Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller Our family spent a few days in Kentucky two weeks ago. It was an interesting experience. It’s hard to come to any conclusions about a state after only four days, so call these impressions very preliminary. Roger, Maria, David, Cindy and Noah walking in Kentucky. A land of tobacco. A lot of people smoke in Kentucky. I saw more smokers in four days than I have in the last year, and that is not an exaggeration. In Somerset, where we stayed, there was a drive-through store for discount cigarettes. I can only imagine using that. A tinny voice mumbles through a speaker, “May I take your order, please?” The man says, “Yeah, I’d like a carton of Winston, a pack of Red Man Chaw, and two Swisher Sweets for dessert.” “Honey,” his wife says in a reminding tone. “Oh yeah, a pack of Virginia Slims for the missus.” “Daddy!” comes a voice from the back seat. “All right,” the old man sighs. Then he says into the microphone, “And a tin of Copenhagen, mint flavore...

David Heiller I knew there would be trouble when I saw my breath last Friday evening, June 19. I was hauling woodchips to the garden, working up a sweat and whoosh, I saw my breath. Just once, but I saw it. And I hadn’t been eating onions. “I’m seeing things,” I thought. So at bedtime, 10:15, I checked the thermometer just to be sure I WAS seeing things. I WASN’T seeing things. It read 37 degrees. I groaned and went to the garage for the “garden linens.” Old sheets, bedspreads, blankets, tarps, tablecloths. Not fit for human use, but just fine for chilly tomatoes, peppers, and celery. After I ran out of blankets, I covered the pumpkins, squash, and melons with every bucket and pan I could find. The rest could fend for themselves. The ground was white with frost the next morning. I scraped a thin layer of frost from the car windshield with my fingernail. 30 degrees on June 20. If that wasn’t enough, the temperature dipped to 30 the next night, June 21. Sad frost-bitten t...

David Heiller Monday evening at 6 p.m.: I had just finished taking my first break between a busy day and an even crazier night, and some summer sausage and a cold rainbow trout have saved my sanity. It had been a hectic day. Piles of ads to write, people to call, stories to edit. I wasn’t half done, and started steeling myself for an All-Nighter on Tuesday. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s working all night. It used to be an adventure, like during the Askov fire. Hot news. Murders. Sex. (My imagination works overtime too during an All-Nighter.) But not anymore. There’s about as much adventure in your normal Askov American as there is at a canasta party. I knew it would be this way. I had taken a three-day weekend to Brownsville to visit my mother. And now I was paying for it. David's mother, Fern, and David Once during the day I even told Cindy that we shouldn’t have gone to Brownsville. “But we went to see your mother, David,” she answered, and I felt like a heel...

David Heiller The flashers on the front of a deputy’s car made my stomach sink. I was zipping to work, my mind already plotting out the day, when I met the Houston County squad car on the curve below the Robert Snodgrass home on County Road 3. A hilly road, some curves, and a  lovely day. A perfect day to speed, or get caught at it... But for many, including David, a warning does suffice. A quick glance at my speedometer confirmed my midsection’s queasiness. Let’s just say I wasn’t going 55, “Please please please,” I said to myself as I slowed down and kept going. I scanned my rear view mirror for the next mile into town, expect ing to see bright lights blinking in my rear view mirror, but that didn’t happen. The deputy had made his point with the electronic fireworks display from the front of his car. I had slowed down. I had been warned, and I really appreciated that that was all I received. It came in handy the next morning too. There I was, at the ope...

David Heiller WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL, we used to talk about the “generation gap” a lot. The generation gap was some sort of chasm that separated kids from adults, ranging from different values to different styles of clothing. Noah opens the cabinet door  to begin  his selections for the  mornings' radio station. If your father didn’t like the length of your hair and told you so, this was the generation gap. If you believed in free speech to the point of certain four letter words, and your mother disagreed with a bar of soap in hand, you were victims of the generation gap. If you protested the war in Vietnam and your neighbor fought there, the generation gap was taking its toll. I never put much stock in the so-called generation gap. I always thought it was just a phrase, an easy way to express something that is very complex. It was a cliché, because it was used too much. But now the generation gap is back on my mind, in the form of my 11-month-ol...

David Heiller HMS Lorely is sick, deadly sick. That’s our car, a 1978 Ford LTD named after my wife’s mother (no resemblance), who gave it to us three years ago. HMS Lorely, our 1978 Ford LTD didn't look  this good. It was the size of a boat! HMS (Her Majesty’s Ship) isn’t much for looks. The gray sides are rusting, and the vinyl roof is bare in the middle and shredded at the sides, cracked and peeling. It’s a real rag top. The loose flaps of vinyl slap the roof like a bongo drummer when she goes 50 miles an hour or more. I don’t mind that. It’s the deadly disease which our friend Jim Kephart calls “blow-by” that really hurts. I didn’t know what “blow-by” was until the car started leaking oil at an alarming rate. First it was a quart every 200 miles. then every 100, then every 50. Now it’s down to a quart every 25 miles or so. I called Jim Monday night to ask him what exactly “blow-by” means. He took a deep breath, like he does when talking to one of his seventh ...

David Heiller Dear Grandma: Α funny thing happened last week. Cindy was driving to work, with me next to her. She had on her gloves, jacket, stocking cap and mukluks. I was two layers lighter, as usual, just wearing a shirt and pants, and feeling hot at that. We came to the stop sign by Banning Junction. My window was frosted over. Cindy couldn’t see the on-coming traffic. I pushed the button and down came the window, all the way down. Cindy has asked me not to lower it all the way down, but I forgot. The window hasn’t been working all the time lately. It sometimes gets stuck in the open position. I have to open and close the door. Then it works again. Guess what happened last week? When I pushed the button to make the window go up, it wouldn’t budge. I opened and closed the door, and it still wouldn’t go up. It was 16 degrees below zero outside. The window was all the way open. So we drove the last four miles into Askov going 55 miles an hour, which created a win...