders slowed the train. He gripped the wheel and guided the machine through a maze of abandoned grocery carts. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the train slowed. Its course headed it directly toward the plate glass window of Rich’s Super Market. As the train neared the building, cars and a delivery truck forced Torx into following the straight and narrow path towards the checkout stands just behind the glass store front. The cow catcher demolished a shopping cart. With a bump and a lurch the train came to a stop, the cow catcher barely touching the window.
Zinnia MacPhearson, oblivious that she was the cause of all this excitement, proceeded to lecture Torx on his unorthodox way of boarding the train. As she did so she rose to her feet causing the train to tip the tiniest of bits. This forced the cow catcher to press the glass just a fraction of a gram too much. There was a cracking sound and a line appeared to run across the window. Suddenly, a spider’s web of silver was etched in the glass, it’s focal point the cowcatcher of the train. Torx closed his eyes as the window disintegrated into thousands and thousands of shards and crashed to the ground.
The jug band stopped playing.
Once again Torx ended up on the news. An amateur photographer captured the events on film. Mrs. Torvald watched as her husband was interviewed by reporters. Later that night Torx and Hilda were sitting in their living room. The mysterious glow of the TV danced across their faces. The voice of Ted Koppel came to them from across the vastness of the television miles.
“And now a final word on tonight’s news comes from Keisters Ridge where once again Torx Torvald has become a hero….”
Our hero sipped his General Mills International House coffee. Hilda put down her knitting. Both looked at each other and thought the same thought.
Enough is enough.