IN SEARCH OF FRANK MILLER: a s

IN SEARCH OF FRANK MILLER: a semi true ghost story
Chapter One:
The OPPORTUNITY
March 1926



I still remember the day when fate presented me with the opportunity that would eventually lead to my murder. We were living in a three bedroom house that Papa and his friends built in less than a month. Each man happened to be skilled in the fine arts of carpentry and architecture. Despite the fact that they were each drinking four to six beers a day, the house rose swiftly from the ground up. A mixture of the detailed, ornate layout and Mama’s beautiful flower and vegetable garden caused plenty of envy among the residents of Woodville. Pity it’s now decomposing under the murky waters of Lake Texoma.

I awoke the morning of my journey, to the mid-morning sun pouring through the homemade linen curtains in the bedroom I shared with my younger brother. I could smell the lingering aromas of fried bacon and fresh-brewed coffee. My siblings had awoken earlier and left for school. As usual, I overslept by an hour. A soft rain pelted the window, and I would have loved to pull the blankets over my head so I could sleep until noon. Instead, I heard Papa’s voice yelling from downstairs:

“Boy! Get down here now! Your Mama fixed breakfast, and your lazy self is still in bed!”

With a groan, I tumbled out of bed, pulled my clothes out of the dresser drawer, fumbled a bit, and slipped them on. Across the room, my brother’s bed sat perfectly made. On top of his nightstand sat an empty plate with a cup perched on top. He happened to be the good child.

Bounding down the narrow wooden staircase, I landed with a thud on the rag rug Mama had crafted together while Papa and his friends were building the house. Mama had miraculously sewed over ten rugs, five sets of curtains, and completed various other projects in less than a month. No matter where she lived, the other women were envious of her sewing skills.

At the kitchen table, Papa sat reading the paper. The morning rain shower had abruptly ended, and I spied Mama’s short frame through the window pulling up vegetables from her garden for tonight’s supper. Her long auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun, and the hem of her homemade calico dress swirling in the morning breeze. The clock on the wall read ten minutes past nine. Papa would go into work at noon, and work until ten that night. How he managed to work all day, come home, promptly fall asleep and then start the cycle all up again confused me. Where did he find time to just be alone?

Ignoring my Papa’s grunt of a welcome, I pulled a plate from the cabinets, and began loading it with bacon and eggs from the stove. After fixing a cup of lukewarm coffee, I joined him at the table. I could sense a lecture about my laziness, so I promptly ‘turned on’ my inner sarcasm meter. If Papa would just let me lead my own life, without lectures, I would stop the sarcastic retorts. He never understood that the more he complained, the more I ignored. If he learned to respect me, then I would respect him.

“Boy, what is wrong with your generation?” He placed the newspaper down, and frowned at me.

"Sir, I don't understand."

I stabbed a few bits of egg, and plopped them in my mouth.

My father sighed in annoyance, drank the remains of his coffee in one swallow, and then roughly placed the porcelain cup on the saucer. He trained his beady eyes on me, so I raised mine in self-defense.

“You and the young men your age all act like the world owes you something! Melvin’s boy your age didn’t have a job, so Melvin kicked his kid out! Made him sleep in the family car until he came home with a job. The boy pays his father a dollar a week for rent. He takes that money and puts it aside until there is enough for Melvin to rent himself a little house. He got mighty tired of his son loafing about the house, not contributing, sleeping until ten in the morning!”

"Is that so?" I replied back, as I picked up my own coffee cup.

I knew I had made a mistake when Papa slammed the palms of his hands on the scarred wooden table he had crafted himself years ago.

“Boy, you need a job! A real job, so you can get the hell out! You’re too old to be living with your Ma and me! You don’t seem to have any desire to get married, despite the numerous single women at church that I’ve introduced you to on Sunday. The only thing on your ignorant brain is running off every Friday night, getting in trouble down at the pool halls, and coming home Saturday morning! I’ve had it! If you haven’t found yourself a job by the end of this week, you’re sleeping in the car! You can stay in the house during the day, but when we go to sleep at ten, you go to the car. Find a job by then, and you can keep your bed!”

I paused for a minute, thoughts racing through my brain trying to find a retort, but came up shorthanded…damn it. So, he wishes me out in a week, well, that’s just fine. If I can’t find work by then, I will just run off, hop on the train, or hitchhike back to Texas and stay with my cousins. Then it hit me. If I do find a job, I’ll save up and leave in the middle of the night. Pack my stuff, and just leave. Perhaps I’ll wander back to Kentucky where my grandfather came from. Why he decided to settle down in Texas is beyond me.

I sat there mulling over my Papa’s announcement, until another thought crossed my mind. His own father, my grandfather, had kicked Papa out of the family shortly after Mama gave birth to me. Papa never spoke of the incident, but we did attend grandfather’s funeral when he passed in twenty-one. When the judge read the will, Papa’s name didn’t come up. Everything had been left to Papa’s older brother. I always wondered what the argument had been about. What did Papa do or say that upset my grandfather so much that he disowned our family? Grandfather had money. He happened to be the second largest landowner in Cannon, Texas. Then my Papa angered him, and the next thing he knew, our family had been disowned forever.

Across the table, Papa continued to stare at me; his beady blue eyes narrowed waiting for my response. I calmly reached for a cloth napkin, cleaned my face, and looked straight back at him.

“You’re kicking me out, just like grandfather did to you?”

Papa’s eyes grew large in disgust.

“I thought I told you to never speak of that! What happened between my father and I is our business! No one knows of it, not even my mother, or my wife!”

“But, aren’t you doing the same thing to me?" I yelled back. Standing up from my chair, I gathered my plate, and stalked toward the sink.

The atmosphere had grown increasingly still. I could feel the anger in the air radiating from waves coming from Papa’s direction. I knew I had him, so I smirked, and began washing my plate with the well water.

After a long pause, I heard him stand up from the table.

“Boy, you know damn well that I’m not kicking you out of the family. You’re almost twenty-one for Christ’s sake. You need a steady job. When you worked twice a week pulling corn for that old farmer, you brought home five dollars and promptly spent it at the pool hall. I know this because of the gossip overheard in church by your mother.

I know you’re not going to listen to a damn word I have to say, but you need to get out. I’m tired of letting you live here for free. One week, get a job, or sleep in the family car. When you acquire a steady job, you shall pay me a dollar a week. I will then place the money aside in savings for your new house…”

“Why the hell should I give you my money?” I immediately shot back.

My Papa happened to be wrong, I listened to every word of his rant, and it upset me beyond belief. Stalking around, I saw him standing ramrod still by the stove. He looked calm, despite his lecture. He fiddled with his pocket watch, and then caught my eye.

“The reason why I want to watch over your money is simple. You don’t understand money management. You have no savings. If I kept your money, then I will know it’s safe. I have absolutely no clue as to where you learned this attitude. When I was your age, I had already learned carpentry, and farming from my own father. I tried to teach you, but you had no desire to learn. Carpentry runs in our family, Frank. You’ll probably make money off it. Find a simple job, it will pay your rent, then learn a trade. After you succeed in it, find a job working that trade, and then you may quit your simple job. Nobody wants to work a simple job, but you learn skills that will follow you into your trade.”

Turing back to the sink, I rolled my eyes, dried my plate, and placed it back in the cabinet. My Papa’s lecture washed over me. I became convinced he was growing mad. I had enough. Turning back around, I stood up straight, and turned the sarcastic attitude on.

“You know Papa, I shall be fine. Don’t worry about me,” I announced, choosing my words carefully. “There is no need for you to keep my money; I’ll open a savings account at the bank. So, why don’t you just go to work today, and not think about me? I promise I won’t upset you so much that you have no choice but to disown me from my own family.”

Before he could fire back, I opened the backdoor, and slipped out into the garden. Halfway across the yard, I could hear Papa’s voice following me:

“Boy, that attitude of yours is going to get you into trouble someday!”

I sauntered across the lawn, gave Mama a kiss, and kept going until I reached town. Papa didn’t know it at the time, but his words would end up coming true in a way he never expected.

*****

Wandering through the dusty streets of Woodville, I passed the high school were my brother attended the tenth grade. My two sisters were at the local junior high across the field. They were always on Papa and Mama’s good side. I seemed to hold the reputation of being the black sheep. For some reason I felt elated just knowing this.

The morning rainfall left the dirt streets semi muddy, and with disdain I saw clumps of it on my boots and the bottoms of my trousers. Who on earth would hire me? The town bank stood on the corner. For a brief instance I thought about wandering inside and asking for a teller job. I smiled, thinking of the clerk’s face frowning down in disbelief.

“What are you smiling about, Mr. Miller?”

I raised my eyes, looked around, and spotted the town sheriff, Oscar Wakefield, wandering down the street. I didn’t really know the man, but he attended church with us, and had a grown daughter named Sadie who attended a top Texas university. At one time she was engaged to a local boy my age, but Sheriff Wakefield broke it off when he realized that Sadie’s ‘God-Given’ talents couldn’t be wasted. When she earned her teaching degree, she would travel back to Oklahoma to marry.

“Oh,” I lazily called back. “Papa’s making me find a job. I guess I better inquire with the local merchants and farmers to see if they need help.”

Sheriff Wakefield paused to adjust his cowboy hat. He stood almost six foot tall, and had a solid weight like a boxer. He was also an expert hunter and fisherman, never missing his target. I remember one time at church he bragged about killing a bobcat and a young deer with a single bullet. He caught sight of the bobcat chasing the deer, and just as the animal sunk his teeth into the back of the deer’s head, Sheriff Wakefield fired his rifle. The bullet sailed through the cat’s head and straight into the deer’s, killing both animals instantly. He had his wife cook deer meat for the church picnic that Sunday, and made a little hat out of the cat’s fur, which he gave to the pastor’s youngest daughter.

He seemed like a good, honest man. I had yet to learn that people who acted ‘perfect’ were the ones who carried the most dangerous secret lives. They wanted the world to see them as Perfect Christians, not the devils they were in reality.

With a smile on his face, Sheriff Wakefield reached out to ruffle my shaggy auburn hair, and I inwardly rolled my eyes. I hated when adults did that. That was another thing Papa constantly complained about--my long hair. Boy, get a damn haircut! It’s growing past your ears. You’re not a girl, nor an Indian!

“Mind your Pa. He’s a good man. He works for the railroad. Only the finest, most respectable men in town get to work there.”

I frowned at Sheriff Wakefield’s odd confession. The way he said it, the words took on more meaning. With our goodbyes, and a “Say hello to your beautiful mother for me,” we continued on our separate ways.

A few minutes later, I felt sweat rolling down my forehead. In my urgency to leave the house, I forgot to grab some ice to crunch on. It may have rained, but the Oklahoma sun happened to be brutal. Up ahead I spotted Elmer’s Service Station. Dodging a group of elderly women, I raced over to buy a drink.

I found the store empty, so I took a glass bottle from the machine out front, placed three cents on the register, and wandered outside where I plopped down on a bench to map out a mental plan of my day.

Papa’s tiresome lectures kept running through my head. I tried pushing them away. Pulling out the coins in my pocket, I counted almost thirty cents, enough to see a movie, or two, as well as grab a bite to eat. I could spend the day ignoring Papa’s advice, then when Friday rolled around if I haven’t found work by then, I could hitchhike back to Texas and stay with my old church friends in Cannon. That sounded perfect…obviously fate had other plans, and it all started with Old Elmer’s loud voice.

“You’re late for work again! I had to stock inventory myself, then wait on five cars this morning!”

I turned my head toward the door of the service station. A kid a few years younger than me wandered out. He looked annoyed. Turning around on his heel, he charged back in the store.

“Fine, I quit old man! Working for you is like working for Satan! I’m too good for this job anyway! Plus, I can walk across the border to Texas, get a job at the drugstore, and make fifteen cents an hour!”

Standing up from the bench, I walked around the corner, and peeked into the store. Old man Elmer had his hands on his hips, his face growing a nasty beet color. His worker, or should I say, former worker, smirked back at him.

“Fine then” Elmer hollered. “Leroy, get out of my store! I don’t want to ever see ya again! Ya hear! Worthless child! Clinton is almost the same age as you, but he supports himself! You’ll never grow up!”

Once again, Leroy smirked, and sailed out the service station with a royal air about him. I drank down the remains of my coke, placed the bottle on the machine, and waltzed inside. Opportunity had just presented itself. I sure as hell didn’t wish to work at a service station, but a few months would save me enough to hitchhike back to Texas, and rent a room somewhere in Van Alstyne.

Walking into the store, I saw Old Elmer grab a dirty dishrag from the sink. With a huff, he started scrubbing sweat from his face. I smiled. It was time to get myself a job. Elmer had mentioned another worker, a boy named Clinton. Fate must have been pushing me in the right direction, for I had a great grandfather on Papa’s side of the family named Clinton.

“Excuse me, sir,” I called out coyly, as I wandered up to the register.
Old Elmer turned around, and glanced over at me.

“Give me a minute to put gas in your car. Damn worker of mine just up and quit on me…useless kid.”

With a pause in my step, I made eye contact with him, and then carefully considered my words.

“I know,” I cheerfully announced. “I overheard the whole conversation. I happen to be on the lookout for a job this morning, and wandered into your fine establishment for a soda. As fate would have it, I witnessed you firing that boy. You obviously need a new worker, and I would be much obliged if you would consider me.”

Old Elmer wrapped his fingers over the loops on his oil covered overalls. He smirked, as he sized me up. I inwardly rolled my eyes. He needed a service station operator, usually employed by a man my age. No grown man would take the job. I smiled as I remembered my Papa’s lecture, ‘…nobody wants to work a simple job.’

“Have you ever worked before? This job ain’t easy, son. The customer drives up. Clinton will put the gas in the car, and you will air up the tires, clean the windshield, and top off the oil all in two minutes. You must be fast. Other customers will be in line impatiently waiting.”

I smiled at the man, but inwardly I laughed at his manner. He acted as if this job was equal to a bank manager! I know with only a few carefully chosen words I would walk away with a job.

“Of course, sir,” I calmly stated, then started lying. “I own a car, and perform regular work on it. I’m sure this job is extremely difficult and important, but I can be the best operator you ever hired.”

Behind Old Elmer I heard a snorting noise. A man my age walked out of the stockroom wiping his hands on a greasy towel.

“For God’s sake, Elmer, just hire the kid. We need him. It’s almost noon and we’ll be busy soon. Who else is there?”

Old Elmer looked me over again, and I shot a smile of thanks at the boy, whom I suspected was Clinton. Finally, with a nod, Old Elmer opened a cabinet, and tossed me a Mobil hat.

“Fine, you will start today, right now. I will pay you five cents an hour every night after we shut down. It’s all I can afford, plus you will usually make tips from some of the drivers if you make polite conversation and don’t screw up.”

I caught the hat, smiling as I rolled it over in my hands. Old Elmer would usually be in the back, and Clinton seemed to think like me. The job wouldn’t last long, just enough for me to save up to rent a loft in Van Alstyne.

“Fine,” I called out. “I’ll take it.”

A car honked from outside. All three of us turned to see a brand new Ford rolling up. The man had on a linen suit; he must have been a traveler from Texas.

“Good,” Old Elmer began to wander outside. “There is your first customer.”

With a smile, I placed the hat on my head, and started outside, when I paused.

“Do you mind if I call my Papa first? I have to tell him that I found a job. He told me not to come home at all until I found one.”

Old Elmer rolled his eyes, while Clinton just smirked as he took a cigarette from his pocket. I could sense Old Elmer about to go off, when Clinton turned to me.

“Go right ahead, and leave me that big tip he’s sure to bring. I like you already. Elmer you did a good job hiring him.”

Old Elmer stomped off with a huff, muttering something about, ‘kids these days.’ He and my Papa should get together and become fishing buddies. Both of them seemed too loath my generation. They could spend all morning catching catfish at the Red River, while complaining about how useless kids were.

Grasping the telephone off the wall, I spun the dial. A few seconds later, Woodville’s one and only operator answered.

“Mrs. Myrtle. How may I transfer your call?”

I knew that old bat would listen in on my conversation once she transferred me, so I made a mental note to make it good.

“Myrtle this is Frank Miller, transfer me to my Papa. He’s at home. You should know the extension; you listen in on our calls enough.”

I heard her huff, but the call went through. I twirled the phone cord around my fingers, and shook my dirty boots clean on the mats by the register. After a few seconds, Papa answered.

“This is Mr. Miller speaking.”

Taking a deep breath, I spoke in the most sarcastic manner possible, “Papa, this is Frank. I found a job! Can you believe that! I happened to be at Old man Elmer’s garage and witnessed him firing someone. He then hired me on the spot. I’ll be home sometime tonight. So, I guess you won’t have the satisfaction of having me sleep outside! I know. I would have loved to as well!”

After hanging up the phone, I wandered outside to help Clinton, Old Elmer having scuttled back into the stockroom.

As I settled down to air up the tires of the Ford, I had no idea at the time that Old man Elmer would end up being my biggest mentor. Clinton would turn out to be my best friend, and the cause of my murder.