Lorrieann’s World

“Didn’t you use the Visa?” Rachel asked, looking back over her shoulder, scanning for any signs of traffic. There was none.

“Cash, baby. No trails remember?” He turned and gave her a wink, giving the accelerator a tap.

She laughed. “Right. I forgot. We’re fugitives.”

“At least until our vacation is over. Then it’s back to reality.”

“No reality yet, Clyde. It’s only Sunday. We have a whole week to be fugitives.”

“Right-o, Bonnie.”

The road ahead was long and non-descript. A straight shot through Nebraska, no turns or detours. In the far distance, the Rockies loomed before them but it would be eight long hours before they reached the foot hills.

“You want the top down, baby?”

“Mmm, yeah.”

He pulled onto the shoulder, automatically flipping the hazard lights on before getting out of the car; even though there was no sign of any car even remotely close in either direction that would care. He made short work of tucking the roof into the pocket and was back on the road. The full moon was hovering over the distant mountains, outlining them against the deep purple night. With no street lights to dilute the effect, the stars shown brilliant in the sky. She had never seen a sky without city lights and lolled her head back on the headrest to take in the view.

“Billions and billions,” she said, puffing out her cheeks on the ‘B’s. “Sagan was right!”

“Smart man.” he agreed. “Man, that sky’s so bright, I hardly need the headlights.” He grinned from the side of his mouth. She recognized the look immediately.

“Keep them on, ok?”

“Scared?”

“Jack…don’t.”

He flicked the switch and hit the accelerator at the same time.

“JACK!”

“Wahoo! Look, baby! What did I tell you! Clear as day out there!”

She planted her hands on the dash and looked around. Amazed, she admitted the moon was doing a great job of lighting up the road. In spite of herself, she grinned and threw her hands in the air letting the warm prairie wind rush over her. “It’s like a rollercoaster! Only with out the hills!”

Jack took his cue and pressed on the gas. The engine on the old Mustang roared in appreciation as if the silver horse on its grill was finally let to run after years of being fenced in.

“Ninety-five!” Jack hollered, his voice nearly lost in the roar and the wind. “And still smooth as silk!”

“Fly, baby!” Rachel laughed.

“Hold on, comin’ in for a landing!” He tapped the breaks lightly. She braced herself, knowing what was to come. Jack grasped the wheel hard and planted his foot on the brake pedal. The tires squealed in protest as he cut the steering wheel hard to the left. He held tight, bringing the car expertly to a stop after completing a full three-sixty right there in the middle of the deserted prairie road. When the car finally came to a rest, he cut the engine, the roar echoing for a long moment.

“Wicked,” she whispered when the echoes had waned.

“How long has it been since we made love in a wheat field?”

She ignored the question, planting her hands behind her head and leaning back, smiling up at the moon.

“Well, I know how long,” he said, matching her posture. “Twenty-five years, four months, three weeks, one day—” He glanced at a non-existent watch on his wrist. “—four hours and twenty-six minutes.” He let a hand wander to her thigh. “I think we’re over due.”

“You must be thinking of some other wife.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. It was my first . . . or second . . . no it was the third wife—”

“Shut up and kiss me, Jack.” She laughed and pulled him by the collar, planting a slow, wet kiss on his mouth. “And it’s been four hours and twenty-five minutes. Your watch is fast.”

“Oh, well then I must get it fixed. Now, did I just hear you say you’re feeling wicked?”

She glanced up and down the road, and with a wink, hopped out of the car and ran a few feet into the wheat then held up a hand to him. It was all the encouragement he needed and she knew it. Twenty-five years of marriage had not dampened his sense of adventure—especially if there was sex to be had—and before she could change her mind, he was out of the car and scooping her into his arms.

“Right here,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Right now.” She kissed him hard, then pulled him down into the soft green wheat. They made love beneath the moon, with only the breeze and the night birds as witnesses. After, they lay quietly, watching the stalks sway above them.

“Did you ever in a million years think we’d be spending our twenty-fifth wrinkling a wheat field?” Jack asked, cradling her head on his arm.

“Yup,” she answered simply. “I planned it from day one. You can check my calendar.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” he said, laughing. “I love you, Mrs. Jack Gaynor.”

“I love you, Mr. Rachel Warren-Gaynor.”

“Come on, we have thirty-seven dollars worth of gas to burn before we get to Cheyenne.”

“Well now, that’s one way to spoil the moment. Ok, help me up.”

“Your chariot awaits, my lady.” He lifted her off her feet, and carried her to the Mustang, depositing her gently into the front seat.

They drove on in contented silence. Jack had one hand on the wheel, the other on Rachel’s lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, though never quite falling asleep. Every now and then, he would say her name to see if she was still with him and she would respond with a quiet murmur. No two people could be more content in a single moment in time and space than Jack and Rachel Gaynor were right there and then on the long road from Omaha to Cheyenne.

~~~

“How much farther?” Rachel asked, sitting up. She’d dozed after all. “Do you need to rest?”

“No I’m fine. Funny, but I don’t feel tired at all. I know I should. I guess it must be the air.”

“Yeah. So where are we?”

“No idea. I haven’t seen a road sign for hours.”

She looked toward the horizon. The mountains didn’t seem any closer than they did the last time she looked. On either side of the road, for miles on end, nothing but the wheat she’d seen. She looked up to the moon, and even it looked to be suspended in the same position it had been when they’d made love. “Did you stop for a while? This looks exactly like where we stopped.”

“No,” he said, looking straight ahead. She could see the line of his jaw tighten, a sure sign he was keeping something to himself.

“Are we lost?”

“Not possible. There are no side roads to get lost on. It is a straight shot from here to there. This field just goes on, and on.”

She settled back in her seat. “Just asking.”

“No signs, no markers, no cross roads.” He raked his hair with his hand, glancing over his shoulder. “And not one single solitary car coming east or west since we left the gas station. It’s weird, Rachel.”

“How far have we come?”

“How the fuck do I know?! I just said there are no markers; weren’t you listening!”

She swallowed hard, stunned by the sudden scolding. Jack hit the brakes and put the car in park, not bothering to pull over to the side of the road.

“Baby . . . man I’m sorry. You didn’t have that coming.”

She reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s ok. . . you’re just tired. Do you want me to drive for a while?”

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “No, I’m ok. It can’t be long now, right?”

“Probably not, but you’re exhausted. I’d like to get to Cheyenne in one piece, ok? Let me drive.”

“Rach—”

She held her hand palm up. “Keys. Let’s just rest here for a minute ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” He turned off the engine, and tossed her the keys. “I need to take a leak anyway, and I don’t suppose there’s a nice clean gas station anywhere too close.”

“Go on, then. Stretch out a bit.”

He got out, and crossed the road, keeping an eye to the horizon. He took two steps and entered the field. Rachel could see his hair shining in the moonlight, a beacon of blonde in a sea of new wheat. He still looked damned fine to her eye, his fifty-two years only showing slightly in the silver on his temples and the subtle lines around his eyes. His hair was a bit thinner, and certainly shorter than it was when they’d met in ‘seventy-one, and his waistline was less firm, but still slim. She wondered briefly if she looked as good to him as he did to her after all these years. The moistness in her nether regions left over from their loving reassured her that he did still want her, and loved her. She may not be aging as softly as Jack—lord knows she spent a small fortune on hair color to battle the gray—but still, even at forty-nine, she could pass for thirty on a cloudy day.

She hitched over the stick shift and settled into the driver’s seat. It was so quiet without the engine running. She listened to the night sounds for a moment, the soft rustle of wheat in the breeze, Jack’s foot steps as he found the perfect place to pee. She chucked to herself, just like a puppy. . . gotta mark three of four places before he’s done.

“How’s it going, Clyde?”

A hand went up in the wheat giving a thumb’s up.

“Coming back anytime soon?”

After a hesitation, she called again.

“Jack? You ok out there?”

Without answering he stepped out of the field and onto the side of the road. “Start the engine.”

“Get in, first.”

He hopped over the car door into the passenger seat. “Ok, start her up… man I can’t handle the quiet. It ain’t natural.”

“Been in the city too long. You just don’t know what country sounds like anymore,” she said laughing, though admitted to herself there was some odd comfort in the sound of the engine.

“Whatever. Man, it gave me the creeps, you know?”

Rachel put the car in gear and hit the pedal a little harder than she intended. Jack rocked back in the seat, then groped for the seat belt.

“Sorry,” she said, leveling her speed to an even sixty-miles-per-hour.

“How ‘bout some music?” Jack said, reaching for the radio. “Remember how we used to play the radio loud back in the day?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me, crank it. Can we get anything on that old thing?”

“Old? The ‘Tang’ is not old. She’s a classic.” He hit the dial and punched the first button — the one he had memorized for KKAR to find the retro oldies they sometimes played late at night. No songs came out though, only the low frequency static of empty air. “Must be out of range.”

“Gotta love AM. Next time you restore a car, at least put in a CD player and proper stereo.”

“Then it wouldn’t be authentic, would it,” he said almost absently as he put his concentration on turning the radio dial. “We must be way out. . .not a single station.” He was about to give up when the static cleared and for a split second, the sound of a small voice blipped onto the radio before it was swallowed by static. “Ah, there’s one. Just gotta play with it for a minute.”

“Late night radio,” Rachel sang quietly the old song, “take it everywhere I go—”

“Shh,” Jack hissed. “I want to hear. . .there, there it is.”

The static cleared again, but no voice was sounding.

“I don’t hear any—”

“Shh! There, hear it?”

Three bell like tones rang clear over the airwave, playing in thirds up and down the scale. Three times they sounded, then silence. After about three seconds, a child’s voice began to speak, slowly and clearly, in a crisp and proper British accent, “Little Jack Horner, sat in the corner.” The voice paused. “Sat in the corner.” Another pause, and it began again, reciting but never quite finishing the old nursery rhyme.

“That is bizarre,” Jack said. “Must be some local yokel letting his kid play on the shortwave. Sometimes they leak onto the airwaves.”

“It’s creepy, find something else.”

Jack turned the dial ever so slightly, bringing the needle nearly to low end of the dial. The hissing stopped, and again the three tones sounded. This time after the pause a different voice, a woman, was listing off a series of numbers in a slow and deliberate delivery, “One, one, four, one.” Pause. “Ein, Ein, vier, ein.” Pause. “Un, un, quatre, un.” They listened to the strange oration through several more iteration, each in a different language. Jack could identify most of them.

“Jack, please, find something . . . that is just . . .”

“Creepy?” He teased.

“Yes!”

“It’s just counting.”

“Just turn it off, ok? Either find some music or turn the damned thing off.”

Jack gave the dial another spin and, to Rachel’s relief, heard the oddly comforting sound of a weather report. “Storm approaching, wind, snow expected.”

“Snow?” Rachel said, startled. “It’s the middle of August, where the heck is he?”

“Must be picking up signals on the skip.” Jack looked up to the sky then from horizon to horizon. “Not a cloud. No snow storm headed this way.” He turned the dial.

A new voice—a man—intoned, “Identify. Identify. K-D-O-A. Identify.” Again the three tones sounded between iterations.

“Turn it off!” She reached for the radio, groping in the half light to find the knob, taking her eyes off the road for the moment. The car jerked slightly to the left. Rachel over corrected, fishtailing the mustang into the left lane before finally regaining control.

“Easy there, Bonnie,” Jack said making an effort to sound more amused than startled. Rachel wasn’t fooled.

“Sorry,” she said, staring straight ahead.

That is when the tones began to ring again. She turned her head to glare at Jack as he hurriedly grabbed for the radio dial.

“Watch it!” Jack screamed.

She turned her attention quickly to the road just in time to see the child step out of the wheat field and into the road. She slammed the break pedal and craned the wheel hard to the left, tires screeching into the prairie night. She closed her eyes tight and held on, waiting for the car to come to a stop.

After a breath, she opened her eyes slowly. She found herself again in the passenger seat, next to her Jack was looking at her grinning.

“How long has it been since we made love in a wheat field?”

~~~

“What do you mean? We just—didn’t we?” The moon caught her eye and she stared at the sliver of crescent that hung above the mountain. “The moonlight. . .”

“What?” Jack shook his head, looking confused, following her gaze. “Oh, yeah, good point. It’s too dark to go traipsing into the field.” He reached for her hand. “The seats recline—”

“No, dammit!”

He pulled his hand away. “Hey, I know we’re not kids anymore but—”

“No! What is going on? We just made love, don’t you remember? Right over there in that field, under a brilliantly full moon! Was I dreaming?”

Jack sat back, reaching for the gear shift. “I think you were. I usually don’t forget when we make love.” He cocked one brow and grinned. “Was I good?”

Rachel turned away, examining the fields on either side of the road. No marks in the wheat betrayed the presence of two lovers. She glanced at the radio; it was dark and silent. She looked up slowly to Jack, he was still smiling with that annoyingly patient expression he reserved for when he was humoring her about something.

“Yeah, real good,” she answered finally. For a dream. . . A wispy mist of fog danced above the stocks blown about by a cool wind, only slightly visible in the meager light from the sliver of moon. “It was a full moon . . . uh, in my dream,” she said, not fully believing her own words, but not fully convinced that it wasn’t a dream.

“Well, the moon is far from full.” He glanced to the dash board. “And so is the tank. We’re running on fumes here. There’s a station up the road. I saw a sign a few miles back.”

“The thirty-seven dollars worth you bought sure didn’t take us very far.”

“Thirty-seven? Are you high? I could never fit thirty-seven dollars in this tank.” He put the car in gear and hit the gas pedal.

She turned in her seat and reached for his shoulder to turn him to look at her. When he turned, she pulled hand back and pushed herself toward the door.

“What?” He laughed, giving her a look.

“Your hair, it’s. . . ”

“Messy? The top’s down, love.”

“No. It’s . . . on your collar.”

He gave her another look, shaking his head. “I thought you liked it. You saying you want me to cut it? Are you suddenly my father?”

“No . . . Jack, it’s not that.”

“What then?”

“Nothing. . . I just . . . you haven’t had it long for a long time.” She glanced again at the moon, then to his hair, then to the gas gauge. The needle hovered just above the E. “This isn’t right.”

He huffed, annoyed. “Now what?”

“The gas! You put thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents in that tank back in West Nowhere back there!” She opened the ashtray, where Jack had tossed the receipt. A cloud of ash and butts spilled out onto the floor.

“Hey, careful! What the hell are you doing?”

“Stop the car!”

“What?”

“Please, just stop! This isn’t right!”

Jack glanced at her, then back to the road ahead. His fingers gripped the wheel tighter. “Babe, I have no clue what you’re tripping on, but I wish you’d come down from it.”

She turned to face front and threw herself back in against the seat, arms folded across her chest, fighting back the urge to cry. “Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m not—” He stopped, took a breath, then continued in a deliberately calm voice, “I’m not yelling.”

“I’m not tripping.”

“Then what is it?”

She tried to find the words to explain, that would not make her sound crazy. Nothing came to her. She gave up, planting a foot on the dash board, sitting deeper into the seat. “So when did you start smoking again?” she asked after a minute, pointing to the butts in the ashtray where she knew the receipt should have been.

He made another scoffing sound, shaking his head again. “What do you mean start again? When did I ever quit?”

She stared ahead, clenching her teeth closed. The tears started to come then. She turned her head so Jack wouldn’t notice them. You quit five years ago! You cut your hair – and quit. . . what the hell is going on?

Jack glanced down at the gas gauge, then up again. “Thank God,” he muttered.

“What?” Rachel followed his gaze to see the neon glow up ahead.

“Gas station. I hope it’s open. It’s pretty late.” He turned the car into the station. “Cool, the light’s on.” A bell sounded as it rolled over a black hose that lay on the ground in front of the pump.

“Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that sound,” she said.

Jack stayed in the car, looking toward the station building. He gave the horn a couple of quick honks. “Anyone there?” he called out, and blasted the horn one more time.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’m trying to get the guy’s attention. What am I supposed to do? Pump it myself?”

“It’s not unheard of.”

He scoffed again. “Go back to sleep, Rach. You’re still in your dream land.”

She said nothing, pulling her knees up and hugging them. Maybe I am dreaming now. . . The hose bell sounded again, in three quick rings, ‘d-ding, dinnnng’. She turned to see Jack stomping on the hose. “For pity’s sake, Jack—”

“Hey, Mr. Horner? Are you stuck in your corner?” Jack crooned, then stomped on the hose again.

The hair on Rachel’s neck went up. “Why did you say that?” she demanded.

Jack pointed to a sign on the garage door that read, “J. Horner, Proprietor.” Above that, a faded white aluminum sign identifying the station as “State Inspection Site 1141″.

“Jack, get in the car,” she hissed, groping for the keys that dangled from the ignition. “They’re closed! No one is here.”

Jack ignored her, stomping again on the hose. A light flickered inside the station. “There’s the old guy, now, see.”

She looked to the station in time to see a small man peering through the glass. A sign dangled from a suction cup on the window that said “We’re Open.” Rachel expected the man to turn the sign to the more obvious “We’re Closed,”but he waved instead, holding up his index finger as a sign that he’d be out in a moment.

“See? Folks in these parts work late.” Jack said smugly, hopping over the door and back into the driver’s seat.

“You probably woke him up, and he’s gone to get his rifle. I wish you’d just get the hell out of here.”

“Oh my, you really are in a bad mood,” he said, grinning. “Look, now here he comes. See? No rifle. He just had to find his hat.”

The little man stood no taller than a child as he limped his way to the car while adjusting the bill of the baseball type hat he wore. Something about the man—his hat, his small stature, and the patronizing smile on his face—raised Rachel’s hackles again.

“Evenin’, folks,” the man said, shuffling his way to the pump. He looked over the Mustang, then whistled approvingly. “Nice. Good night for the top down too. Fill?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jack said, then reached over to the glove box. He rummaged for a moment then pulled out a pack of Marlboros and flipped open the box top. There were only four cigarettes in the pack. He pull one out and set it between his lips, then tossed the pack back into the glove box. He turned a double take at Rachel. “What?” The pump clicked along as the tank was filling. “Don’t worry, I won’t light it till we’re gone. I’m not so stupid to light up near vapor.”

“You really did quit, Jack.”

“In your dreams, babe.”

A bell on the pump sounded. Rachel jumped at the sound, another she’d not heard in many years.

“That will be eleven-forty-one,” the old man said, hanging the nozzle back onto the pump.

Jack handed him two bills.

“Out of fifteen. I gotta go open the register to make change. I’ll be right back.”

“Eleven-forty-one?” Rachel watched the little man disappear into the station. “To fill?”

Jack scoffed sarcastically. “For that much, he should have given us a spare tank to take along. Highway robbery, that is.”

Rachel stared and swallowed hard. I’m dreaming. . . that’s it . . . ride it out.

The little man returned and held out a filthy bunch of singles, dripping with something dark and gooey. “Here’s your change.”

Rachel watched, half horrified, half mesmerized and oddly unsurprised that Jack accepted the filthy money without noticing the goo. He simply tucked it into his shirt pocket and smiled. Neither did he notice the slimy handprints he was leaving all over the steering wheel and the gear stick as he drove away from the station.

They drove into the prairie, leaving the neon lit gas station behind them. Rachel fixed her eyes on the endless road ahead.

“Babe, you’re really starting to worry me. You’ve not said a word since we filled up.”

“I’m sleeping. I never talk in my sleep.”

“Rach—”

“Shut up and drive!”

He turned and glared. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Watch the road!”

“There’s nothing to watch.” He released the wheel, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t even have to steer! This road goes straight on to forever!”

“Jack, stop it! Drive right!”

“Not until you tell me what’s eating you!” He pressed on the gas. The car lurched as it picked up speed, yet Jack still kept his eyes on Rachel, his hands in the air. “Your call, girl. Tell me what’s wrong!”

“STOP IT!”

“TELL ME”

She reached for the wheel, her fingers slipping on the slimy ooze that Jack had spread from the money. She recoiled, her hand coming back dripping, and red. “Blood!” At the same instance a blue light flashed behind them. “Jack! Please! TAKE THE WHEEL!”

The light approached quickly. “Cops, Jack! You’re going to get us arrested!”

“We’re all alone out here baby.”

“Jack! What is wrong with YOU!”

His foot went clear to the floor. “Hold on baby!”

“Jack no!” Ignoring the blood, she lunged for the wheel, grabbing at it with both hands. Her fingers slipped and the wheel turned hard to the left. Jack hit the brake, grabbing at her hands. The car spun hard, wheat blurring around them. A flash of blue stabbed at her eyes, and she closed them tight waiting for the spinning to end.

She heard Jack scream, and then another voice, a woman, followed by the crackle of a man’s voice over a loud speaker. “Identify! Identify.” The tires screeched, and she felt the sudden thud as all motion finally came to a stop.

~ ~ ~

“Hold on, baby, hold on, now.”

“Sir, please. Stand back. . . you need to—”

“Is she ok?”

“Captain Horner, one-one-four-one, copy.”

“Rachel, baby, come on.”

“Sir, please. . .”

“RACHEL! Get off me! Rach—”

“Captain Horner, one-one-four-one, copy. We have a wreck out on 70.”

Static.

“Freak wind and lightning. Blew a scarecrow into the road.”

Static.

“That’s right. Scarecrow. Swerved to avoid.”

“I thought it was a kid! God. What have I done.”

“She’s coming ‘round, captain.”

“Rachel!”

“Sir, I am not going to ask you again, give the team room!”

The fog lifted slowly as she opened her eyes. Three faces hovered over her. One she knew, one was a stranger, one was oddly familiar though she could not readily place it. She strained to look at the face, then closed her eyes tight against the sudden stab of a flashlight that shown into her eyes.

“She’s awake!” The stranger pronounced, then stood back. “Let him go.”

Jack was on his knees next her before she could realize she was lying on the ground. She tried blinked away the ghostly shadow of the flashlight, then realized it was the full moon she was actually seeing.

“Baby, I thought I lost you.”

“I’m ok, Jack.” She reached a hand to his hair, staring at the cascade ringlets that curled around her fingers. She traced her hand down his bearded cheek, and let it linger over the fringe of the suede jacket he wore. She caught sight of her own hand and the plane gold band that adorned her third finger, absent of the diamond anniversary ring Jack had presented to her upon their twentieth. She closed her eyes tightly and drew in a slow breath. Not real, not real.

Jack grasped her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Babe, you’re gonna be ok, right.” His voice cracked as he gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m no good without you. From now on, lights on . . . I swear it.”

She opened her eyes and glanced up beyond his shoulder. The full silver disc of the moon shown down. She glanced from the moon to Jack, to the faces of the other two people. The familiar looking one tucked a hand held radio into a pouch on his belt, then knelt down next to her. The policeman’s hat he wore was tilted back, and he tugged on the brim as though it were a tick. When she looked up at him, his face broadened into a full smile and then she knew him. “You’re . . . Mr. Horner.”

“Captain, ma’am. That’s right. The EMTs are going to lift the gurney now, you just relax.” He tapped Jack on the shoulder, motioning to him to step aside once more. “Shame about the car. Tow truck will bring it to town for you.”

“Thanks,” Jack replied absently.

Rachel felt the gurney being raised and turned her head. To her side, all she could see was wheat, tall and golden, swaying with the gentle prairie wind. Above her, only the endless night sky. “Our field.”

“What, babe?” Jack asked leaning down, as the EMTs moved the gurney from the field and to the road.

“It was our field. We made love . . . for our anniversary. You still love me. After all these years . . . you still love me.”

Jack and Captain Horner exchanged glances.

“Is the old ‘Tang wrecked?” Rachel asked, her eyes vision beginning to fade. “Good old girl. A classic. Not even a CD player.”

“Classic?” Horner chuckled. “Not yet, Mrs. Gaynor.” He pulled Jack away from the gurney as it was lifted into the back of the waiting ambulance. “There’s the tow truck. Doesn’t look like you’ll be driving that one again. Shame. How long you had it?”

Jack shrugged and said something that sounded like, “Tuesday.”

“I think you best ride with me, son.”

“I don’t want to leave my wife. Not tonight. Please, let me ride with her. Of all nights.”

“You got room for him?”

“Yeah. He can squeeze in. I think she’ll need him.”

“What’s special about tonight, Mr. Gaynor?”

It’s our anniversary, Jack . . . twenty-five. . .

“It’s our wedding night.”

Static.

“One-one-four-one, copy.”

“Hurry.”

Siren.

“Time?”

“11:41, Saturday, August 31, 1968.”