D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
April
2009
Rollo and the Mountain of Doom
Page: 4"I think we've got a problem," Rollo observed, looking at the fences.
"I think it pales by comparison with what you've already overcome," I speculated. "If needs be, I will dig out one of the posts by hand or, perhaps, that gate down there might just be open. If you'll wait a minute, I'll walk down and check."
Rollo waited. I walked down the hill some 30 yards and checked. The gate was unlocked — clear proof, as though we needed it, that we were leading charmed lives.
Throwing the keeper from the top of the fence post, I walked backwards with the wire gate, opening a hole some 30 feet wide through the center of the south fence. Uphill, Rollo revved up the Ford's pipes but refrained from peeling out in the midst of the pasture, and then, motoring slowly down the hill, he slid between the gate posts wearing a Cheshire-cat grin while once more letting the pipes roar. Out on the Pinos Altos Highway, tourists who had stopped to observe our descent as well as the idle occupants of two or three other vehicles gave themselves up to applause. Quick as a whistle, I refastened the gate, leapt for the car, and hopped in. Then, to celebrate our deliverance, Rollo really did peel out, for perhaps 10 feet, before slowing to a mere putt and gliding out onto the highway, his head held high, his left hand raised through the driver's window in a sublime imitation of Noel Coward drawing the applause of an audience.
At approximately 11:45 a.m. that morning, we stopped briefly at the Texaco station on our way back into town, dropped off the last poster (the one we had carefully kept in reserve), "dragged Main" once, and returned to Western High School. There we signed in with Miss Timms just in time to meet Shelley, Ethel, Misty, Muffy and Buffy as they headed for lunch after attending third period Trig.
"And where have you bums been all morning?" Misty and Shelley wanted to know.
"Yeah," said Ethel, throwing me a razor-sharp glance.
"Boy, are you two ever in trouble with Miss Vaughan," Buffy announced.
"That's right," Muffy said, flipping her hair. "Anyone who hasn't any better sense than to cut Miss Vaughan's class probably doesn't have the brains to come in out of the rain. You have heard of 'detention,' haven't you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Rollo said. "We've spent the entire morning seriously engaged on school business; we've been out promoting your play."
"Professionally speaking," I said, adopting my best boardroom manner, "I think you could say that we have not only gone the extra mile in your support, but in fact, we've gone all the way around the mountain for you. Furthermore — and while this is merely rumor at the moment, but one with which we are nevertheless going to enlighten you — we have it on good authority that when you finally do take to the boards next week, a talent scout from one of the leading theaters in Albuquerque will be down here to catch your performances. Apparently, his company is looking for candidates who might be talented enough to do summer stock."
The girls positively beamed.
"That's all right," Rollo said quietly. "There is no need to thank us."
"None at all," I added, "However, if anyone would like to hear details, matters like these are best discussed less publicly, possibly after a root beer later this evening. . . ."
Ethel, bless her, never one to be slow on the uptake, took my arm.
Phillip "Pep" Parotti grew up in Silver City during the Forties and the Fifties and has recently retired and come home after a long teaching career at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, Texas.