Rascal was a big, handsome, youngin' out of Kentucky. I was interviewing him for a job with the Naples Police. Very likable, he'd made good guy points even before I found we might be related. We have common family ties: the Hatfield's of the Hatfield and McCoy Feud fame. During the interview I asked why he'd decided to move to Naples.
"Well," he said in his cornbread drawl, "I'm about marryin' age and when we were down here on vacation I noticed there were a lotta purty girls here."
No disagreement there.
"And, I also noticed there were a lotta rich folks here, too." Another affirmation from me. "That means there should be a lotta purty, rich girls here. So if you're lookin' for a wife and you want a purty one, you might as well get a purty, rich one while you're at it."
I laughed at his logic, figured he was yanking my chain, and later hired him.
Rascal was a good cop. Smart, dependable, fearless. And a better ladies man. In just a few months he told me he'd found his dream girl, was going to be married, and after that was going to retire from the police business. I couldn't believe it; Rascal worked faster than a Fleet enema. But he was true to his word and within a few weeks he was gone.
Rascal married the daughter of a big shot in one of the world's largest corporations. Wedding presents included a Porsche and a house three blocks from the beach. Plus, the best gift of all, his new wife who was not only beautiful but sweet and charming. We guessed Rascal would've married her if she was as poor as Pitiful Pearl. But, she wasn't.
We'd see Rascal around town now and then, but mostly lost contact. Then one day I received a call from him. "You remember when I retired from the NPD you said I was too young and would go back to work? Well, you were right. I did. I'm in the railroad business." He urged me to drop by his house and he'd explain. Who could resist?
His wife greeted me at the door, we exchanged pleasantries, and she, with a smile, pointed down the hallway to Rascal's office. I arrived at a large room that had been two bedrooms now remodeled into one. There Rascal was at work.
The entire space was filled with the largest HO scale model railroad layout I'd ever seen. A dozen trains chugged around the tracks, through villages, tunnels, and over bridges. Rascal sat in a cutout control space in the center, wearing an engineer's cap, bib overalls, and a red bandanna around his neck. "See," he said, "I'm a railroad tycoon."
And so he was. We lost track of Rascal after that but I'm confident he's still working a plan somewhere. I suppose he's right, and that's the best way to go about this life.
But it's much more interesting doing it our way: just bumbling along and seeing what turns up next.
"Well," he said in his cornbread drawl, "I'm about marryin' age and when we were down here on vacation I noticed there were a lotta purty girls here."
No disagreement there.
"And, I also noticed there were a lotta rich folks here, too." Another affirmation from me. "That means there should be a lotta purty, rich girls here. So if you're lookin' for a wife and you want a purty one, you might as well get a purty, rich one while you're at it."
I laughed at his logic, figured he was yanking my chain, and later hired him.
Rascal was a good cop. Smart, dependable, fearless. And a better ladies man. In just a few months he told me he'd found his dream girl, was going to be married, and after that was going to retire from the police business. I couldn't believe it; Rascal worked faster than a Fleet enema. But he was true to his word and within a few weeks he was gone.
Rascal married the daughter of a big shot in one of the world's largest corporations. Wedding presents included a Porsche and a house three blocks from the beach. Plus, the best gift of all, his new wife who was not only beautiful but sweet and charming. We guessed Rascal would've married her if she was as poor as Pitiful Pearl. But, she wasn't.
We'd see Rascal around town now and then, but mostly lost contact. Then one day I received a call from him. "You remember when I retired from the NPD you said I was too young and would go back to work? Well, you were right. I did. I'm in the railroad business." He urged me to drop by his house and he'd explain. Who could resist?
His wife greeted me at the door, we exchanged pleasantries, and she, with a smile, pointed down the hallway to Rascal's office. I arrived at a large room that had been two bedrooms now remodeled into one. There Rascal was at work.
The entire space was filled with the largest HO scale model railroad layout I'd ever seen. A dozen trains chugged around the tracks, through villages, tunnels, and over bridges. Rascal sat in a cutout control space in the center, wearing an engineer's cap, bib overalls, and a red bandanna around his neck. "See," he said, "I'm a railroad tycoon."
And so he was. We lost track of Rascal after that but I'm confident he's still working a plan somewhere. I suppose he's right, and that's the best way to go about this life.
But it's much more interesting doing it our way: just bumbling along and seeing what turns up next.
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